Page 62 of Cocky Brutal Sinner

Beau

You and me…hopefully?

Unless that’s too weird.

I type my reply with shaking hands.

Brinley

No. It’s not too weird.

Beau

Wanna meet at 8?

Scrolling back up, I reread all our texts. Three times. Four times. If there’s a trap hiding in his words, I can’t find it. Maybe Never Have I Ever didn’t ruin my life completely. Maybe it just planted a seed in Beau’s head that took a few months to grow, and now, he finally sees me as an equal.

The front door slams. Just like Beau said, the guys are leaving. If I want to see him, I don’t have to wait for him to come back—if I’m brave enough to take what I want.

Brinley

I’ll be there.

Beau

I can’t help it. I clutch my phone to my chest and jump up and down. This is really happening. Beau is taking me on my first date—at least, I hope that’s what he thinks it is. And oh god, if it’s really a date, then I have to look cute.

I have no idea how to look cute.

Rushing to the bathroom, I yank open the medicine cabinet to find my contacts. I got them at the optometrist last year, hoping that I could finally abandon the thick glasses I’ve worn since I was six. After thirty minutes of poking myself in the eye, I gave up.

I’m not giving up today.

I force my left fingers to hold open my eyelids, which seem to be sliding toward each other like magnets. I try to slowly ease the contact toward my eye, like Indiana Jones swapping out the idol.

It ends with me poking myself in the eye again.

Putting in contacts involves a lot of poking.

Almost an hour later, my eyes are red and watering, but they have little plastic discs in front of them. For once, I can see my reflection clearly without glasses. I look…well, if not good, I look better.

I tackle my hair next, borrowing Mom’s straightener to make it long and soft, smoothing out all the frizzy parts. I burn myself a few times on the hot iron, but compared to putting in contacts, doing my hair is a walk in the park. It takes a while, because my hair is thick and long, but I get it looking presentable.

All that’s left to do is pick an outfit. But when I open my closet door, I cringe. Everything in my wardrobe feels too young or too dorky. I can’t wear any of my graphic tees, even my favorite one that says “It’s Not Hoarding If It’s Books.” They all make me look too young. All my jeans seem to be too baggy in the butt or have holes in the wrong place. I have a dress Mom bought me to go to my cousin’s wedding last year, but it’s definitely not the kind of thing you wear to a coffee date.

Brinley

What the hell do I wear to coffee with a guy?

Eden

What guy???

Brinley

I’ll tell you later, when I know whether it was just a friend thing.

Eden