Page 30 of Until Ace

I’ve changed ten times so far and even had a fleeting thought to unearth my prom dress. It was awesome—black and elegant, came to right under my knees, and it clung to my body like water. Even now, years later.

Thankfully, I decided against it, since it could be just a tad too formal.

But maybe jeans and a tee are way too casual. I check Ace’s text thread again. And again. There’s nothing except his reminder of the time he’s picking me up.

That’s all he sent me this afternoon, just the word seven.

I have no clue where he’s taking me, so I have no idea what to wear.

I don’t want to come off as too eager, no matter the butterflies that haven’t stopped swarming in my belly since his “I bet if I kissed you” line.

“This is a mistake,” I tell my reflection as I apply the last coat of mascara to my lashes.

My last relationship ended in disaster, and that was when my life was not as chaotic as it is now.

I have a tendency to find the biggest douchebag in the vicinity. And when by some miracle I find a decent man, my dear family makes sure he runs for the hills. No sane man can withstand the craziness of the Tisdale clan. As soon as they hear there’s someone in my life, they all descend like a pack of vultures and ask for either money or favors.

I don’t want that to happen with Ace.

Somehow, I know he won’t let them make him a puppet that would dance for them, but the outcome will be the same. He will leave as fast as he can as soon as he gets a taste of what they bring to the table, leaving me behind.

“This is a big, big mistake,” I repeat the thought that's been running through my mind since the moment I came home from work.

Done with the mascara, I push the wand back into the tube and hear a soft knock on the door.

Glancing at the clock on my phone, I see it’s 6:55 p.m.

He’s early.

Doesn’t he know a woman needs time to get ready?

I want to be annoyed that he’s early, cocky in his obvious conclusion I’m excited enough to see him that I’d be ready on time.

Regardless, a small, satisfied smile forms on my lips as the same thought runs through my mind.

He’s impatient to see me.

I grab my phone from the vanity, turn off the light in the bathroom, and run to the door.

On the last step, I twist my ankle and drop my phone.

“Shit,” I hiss.

Fuck, that hurts.

I tenderly feel around my ankle, trying to decide if it’s hurt so bad that I need to change from my pumps into sneakers.

The second, louder knock is heard in an otherwise silent apartment.

“I’m coming,” I yell and straighten up.

I take a deep breath, push the pain aside, and open the door.

And there he is.

He’s… He’s…. Dear God, there are no words.

Tall.