Read All the Waters of the Earth (Giving You ... #3) for Free Online Page B

it.”
    “That sounds great.”
    His arms tightened around his notepad and his fingers gripped his pencil box.  He leaned over and kissed the hell out of me, but with our arms restrained, his holding his art supplies, mine holding my purse and robe.
    And then we headed to our separate cars to go back to the same place.

 
     

     
     
     
    Question: What happens when you ruminate about a date the whole week?
    Answer: When you go to get dressed for it, you get really fucking nervous and completely overthink it.
    I tore apart my bedroom, trying on everything I owned that was suitable for a night out. And trust me, I owned plenty of night-out clothes—miniskirts, little black dresses, wrap dresses, fifties-looking dresses, slinky dresses, dresses with illegal v-necks cut down in the front, dresses cut so low in the back that you can almost see the top of my ass, high necked, long-sleeve dresses that hugged every curve, sequined dresses, babydoll dresses, and one pair of black pants that actually fit.
    So, I had nothing to wear.
    I did, however, have fabulous shoes. They were shoes that Oprah would wear for five minutes only, but I was used to wearing high heels.  No problem. They had one teeny strap over the toes and one around the ankles, and were otherwise held on by luck. 
    Desperate, I called Sara, hoping that her Macy’s experience would help. “I’ve got a date with my neighbor, who is straight out of a book that I’d write, and I don’t know what to wear,” I panted out in a rush, pacing in my messy bedroom, wearing black lace panties and a matching bra.
    “Slow down,” she ordered. “This is tamale guy?”
    “Yeah.”
    “And he apologized?”
    “Yeah.”
    “He’s worth your time?”
    I paused. "I think so. He works crazy hours. I don’t know what he does, some sort of advertising or something. He’s always bringing samples from clients. But the thing is, he goes out of his way to come see me every day, even when it’s late.”
    “That’s your answer,” she said. “A universal truth is if a guy is interested, he’ll show you he’s interested.”
    “I think he’s interested. He told me as much.”
    “But mama, you’re such a romantic. You haven’t dated in so long.”
    “That’s because I swore off real men.  Book boyfriends are better.”
    “You see?  That’s why you can’t forget that he’s a real flesh and blood guy. He’s no Franggy. I know you know this.  But because he looks good doesn’t mean anything unless he treats you good. And he might have some issues.”
    “We all have issues.”
    “True.” She paused. “I love you, mama. Take good care of yourself.”
    “I do.”
    “I know. Okay, so then have fun and let me know how it went.”  
    She went to hang up and I cried into the phone, “Wait, what do I wear?”
    Chuckling, she asked, “Where are you going?”
    “I don’t know. He said somewhere nice.”
    “Go with classic and elegant. Sparkly top and pencil skirt.”
    “Shit, you’re right. You’re the best. Love ya.”
    I hung up, pulled on a sequined tank top that was between blush pink and bronze colored, a black pencil skirt, and my little strappy black heels. With my hair down around my shoulders and my lip gloss on, I grabbed my clutch purse. Then, leaving my room a torn-up mess, I closed my front door, locked it, and headed over to Jake’s.
    He answered the door, wearing a charcoal gray, long-sleeve, button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing his gorgeous forearms, and black slacks. He smelled like he just got out of the shower, his hair damp. He held a coat over his shoulder and stepped out, locking his door.
    “Ready?” I asked.
    “No.”  He stood, looking at me, keys dangling in his hand.
    I put my hand on my waist.  “No?”
    “I don’t want to go out anymore.”
    “But why not?” I asked, feeling indignant, having put all this work into what I was wearing.
    “Because you look so hot . . . I . . . shit . . . I don’t