The Onesie Date

The Onesie Date – Part One You know what people say about dating apps? That they're full of creepy, lustful losers who don't know what they want. And yeah, that's probably true. But with him... it felt different. Let me back up. I'm Iliza. Twenty-three years old, final year of college. I don't party. I don't drink. But that doesn't mean I'm fun at parties. Truth is, I just don't know how to socialize. I freeze up in crowds. I laugh at the wrong moments. I'd rather scroll on my phone in bed than make small talk with strangers. So yeah, I'm the kind of boring who goes to campus twice a week, scrolls on her phone all day, and never quite gets around to fixing her nails. My hair is always a mess. And honestly? I was fine being single. I'm used to it. The only one who isn't fine with it is my best friend and roommate, Lisa. Lisa is my opposite. She thinks I'm going to die alone if I keep hiding in my room with no social media. So one night, she grabbed my phone. "Can I borrow this for a minute? Just want to download something." I handed it over. Five minutes later, she screamed. "You've got a match!" "Match on what? What are you talking about?" "A dating app. He's literally twenty minutes away." I looked at the screen. And damn. The hottest man I'd ever seen. Muscles. Tall. A tattoo. "No way. He's out of my league. I'm not texting him. Is he even real? He looks mixed. He'll never go for a girl like me. I'm nobody from the rural areas. He's from the city. His inbox is probably full." Before I could finish, my phone buzzed again. Lisa's eyes went wide. "You're not gonna believe this. He texted you." "What he say? What he say?" She grinned. "You look beautiful." We started screaming and jumping on the bed like idiots. His name was Dylan. Twenty-six. A primary school teacher. Three years older than me. We clicked immediately. Chatted for hours. Days. Until one night he asked to meet. I panicked. What if he didn't like me in person? What if he wasn't who he said he was? What if the whole Mr. Christianity thing was an act? "What if you don't like me?" I texted back. "Just drop your location. I'll be there in five minutes. We can meet outside. It's fine." "But it's late. It's 7 PM. How about tomorrow?" "Tomorrow you'll say next day, and next day will be that day. Send me your location. I just came from rugby practice, and I really want to see you." "You play rugby? No wonder you've got that body." He replied with a winking emoji. "Owww, so you've been stalking me, ma'am? I'll be there just now, okay?" I called Lisa, who was at her boyfriend's place. "Come home now! He's on his way. What do I wear?" "Just be yourself. The real you." Then a notification: "I'm outside." I ran around my room like a chicken. Ended up grabbing my baggy onesie and throwing it on. Then I went outside. I stood by the front door, waiting for an Uber to pull up, not realizing he was already right in front of me. Sitting in a BMW. He got out. Hugged me tight. Opened the passenger door. "Wait. You drive?" He laughed. "Yeah, sorry. Forgot to mention. You look beautiful, by the way. I like your eyes. Your hair. And your little tiny hands." He smiled and brushed my hair out of my face. I froze. He was even more handsome in person. "You okay? You're quiet." "Damn," I breathed. "You're so handsome." We both laughed. And just like that, we connected. He told me his love language was physical touch — that's why he kept reaching for my hand. But I couldn't wait to get back inside and tell Lisa everything. So I cut it short. "I gotta go. I have an assignment." "Oh, already? Okay. Meet up again next time?" "Sure." I reached for the door handle. That's when he grabbed my hand and kissed me. Softest lips I'd ever felt. Best kiss of my life. Then I panicked and ran inside. After I ran, my phone buzzed. "That was awesome. And that onesie looks good on you." I laughed so hard I cried. I couldn't sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt his lips on mine. Soft. Warm. Like he meant it. Lisa made me tell her everything three times. Then she made me text him back. "Say something cute," she said. "Like what?" "I don't know. Say 'I ran because you stole my breath.'" "That's corny." "So are you. Just text him." I typed and deleted about fourteen messages. Finally, I sent: "Thanks for the kiss. Sorry for running." He replied almost instantly: "Don't be sorry. It was cute. Can I see you tomorrow?" I looked at Lisa. She was already screaming yes. "Okay. But no kissing this time. I need to mentally prepare." "Deal. Pick you up at 6?" "Okay." "Wear the onesie." I snorted so loud Lisa fell off the bed. --- The next day came faster than I wanted. I spent an hour in front of my closet, then another hour telling myself it didn't matter what I wore because he'd probably ghost me anyway. Lisa shoved me out the door. "Go. Have fun. Be weird. He likes weird." Dylan was already outside. Leaning against his BMW like a movie poster. He smiled when he saw me. "You wore the onesie." "I don't own other clothes." "Liar. Get in." We drove around for hours. No plan. Just music and talking. He told me about his students, the ones who made him laugh and the ones who made him want to quit. I told him about my village, the red dirt roads, the way my mom hummed while she cooked. "You're different," he said at a red light. "Different how?" "I don't know. Real. Most girls try too hard. You don't try at all." "Is that a compliment?" He looked at me. "Yeah. It is." My stomach did something weird. I looked out the window so he wouldn't see me smile. Weeks passed like that. Him picking me up. Me pretending I wasn't counting the minutes until he texted. We talked every night. Sometimes until 3am. I learned that he snored. He learned that I bite my nails when I'm nervous. Then one night, he asked me to go to the beach. My birthday was coming up, and Lisa had to go home because her brother was sick. I told him I'd never had a real birthday celebration. "Then we'll make one," he said. "Just you and me." He picked me up on Friday. No flowers. No big speech. Just him in a plain white shirt and that same easy smile. On the way, he played Justin Bieber — "My Favorite Girl" — and sang at the top of his lungs. I joined in. We were both terrible. Neither of us cared. At the beach, we walked along the water. The waves were loud. The moon was full. And for a few minutes, I forgot to be scared. "So," he said, "when was your last relationship?" "Last year. Yours?" He was quiet for a moment. "Few months ago. It was four years." "Four years? That's a long time. You must miss her." He stopped walking. Turned to face me. "No. If I did, I wouldn't be here with you." I looked away. My face was burning. "Why do you blush every time I look at you?" he asked. "Do you like me, Iliza?" I lifted my chin. "Like you? No. I don't like you. And I'm not blushing."