17
“You look very nice,” Holden says, holding the car door open. It’s a newer model Volkswagen, the Zipcar logo on the side bolstering Holden’s hipster reputation.
“You too.” It’s a reflex response—he actually looks the same as he always does, which isn’t bad. More corduroy. Another vest. He does have lovely curls and a nice smile. His pants are too loose to really get a fix on his physique, but I’m not one of those women who has to date a cover model for Men’s Fitness. In fact, I’m not one of those women who dates. Period.
Anxiety like a tongue against a 9-volt makes me want to chew down my fingernails. But they’re freshly painted, thanks to Gretchen attacking me with her beautifying routine. The nails feel weird, though. Like my fingers can’t breathe. I’m sure I will have the Blushing
