I sat at the table for a long time, staring down the staircase McKayla had just graced with her soft steps. In my mind's eye, all I could see was the provocative sway of her hips, the wave of her hair, and I wondered what I had just gotten myself in to.
The next afternoon, I buzzed about my apartment. No matter what I did, I couldn't get the butterflies in my stomach to settle down. My pulse raced with the first date anticipation that was a combination of delight, nerves, fear and arousal.
My look needed to be just right. I washed and dried my hair. I checked the clock. I got dressed. I put my hair up. I put my make up on. I let my hair down. I checked the clock again.
I paced around my apartment. I changed my earrings. I put on a different blouse. I put my hair up again. Ten years ago, I had my first date with a guy named Jason Hager and that wasn't half as nerve-wracking as this day.
Finally, I settled on a button-down white blouse over a maroon tank top with a short—but not too short—skirt. She said we were going some place casual, but I hoped I wasn't too casual.
As I stared at the mirror for the millionth time, I heard a knock at the door. The clock read 4:58. That was McKayla: always on time if not a little early.
I spritzed myself with perfume then went to the door. I took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly, trying to will the tension and nervousness away. It didn't work.
My heart racing, I opened the door.
McKayla stood there. Her hair was pulled back, highlighting her delicate features. She smelled of sweet vanilla lotion.
A long moment passed.
"Ready to go?" she asked, breaking the silence.
"Sure," I managed to smile.
"I know a little Italian place just up the road," she said as we walked towards her car.
"That sounds great." I didn't know what to say or do. It was like I was 14 again and she was the captain of the football team while I was the nerdy girl from the back row in geometry class. She was way out of my league and I was in over my head.
We got in her car, a sporty little BMW convertible. Red, of course. The top was down and the drive to the restaurant was quick.
The hostess seated us at a table tucked away in the back. The lights were low. McKayla's eyes glimmered in the candlelight.
I nervously looked over the menu, but I didn't have much of an appetite. I can't remember what I ordered; I just know I didn't eat much of it.
Another uncomfortable silence fell over us.
"Why did you ask me out?" McKayla said, not beating around the bush.