Page 38: “Enthusiasm matters more than experience.”
I really appreciated that last one. Enthusiasm, I can manage. As for the rest… Preparation is control. Control is key.
My phone buzzes. A text from Mom:Dinner in 30. Don’t be late!
Right. Dinner. The meal where I’ll have to sit across from Harper and pretend I’m not thinking about tonight. Pretend my hands aren’t shaking. Pretend I don’t have a dozen explicit scenes running through my head on repeat.
I should be terrified.
I amterrified.
But underneath the terror is something else. Pure adrenaline and the sense of readiness and rightness. Like every careful, controlled choice I’ve made my entire life has been leading to this moment.
To her.
I return the books, checking out none of them because that would leave a paper trail. But I don’t need them anymore. I’ve memorized what matters.
Tonight, I’m going to make sure Harper Tucker knows exactly how much I’ve been waiting for her.
Even if she doesn’t know she’s what I’ve been waiting for.
10:47p.m.
Checklist:
Showered: Yes. Used the good soap. Brushed teeth twice.
Bed made: Yes. Changed the sheets. Hospital corners.
Lamp on: Yes. Soft light, not too bright.
Door locked: Yes. Checked three times.
Chair wedged under the handle for good measure.: Yes. Extra security.
Condoms in drawer: Yes. Box of 12. Even number. Good.
Wait. Does she expect me to have condoms? She had one last time. Does that mean she’s bringing one? Or does she expect me to provide them?
Shit. Should I have the condoms visible? Or is that presumptuous?
I check my phone: 10:48 p.m.
One minute has passed.
How many minutes until she comes? 10 minutes? 30 minutes? An hour?
My hands are shaking. I shove them under the pillow.
Count backwards from 100 by 7s: 100, 93, 86, 79, 72, 65...
It’s not working.
Nothing works when it comes to Harper.
My podcast plays in the background—something about the history of the Roman Empire—but I can’t focus on a single word. My mind keeps circling back to the same spiral: What if she doesn’t come? What if she does? What if I mess this up? What if it’s perfect and she still chooses to leave?