Read Online First Comes Love by Katie Kacvinsky - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Katie Kacvinsky
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“It’s a dive, but the food is unbelievable. Best biscuits and gravy in the city.”
“I’ll pick you up at eight.”
“Eight in the morning?”
She ignores my concern with sleeping in. “We have a lot of ground to cover. Start making a list.”
When she drops me off, I get out of the car and my head feels lighter. For the first time in years, I feel like there’s life after death.
***
I’m trying to sleep,
but too many thoughts are spilling over my mind. I want to catch them and coax them to sleep so I can sleep, but they’re determined to make me think. And I’m thinking about one girl in particular.
What the hell is happening between me and Dylan? Everything is backwards with this girl. Call me close-minded, but usually dates don’t involve celebrating the life of a dead relative. It doesn’t exactly set the mood for romance. Then again, is this even a date?
I’m not a licensed relationship expert, but in my experience when you’re interested in someone things progress in predictable (and usually painful) phases: You check her out and catch her checking you out. You picture her naked, while she likes to refer to the mutual sexual attraction as “chemistry.” Now it’s time for the personality profiling. You make small talk between classes or after school or at work. You attempt to show subtle interest without being too obvious—it’s all about maintaining mysterious indifference. If you come on too strong you’re labeled as desperate, or a stalker. Overeagerness is up there with serial killer status as a way to fend off possible love interest. It’s a careful balance, like a tightrope you need to cross over those first few weeks.
You play it safe. Send witty text messages. Make sure you’ve downloaded your best pictures online: you rock climbing (your adventurous, athletic side), playing Scrabble with Grandma (your easygoing, sensitive side), a group shot of you and your friends (Mr. Popular). There’s only one conclusion to draw from this digital slideshow: You’re a Catch. Once that definitive answer is reached, eventually, you hang out in person and let your oddball shine through. And this is usually when things go bad, or like Amanda and I used to say, when the cheese gets old and moldy.
What I don’t think is normal is anything that defines my relationship with Dylan. I still don’t even have her phone number. Tonight I spent half the time thinking about kissing her. Wondering how she’d react. Wondering when I should try.
I can’t even figure out if she wants me to kiss her. She holds my hand and calls me cute, but girls hold each other’s hands and call each other cute (kind of a turn-on, actually), so what am I? What if she just sees me as a brother type? God, no, please. What if she ropes me into her random plans because she wants a buddy? A sidekick? She doesn’t really flirt with me. She touches me, but she doesn’t stare into my eyes like girls do when they want you to kiss them, with that dreamy, lovesick gaze.
I played the leaning game tonight. It’s this stupid theory I’ve heard, that if she leans her legs or shoulders or head toward you, it’s body language saying she likes you. But this girl doesn’t sit still long enough to confirm anything other than she’s hyper.
I’m at a critical point here where I could miss my opportunity and fall into the dreaded and irreversible Friend Zone, the ultimate dead end. Every guy’s greatest fear and deepest remorse.
But how am I supposed to set the mood when Dylan could win an award for the most awkward dating ideas of all time?
First Trust
Dylan
I pull into his driveway at
and before I turn off the engine the front door opens and Gray walks out in his usual T-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops. I stick my head out of the car window and frown.
“You’re missing something,” I inform him. He assumes I’m referring to the fact that he’s hatless today. He shrugs and runs his hand through his hair, which, no matter
“I’ll pick you up at eight.”
“Eight in the morning?”
She ignores my concern with sleeping in. “We have a lot of ground to cover. Start making a list.”
When she drops me off, I get out of the car and my head feels lighter. For the first time in years, I feel like there’s life after death.
***
I’m trying to sleep,
but too many thoughts are spilling over my mind. I want to catch them and coax them to sleep so I can sleep, but they’re determined to make me think. And I’m thinking about one girl in particular.
What the hell is happening between me and Dylan? Everything is backwards with this girl. Call me close-minded, but usually dates don’t involve celebrating the life of a dead relative. It doesn’t exactly set the mood for romance. Then again, is this even a date?
I’m not a licensed relationship expert, but in my experience when you’re interested in someone things progress in predictable (and usually painful) phases: You check her out and catch her checking you out. You picture her naked, while she likes to refer to the mutual sexual attraction as “chemistry.” Now it’s time for the personality profiling. You make small talk between classes or after school or at work. You attempt to show subtle interest without being too obvious—it’s all about maintaining mysterious indifference. If you come on too strong you’re labeled as desperate, or a stalker. Overeagerness is up there with serial killer status as a way to fend off possible love interest. It’s a careful balance, like a tightrope you need to cross over those first few weeks.
You play it safe. Send witty text messages. Make sure you’ve downloaded your best pictures online: you rock climbing (your adventurous, athletic side), playing Scrabble with Grandma (your easygoing, sensitive side), a group shot of you and your friends (Mr. Popular). There’s only one conclusion to draw from this digital slideshow: You’re a Catch. Once that definitive answer is reached, eventually, you hang out in person and let your oddball shine through. And this is usually when things go bad, or like Amanda and I used to say, when the cheese gets old and moldy.
What I don’t think is normal is anything that defines my relationship with Dylan. I still don’t even have her phone number. Tonight I spent half the time thinking about kissing her. Wondering how she’d react. Wondering when I should try.
I can’t even figure out if she wants me to kiss her. She holds my hand and calls me cute, but girls hold each other’s hands and call each other cute (kind of a turn-on, actually), so what am I? What if she just sees me as a brother type? God, no, please. What if she ropes me into her random plans because she wants a buddy? A sidekick? She doesn’t really flirt with me. She touches me, but she doesn’t stare into my eyes like girls do when they want you to kiss them, with that dreamy, lovesick gaze.
I played the leaning game tonight. It’s this stupid theory I’ve heard, that if she leans her legs or shoulders or head toward you, it’s body language saying she likes you. But this girl doesn’t sit still long enough to confirm anything other than she’s hyper.
I’m at a critical point here where I could miss my opportunity and fall into the dreaded and irreversible Friend Zone, the ultimate dead end. Every guy’s greatest fear and deepest remorse.
But how am I supposed to set the mood when Dylan could win an award for the most awkward dating ideas of all time?
First Trust
Dylan
I pull into his driveway at
and before I turn off the engine the front door opens and Gray walks out in his usual T-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops. I stick my head out of the car window and frown.
“You’re missing something,” I inform him. He assumes I’m referring to the fact that he’s hatless today. He shrugs and runs his hand through his hair, which, no matter
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