Page 39 of Good Girl’s Guide to Love (Guide to Love #4)

ainsley

“Nope. Next option.”

I turn to Stella, who’s sitting on my bed, looking me up and down in a way that I’m not too sure I like. “What? Why?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know…it just needs something.”

I look back at the mirror and check myself out in the white, floral tea-length sundress that I picked for the night. I mean, sure, maybe a necklace or bracelet, but other than that, I don’t know what “something” could mean.

“I think I have some jewelry I can wear,” I say, walking to my vanity. But Stella doesn’t answer me. Instead she jumps up from the bed and marches into my closet. “What are you doing?”

“Finding you something else to wear.”

I look to the mirror, trying to see what she doesn’t like. “I like this dress. I feel pretty in it.”

“You are. You’re gorgeous, and that’s not what I’m saying.” She trails off, and as I look over, I see articles of clothing actually flying out of my closet. “But it’s a white floral dress for a date night. At a dark-lit, fancy restaurant. That’s not a sundress occasion. You need something…more.”

“Well, I don’t know what ‘more’ is, but I don’t think you’re going to find it in my closet. Not since you moved out.”

If there’s a fashionista of the family, Stella is the clear winner.

Funny enough, Simon comes in second. She’s always wanted me to dress a little edgier on certain occasions, or wear something a little more revealing, but I’ve always politely declined.

Thankfully, we’re not the same size so she can’t force me to wear a crop top or a form-fitting dress.

I’ll stick to my sundresses and rompers, thank you very much.

“Do you still not own anything fitted?”

I laugh and sit down at my vanity, figuring I’ll finish my makeup while Stella digs for things that don’t exist. “I think you know that answer.”

“I don’t know why you’re against the notion of a bodysuit,” she says. “You can pull it off. Your curves would look fucking amazing in one.”

“It’s not a body image reason, I just don’t feel comfortable,” I defend. “And shouldn’t you feel comfortable in the clothes you wear?”

Stella lets out a bark of a laugh. “No. Comfort has no place in clothing. Or in shoe selection.”

I love my sister, impractical shoe collection and all.

When I told her I had a date tonight, she didn’t hesitate to tell me in no uncertain terms that she’d be coming over and helping me get ready.

Because that’s what she’s always done when I’ve had a date in the past. No mind that I’m twenty-nine years old and am plenty capable of getting ready on my own.

But this is what we do. I have a date. She comes over to talk me down from my nervousness.

She tries to get me to wear something out of my comfort zone. I tell her no with a smile.

I needed this tonight. Stella being here is the one thing giving me normalcy for a date that’s in no way normal.

She’s my best friend in the world. She’s the sibling closest to my age.

We grew up sharing a bedroom and then lived together after college.

She knows me better than anyone on this planet.

Which is why it’s killing me that I can’t tell her that the date she’s getting me ready for is nothing but a publicity stunt.

When Linc messaged me the name of the restaurant the other day, he confirmed to me that there would be “random” cameras that we might see when we enter or exit the restaurant.

Then, I received a text from Katie, who apparently now has a group text going for the three of us, confirming the cameras and how we’re supposed to act.

We always need to be holding hands or some sort of touch. We need to look happy. But also we need to make sure we’re never looking directly at the cameras.

So now, not only am I nervous because the restaurant Linc picked is super fancy and I have no clue what I’m going to order, despite studying the menu nonstop for two days, but now I have to not think about people taking our pictures from bushes.

My brain hurts, and for the first time in my life, I think I actually need a drink.

“What’s your schedule like the rest of the week?” Stella calls from the closet.

“I work Sunday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. I might pick up another shift, but then Friday before being off for the weekend.”

“Just wanted to know what days you’re free for me to take you shopping,” she says. “If you’re dating a Fury player, we need to do something about your wardrobe.”

“My wardrobe is fine,” I say. “But I do need some new shoes if you want to go still.”

The word “shoes” is always a solid way to get my sister’s attention. “Shoes, you say? What do you need? Heels? Wedges? Boots?”

I shake my head. “No. It’s that time for some new work tennis shoes. Mine have worn out.”

Stella’s shoulders slump. “Get me all excited just to tell me we’re going for some white sneakers with three-inch cushions.”

“Exactly,” I say as my phone vibrates with an alert. “Oh. Linc’s here.”

Now, normally for a first date I’d meet the guy at the restaurant.

Dating 101 dictates that it’s better to have an out and not be committed to using him for transportation in fear that it goes bad.

But Katie was adamant that Linc pick me up, just in case someone realized that we arrived separate, and I’m now being greeted at my door by my fake boyfriend.

“Okay, let me look at you,” she says as I stand up, grabbing the white designer purse Maeve got me for my birthday last year. “Are you sure you don’t have anything form fitting? Maybe in the little black dress variety?”

“I think you would’ve found it by now.”

I give my sister a quick kiss on the cheek and tell her thanks when I hear a knock on the door.

I know I shouldn’t feel nervous, but I am.

Though, that can probably be chalked up to never going on a fake date before, and the fact that I’m just now starting to overthink all of this as I open my door should indicate how nervous I am.

“Hey…” I meant to say more, but that one word died on my lips when I see Linc standing in my doorway.

The crisp white shirt he’s wearing pops against his tanned skin. He’s paired it with a pressed pair of khaki pants and brown dress shoes. Which, when I look down is when I realize that his cuffs are rolled to his forearm, showing his sleeve of tattoos.

Also, when did forearms become sexy?

I quickly look back up, realizing that I’m staring, which is when I see that he’s staring too. At least I think he is. Maybe. I don’t want to assume and be conceited. But he hasn’t blinked, and I’m now wondering if I left on my eye masks.

“Hey to you, too,” he says just before running his hand over his mouth.

Neither of us say anything more for another moment, and it’s just about to become awkward when my sister comes in to save the day.

“Well, then,” Stella says, sliding up next to me. “Maybe the sundress was the right call. You two kids have fun tonight. Don’t do anything Quinn wouldn’t do.”

“Right this way, Mr. Kincaid.”

Linc places his hand on the small of my back as we follow the hostess to the booth in a low-lit, five-star restaurant just off of Broadway. We’re seated against a window—which I’m guessing is on purpose—but I can’t complain. Not with the view of the Cumberland River at dusk.

“Welcome,” our server says. “Can I start you both off with a cocktail? Martini? A craft beer? Bourbon?”

I shake my head. “Can I get a club soda with a splash of cranberry and a lime? And a water with lemon, please?”

Our waitress just smiles and nods. “Absolutely. And for you sir?”

“Just water,” Linc says.

“No problem. Please let me know if you have any questions on the menu. And our appetizer special tonight is Oysters Rockefeller. We also have a dry-aged prime ribeye with a roasted bone marrow butter and charred cipollini onions.”

Our waitress is a few steps away before I watch Linc open his menu. I do the same, wondering what the heck I’m going to eat, because it’s not whatever she talked about. I’m not exactly a fancy eater, but normally I can find something that I know what it is and might even enjoy it.

But as I read through the menu today, and yesterday, and the night before, and now, I’m not quite sure what I’m looking at. And I’m clearly not going to ask the server a question about anything, because I’d rather suffer than ask for help that I’m sure she’d be glad to give me.

I look over to Linc, who’s reading the menu as intently as I was earlier. He hasn’t said much to me since we left my apartment. Actually, now that I think about it, he hasn’t said anything.

Oh no…what did I do?

I retrace our steps since leaving my apartment. He offered to get us a ride share so I didn’t have to walk in my wedge sandals, which I thought was very gentlemanly.

Except he didn’t say anything in the ten-minute ride to the restaurant.

When we arrived, Linc was polite, getting out of the car first to make sure he came around to my side, giving me his hand to help me out of the car.

His hand was on the small of my back as we took the few short steps from the car to the doors of the restaurant, and even inside, he always had some sort of contact to me.

Which was exactly what Katie told him to do.

Okay, so maybe it isn’t me. Because I don’t know what I could’ve done.

I look at him across the table as he intently studies the menu, trying to figure out what he’s thinking.

I feel like I’m getting to know him a little more every day, but I don’t know him well enough yet to know all his looks and tells.

He looks stressed. Uncomfortable. Like this is the last place he wants to be.

Oh gosh…is he rethinking this? I mean, he has every right to.

He said he’s not a relationship guy, and maybe even this is too much for him?

We agreed the second that this wasn’t working for us anymore, that we’d cut ties.

No questions asked. But I didn’t think it would end before it really even began.

Or maybe I should’ve bought a little black dress…