Page 15 of Unhitched

“Well, at least you’ve got a sliver of safety sense,” he muses as he buckles his seatbelt.

With my music queued up, I check my mirror and blind spot before pulling onto the road and hitting play .

“Ultimate” from the Freaky Friday soundtrack starts softly in the background.

I wait a minute before I turn it up, although I spare a glance toward Kace to check his reaction.

If he has an initial feeling toward bubblegum pop, I either missed it or he’s hiding it well.

He’s just sitting there handsome as ever, gripping the “oh shit” handle like I’m incapable of merging onto the freeway.

The man needs to relax. He needs a distraction .

“I know this isn’t a real date,” I blurt, realizing immediately I’m probably making the tension worse.

He hesitates before glancing my way. A moment later, his eyes are back on the road. “Good.”

“I know I’m not ready to date.” I feel his eyes back on me as I continue driving. “And I don’t want to date you,” I amend for good measure.

“Glad we cleared that up.” His monotone voice cancels out the good vibes of the music coming through my speakers.

“Alrighty then,” I mutter to myself, and then there’s silence.

Well, silence between me and Kace.

The chorus of “Ultimate” kicks off in the catchy way that only teenage Lindsay Lohan nails.

I will never get sick of the instant serotonin boost all my girls bring me: Hilary, Lindsay, Ashlee, Jessica, Britney, Christina, Demi, Miley, Aly & AJ.

The OG versions of them, anyway. Before life aged us all and altered the meaning of songs.

I focus my eyes on the road and will myself not to have a car concert–which is nearly impossible. Changing lanes, I move to the fast lane, feeling like Frogger as I get around a semi.

We’re only halfway through the song before I realize I’m speeding because the beat has me cruising along. After slowing down to five over the limit, I become aware of Kace again. He’s staring at me. I don’t have to look at him to notice.

I feel his eyes on me for the entire three minutes that the song plays again. Somehow I can feel his grip tighten on the “oh shit” handle.

He makes it to the fourth listen before he finally says something. “Please tell me you’re not serious.”

“About what?” I feign innocence.

“The song,” he grits.

“Do you know this song?” I beam, faking excitement.

“I brush my teeth to this song.” He delivers the joke without missing a beat, completely devoid of humor. Realizing Kace might actually be funny deep down sparks so much joy for me. After a pause, he adds, “There is no way you like this song that much.”

I shrug. “It’s one of my favorites,” I say, sinking my teeth into my lip to prevent my grin from slipping through. “It’s so catchy, don’t you think?”

“Do we seriously have to listen to this the whole way there?”

“Yes. I only do this when I’m alone because I think everyone else will judge me.”

“Play annoying songs?”

“No, dummy. Put my favorite songs on repeat. Be happy I’m not starting them over whenever I zone out or get interrupted during a lyric I like.”

He mumbles something unintelligible with a slight shake of his head.

I flick my gaze toward him long enough to shoot him a wink. “Welcome to the best worst date of your life, Kace.”

Fifteen minutes later, we’re pulling into the classically crappy parking lot of Goodwill. I move to unbuckle my seatbelt and catch Kace staring at me with an eyebrow raised. “What on earth are we doing here?”

“Hey, don’t judge. What if I buy all my clothes here?”

He holds his hands up in defense. “I love your clothes, Mya.”

I narrow my eyes. “I can’t tell if you’re being funny or not.”

“I’m never being funny.”

I shrug. “I’m still holding out hope. Now, let’s go!”

I hop from the car and lock it once Kace hesitantly joins me on the curb outside the dirty tan building.

“Are you ready?” I rub my hands together.

“No.” He grimaces.

“Okay, so. This is the plan. Here’s twenty bucks.

” I pull the bill from my pocket and hold it out to him, but he just stares at it.

“Take it.” I reach out and shove the money into the front pocket of his jeans, really wedging it in there before realizing how close I am to him .

Whoops. Pulling my hand back, I continue.

“We’re both going in there to pick out an outfit for each other.

The only requirement is to pick something you think perfectly fits the other’s personality.

Although, it’ll be more fun if we also pick the most ridiculous version of an outfit. ”

“You’re way too excited about this.”

“How could I not be? This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Kace.”

“Or is it my worst nightmare?”

“No way. Part two is your worst nightmare.” I bend over in a fit of giggles, knowing what comes next. When I finally regain my composure, I find Kace still stone-faced, his arms folded across his chest.

He sighs. “How did I let you rope me into this?”

“Must be my charming personality.” I grin. He raises his brow. “My hard-to-resist face?”

“Yeah. You’re lucky you’re cute,” he mutters before turning on his heel and reaching for the door handle.

My mouth falls open as I walk backward through the door he holds open.

Did he just admit he’s attracted to me? I’m not sure if he’s being serious, but on the off chance he’s joking, I play it off to be safe.

“You think I’m cute?!” I’m tempted to prance around like Rudolph screaming, “I’m cute!

I’m cute!” when Clarice notices him, but I won’t push my luck.

“Go.” He holds his hand in front of us to point inside. “Let’s get this over with.”

“See ya on the other side!” I stick out my tongue, throwing a peace sign behind me as I skip toward the men’s section. I think I hear a chuckle in my wake, but even if I didn’t, I’m choosing to live in denial about it.

Sorting through the racks, I think about how I view Kace.

It’s not a secret he’s guarded. It’s clear from how we met that someone hurt him.

And in the way he’s made it clear we would never date.

I genuinely don’t think it’s my ego believing it has more to do with dating in general than specifically a me thing.

He doesn’t know me well enough to know he doesn’t want to date me.

It’s more than that. He’s overly cautious of everything.

Strangers. Drinks. Locked doors. I can’t help but wonder if it’s who he is at the core or if it's a side effect of being hurt so badly that all he wants is to be in control. There’s nothing wrong with the safety-forward part of his personality.

It’s just… I can’t help but believe there’s a side of him that doesn’t want to be so stressed all the time too.

A part of him that wants to have fun but he doesn’t feel safe enough to do so.

Maybe that’s me being a typical “but I can fix him” girl.

I slide another hanger across the rack, this time with more intention and awareness as I examine the shirt.

It’s a vintage pattern that reminds me of those white paper cups with the light blue and purple zigzag through the middle.

.. Jazz cups ? I think that’s what they’re called. It’s fun, but not what I’m looking for.

Next.

The metal hanger screeches across the bar as I push it to the side. This one is a no-go too. I swipe the next shirt out of the way to find a puffy vest mixed in.

Oh. My. God.

Light bulb.

It’s tan–that burnt brown shade that only people in the Pacific Northwest can pull off. The top has a Lion King vibes sunset scene printed onto the plastic-y fabric, and all I can see is Adam Brody as Seth Cohen on The O.C.

Yanking the vest from the rack, I drape it over my arm while I find the second piece I need in the button-up section. It doesn’t take me long to find the perfect shirt–a light blue long-sleeve with faint pink pinstripes. “Perfect.” I squeal to myself.

Thankful that Kace can wear the jeans he currently has on with this, I make my way to the register, shocked to find him waiting for me with a bag in his hand. I try to distinguish what he picked, but all I can see is a teal fabric barely poking out of the plastic .

“Ready?” I exclaim as both a statement and a question as we walk out the door, bags in hand.

“No,” he says with an annoyed look in his eyes that makes it very believable.

I grin wider. “Channel your inner Carl Allen. Today is more of a yes day, don’t you think?”

“No,” he repeats.

“You could just agree to let me pay part of the rent, and this can all be over with a snap of my fingers.” I mimic the movement with my free hand.

“Or I could kick you out.”

Panic constricts my voice box. My body is physically frozen, but my mind is running a 5k.

Would he really kick me out? He didn’t have to agree to this in the first place.

Should I just concede? Should I have planned something that he would actually think is fun?

Although I thought maybe, regardless of how crazy today’s plan is, he might enjoy himself and relax a little.

“Jesus fuck, Mya. Take a breath. I’m not going to kick you out.”

A rush of air leaves me. “Okay.” My next breath brings frustration.

“Harsh much?” I still don’t really understand why he did this in the first place.

Is it just because he felt guilty about me sleeping in my car?

It probably would have been easier to find me a Craigslist roommate.

I chuckle to myself. Kace. A Craigslist roommate.

That’s definitely something he would never allow.

Not even if we were in the 90s when kids were safe to play in the neighborhood on their own and just come home when the street lights kicked on.

“You’d think you’d at least try to have fun for the sake of winning. ”

“Are we doing this or not? I’m assuming you will make me wear something ridiculous in public?”