like I just went a few rounds in a UFC title fight, of which I lost all three convincingly.
Now that it’s all flooding back to me I kind of wish I’d drank enough to have blacked out and lost all of my memory. But nope, here I am all lucid with a pounding migraine—the cost of having a good time.
A good time with Conor seems to always come with a cost, and it’s all coming back to me now. The agreement. The Mexican place. The margaritas. The kiss. Let’s pause on that part a second. I kissed Conor Durden, and I kissed him because I wanted to, not because of the alcohol.
Okay, I am officially getting old.
But my age can wait. I mean, technically it can’t, but I have more important things to worry about right now—like the fact that I kissed Conor, and the fact that I meant it. I’m thinking back to yesterday, trying to remember exactly what happened.
My phone is vibrating. I feel stupid for getting anxiety from a vibrating phone, but that’s exactly what’s happening. Why does he make me so nervous? Why am I even assuming that it’s him on the phone? Well, ‘cause I kissed him out of nowhere, knowing that he’s been trying to sleep with me for a month, and then I jumped in a Uber and didn’t text him.
Yeah, that’s definitely him.
Time to face the music. I open my phone. Oh, it’s Tori. What was I so. . . oh, there’s another text, and guess who that’s from?
Of course I’m going to answer Tori first because, reasons.
Me: Hey.
Tori: Morning. How’d it go?
Me: That’s a simple question with a complicated answer.
Tori: Oh no.
Me: Yeah. Lunch?
Tori: Send me the time and place. Say hi to Conor for me.
Me: I sure won’t. Text you in a little bit.
Tori: Okay.
Now I can’t ignore his text any longer. What if he’s mad? What if he told me that he’s going to send his creepy alpha male army after me again? What if. . . oh, wait, he just said hi. I can deal with ‘hi’.
Me: Sorry I passed out. I wasn’t ghosting you again.
He writes back really fast.
Conor: Let’s have a no ghosting policy, okay?
Me: Deal. I’m sorry I ran off yesterday, I wasn’t feeling good.
Conor: Are you feeling better now?
Me: Much. Thanks for asking.
Conor: You’re welcome.
I don’t know what to write back, so I get up and make myself a cup of coffee while I wait for him to say something else. Five minutes later he still hasn’t texted anything.
Me: What’s up? Just checking in on me?
Conor: That, and I also wanted to work out some details. I’d rather not wait too long for us to collaborate.
Right. Collaboration. Not kissing. Is it weird he wants to talk about vlogging right now and not the fact that we swapped spit on the streets of Manhattan about twelve hours ago? Was it a bad kiss? Is he disappointed? And even if he is, why do I care? Stop thinking and answer him.
Me: Sure. I just haven’t had time to think about it at all, I passed out practically as soon as I got home.
Conor: I wore you out, huh?
I don’t know why I read that in his alpha speech voice, but I do.
Me: You, and the margarita. I’ve become a light weight.
Conor: It’s okay, I wasn’t looking for an answer now, just soon. That and I did want to check that everything went okay last night.
Okay? What does that mean? Is he trying to get me to say he was a good kisser—which he totally was, by the way, my whole body felt that kiss.
Me: It went great. I had a good time.
Boom. Compliment him while still being super vague as to what you’re complimenting!
Conor: Good. I would like to see you again. . . to discuss the details.
Me: So are you asking me out on a second date?
Conor: Half date, half appointment.
Me: Then I fully accept your half date half appointment hybrid invitation.
Conor: How about tomorrow? My place?
Woah. He just escalated that fast. Dinner is one thing. A kiss is one thing. But doing either at his place is a whole other level. And that’s a bad thing, why?
Me: Sure. Text me the address.
Whore. I’m such a whore.
Conor: Great. I thought for sure you’d say no to that.
Me too. But, you know, whore.
Me: Don’t be so negative.
Conor: Alright, I’ll try. I’ll text you all the info later.
Me: Sounds good.
Why is my heart beating so fast? Oh,