For the past twenty minutes, I’d made a damn mess of my room. Pile of clothes stacked on the bed, all from trying to figure out what the hell to wear for our date. Nerves had already set in—deep in my gut like a weight I couldn’t shake. I hadn’t been on a date since getting out, and I didn’t want to screw this up.

We met a few weeks ago—your car was busted, and I offered to fix it. The truth is, I took my time on purpose. Just to keep you around a little longer. I guess that’s when I knew you weren’t like the rest. And now here I was... standing in front of my mirror, trying not to look like a damn fool.

I tossed the suit jacket onto the floor with a groan. Too formal. I didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard, but I sure as hell didn’t want to come off casual either. I wanted to look good—for you. I wanted to be the kind of man you'd be proud to stand next to.

Eventually, I settled on a white dress shirt and dark slacks. Clean. Simple. Solid. I cleaned myself up, slapped on my best cologne, even slicked back my hair, and got in the car before I could psych myself out.

Your place wasn’t anything fancy—standard townhouse, a couple of preschool drawings taped up in the window, a white bike leaning near the porch. There was a long-haired cat lounging outside, cleaning itself without a care in the world. Lucky bastard.

I checked the mirror one last time, gave myself a nod, then stepped out. My boots hit the stairs a little too heavy, and by the time I got to your door, I had to take a breath just to steady my damn heartbeat. I knocked.

Then began the agonizing wait but luckily I didn't even have to wait long. You opened the door and—damn.

"Wow..." I said, voice lower than I meant it to be. My throat felt dry as hell.

"You look... beautiful." Your cheeks flushed that soft pink, and it hit me like a punch to the chest. I swear, I nearly lost my footing. Right then and there, I knew: I was in trouble.