“I have a little bit on already. Some mascara,” I answer. “And my lip gloss is in my purse.”

She gives me a look. One that says “you’ve got to be kidding.” “That you say ‘my lip gloss’ like it’s the only one you own scares me.”

“It is the only one I own. You know this.” I don’t wear a lot of makeup and I don’t have the money to buy a bunch of stuff, so I don’t waste it. I have one great L’Oréal lip gloss I bought at Target a year ago and I use it sparingly.

“You’re a travesty to all women, especially ones who would die to go on a date with Owen Maguire. He’s, like, the hottest man alive. And he’s only a sophomore. We have many years of him on campus still.” She digs through her drawer, pulling out all sorts of mysterious stuff. “I’m doing your makeup. I’ll do a really smoky eye and then keep the rest of your face relatively clean. We’ll slick your lips with that special singular lip gloss you own, and then he’ll want to kiss it all off when he sees you.”

My cheeks grow so hot they must be blazing pink. Kari laughs when she sees my face and shakes her head. “You won’t need any blush if you keep that up.”

I could punch her for giving me grief. Instead, I let her work her magic. Applying what feels like layer after layer of way-too-dark shadow on my eyes, then nearly poking my eyes out with the mascara wand. She won’t let me look at my reflection until she’s done and I wait in fidgety anticipation, both excited to see the result and afraid I’ll look absolutely ridiculous.

It’s a chance I don’t mind taking. I want to look beautiful for Owen. Like a sophisticated woman who knows exactly what she’s doing versus the naïve, silly girl I really am.

He already pretty much knows the real you and despite it all, he still asked you out.

I’m totally ignoring the naggy voice inside my head.

“Okay. I’m done.” Kari steps back from me, assessing her work with a shrewd eye. “Wow, you look gorgeous if I do say so myself.”

“Can I see?” She grabs my shoulders and turns me this way and that, totally checking me over. “Please?”

“Yes.” She turns me toward the mirror slowly. “See what the makeup master did.”

I stare at my reflection, shocked that I’m staring back at myself. I look so different. Not overly made up or crazy-looking but definitely … older. My skin is flawless. The eye shadow I feared was too dark actually accentuates my blue eyes, making them look brighter and giving them a smoky, sexy glow.

“Wow,” I whisper.

She nudges my shoulder with hers. “I know, right? Your eyes really pop.”

“They do.” I turn to the right, then to the left. I wonder what Owen will think. Will he like it? Some guys don’t like makeup. “Thank you, Kari. You did a great job.”

“You’re welcome. Are you going to change?”

I shake my head, embarrassment making my cheeks redden again. “He asked that I keep the sweater on.”

She laughs, sweeping all the cosmetics she used back into the drawer before she slams it shut. “Why am I not surprised? I’m sure the sweater distracted him. Well, more like your bra did.”

I roll my eyes but laugh with her. She’s right. I know the bra distracted him.

And I’m hopeful I can distract him some more.

Chelsea

His eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he came to my apartment to pick me up. The look on Owen’s face alone was worth the drill Kari had put me through as she remade my face. Not that she’d asked too many outrageous questions or anything like that. I just … it’s hard talking about Owen and me and what we share.

First, there’s not much to tell. Second, whatever is going on between us feels so fresh and special and new, I really don’t want to talk about it.

I’m still trying to figure it all out.

We’re quiet on the ride over to the restaurant, the air within the confines of his relatively new and surprisingly clean car filled with some sort of foreign tension that I’m pretty sure is sexual. I may be a virgin and horribly inexperienced with guys, but I’m no idiot.

I’m ultra aware of him and how he looks, what he smells like, how he moves. The subtlest shift of his body as he settles in the driver’s seat, the tension in his arms, how his big hands grip the steering wheel. The thick muscles in his thighs draw my attention and I can easily imagine reaching out and resting my hand there. Slowly curling it around so that my fingers rest on the inside of his thigh …

Yeah. Being with him makes me want to be bold. Makes me want to do things I’ve never, ever considered doing before. It’s exhilarating.

It’s also really scary.

He didn’t change clothes. He’s still in the same outfit he wore to our earlier session and I’m glad. I like the way he looks in the plaid flannel, the stretch of white cotton across his broad chest. I like even more how he casts the occasional glance in my direction, smiling in that self-assured way of his. That smile says everything is going to be just fine. That I’m in more-than-capable hands.

I believe him.

“I think you’ll like the food here,” he tells me as we enter the restaurant.

“Oh, I’ve been here before,” I say, glancing around the Mongolian barbeque place. The décor is simple, the dining room big, and usually it’s packed wall to wall with people. But it’s a Monday night, so it’s not as busy as usual.

“You have?” He shakes his head. “Why am I not surprised? I can’t impress you no matter how hard I try.”

He’s trying to impress me? “I like to come here with my roommate. It’s cheap and the food is delicious.”

“Do you make your own sauce or do you follow the menu?”

Huh? Sometimes Owen asks really weird questions. “Um, I always follow the menu.”

“Of course you do.” He smiles down at me and I tilt my head back, offering him a tiny smile in return. He’s so ridiculously good-looking that I tend to get a little lost when I’m with him. So lost that we stare at each other for a while, until the guy standing behind us clears his throat to indicate we should get moving.

“Sorry,” I mumble at the middle-aged man as we step forward, my apology making Owen chuckle.

We both grab our bowls and go down the buffet line, preparing our meals until we stop in front of the sauce station, my shoulder bumping against his arm. It’s like falling into a wall of muscle, he’s so solid.

I study the menu of various sauces, my gaze snagging on the recipe I always stick with. A few scoops of soy, another couple of teriyaki … and I always bypass the spicy stuff since I’m a total wimp.

I’m also totally boring. I never venture out of the familiar. Ever. I keep to myself. I read, I study, I do my homework, I hang with Kari when I can, and I work, work, work.

“Live a little,” he says, bending down so his voice is right at my ear. A shiver moves down my spine. He’s so close I can almost imagine his lips grazing my skin. “Don’t follow the recipe. Just throw in a bunch of different ingredients and see what happens.”

I wrinkle my nose. “What if I hate it?”

“Trust me. You won’t hate it.” He reaches past me and grabs the ladle that’s in the garlic oil, scooping it up and dumping it in my bowl.

“But—that wasn’t on the menu,” I say, a little shocked that he’d take such liberties with my food.

He laughs and then dumps two scoops of the garlic oil on top of the ingredients overflowing his bowl. “I know. We’re gonna get a little crazy tonight, Chels. I gotta warn you.”

“What if I’m allergic to garlic?”

Owen turns to look at me, his green eyes open wide. “You aren’t … are you?”

Slowly I shake my head, smiling a little. “No, I’m not.”

He blows out a harsh breath. “You scared me for a second.”

I doubt anything scares him. “But now I’m going to have garlic breath.”

“No big deal. So will I.” He grabs the ladle in the soy sauce and adds it to his bowl. “When I kiss you later, it won’t really matter, right? We’ll both have garlic breath.”