“You’re not sure how you feel? Han, you’ve had a crush on the guy for weeks. Months, even. You already know he can dirty talk like a champ, so just roll with it.”

“Someone’s ability to dirty talk isn’t related to the kind of boyfriend they’d be.”

“Sure it is. Anyone who can dirty talk your ass off is gonna be one hell of a goer in bed.”

“Have experience with that, do you?”

“We’re not discussing my sex life,” she muttered.

“Oh, but mine is perfectly fine? Go away,” I muttered right back at her.

She laughed, which ultimately made me laugh, too. After a moment of mutual silence, she said, “What if the date goes well?”

I shrugged and put the last multipack on the shelf. “I don’t know. I’m trying not to think about it. It’s too awkward right now. I think I’m still in shock from finding out it was him all along.”

“It’s not the end of the world. You’ve actually gotten the worst part out of the way.” Immy pulled a multi-tool from her back pocket and flipped out the knife to slice down the boxes. “You know the chance of you being sexually compatible is relatively high. You just have to do the boring stuff now.”

“Wow, Dr. Phil. Thanks so much. I came to work to be psychoanalyzed today.”

She flipped me the bird, then flattened a box. “You’re a dick.”

“I know. So are you. It runs in the family.” I grinned. “Now what the hell am I supposed to wear tonight?”

***

It was tonight and I still had no idea what to wear.

I was going to answer the door in my pineapple panties and a sweary tank top at this point. It wasn’t like there was an etiquette kinda thing for this situation. Dating never covered having sexted your neighbor prior to the date.

We were doing our young people a disservice.

Or maybe it was me. Maybe I was just so hopelessly awkward at dating that I’d built it all up in my head.

For the record, that was entirely plausible.

It was probably the truth.

It was still hot out, so after a moment of fucking around in front of my closet, I pulled out a dress that was somewhere between casual and dressy. It was a simple, navy cotton swing dress with a V-line neck that hung in a flattering manner off my books.

And it wouldn’t show the lines of my terribly comfortable pineapple cotton panties.

Win-win.

I pulled it on over my head and looked at myself in the mirror. It was a versatile dress—in fact, it was the kind of dress you could throw on over a bikini for the beach or wear with heels for a night out.

It would do.

Wait, but what if he thought me wearing a dress was too formal? Should I wear my usual comfy combination of leggings and a tank top? Maybe jeans if I wanted to be fancy?