Jesus fucking Christ.

I can't fucking believe it.

I just met the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen.

And I acted like a fucking idiot.

I hit her with the damn door.

I checked her out.

I held her hand for too damn long.

While checking her out.

Again.

My phone beeped and I nearly gave the poor girl a heart attack.

I let the barista think I was her boyfriend.

I got the same drink as her.

I checked her out a third fucking time.

I probably made her uncomfortable more times than I can count.

And I just flat out asked for her number.

I didn't even think it through before I just blurted it out.

And now I can't even think about her without wanting to sing No Control by One Direction at the top of my fucking lungs.

I go to run my hand through my hair and freeze.

Fucking hell.

My hand smells like her.

Like chestnut and silk and cocoa.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head.

"Dude, get your shit together," Ryland comes up next to me, laughing his ass off.

"My shit is very much together, thank you," I snap.

"Yeah, okay," he snorts. "I've known you for almost ten years, and I've never seen you get so worked up about some girl that you probably won't ever talk to again, because you won't ever—"

"Shut up," I mutter.

"You know what though, she was pretty good looking. I mean, did you see those—"

"Shut up," I narrow my eyes at him. "Don't fucking finish that sentence."

"You don't even know the damn girl and you're already being all protective and shit. You can't just do that. You don't know her. You start just randomly doing that and she's going to think you're a sicko. You're a hot guy who looks a hell of a lot older than her. For all she knows, you could be grooming her."

"Don't call her a 'damn girl'," I frown.

"I'm just saying, Linc," he sighs, shaking his head. "Don't scare her away because you're trying to be possessive. Get to know her. Take her on a nice date. Show her that you're not a sicko."

"I should ask her out?" I scrunch my eyebrows.

He opens his mouth to respond, then closes it, narrowing his eyes in concentration.

"Yeah, probably not," he shakes his head. "That would probably still make you seem like a pervert."

"I'm not a pervert," I frown.

"Yes, I knowwww, Lincoln. Because I know you," he drawls it out like he's trying to make a toddler understand. "But she doesn't know that. That's what I'm trying to tell you."

When I'm quiet for a minute, he nods like he's finally gotten me to understand.

"But, I'm not a pervert," I frown, getting his point, but just wanting to piss him off.

"Oh, for fucks sake, Linc," he grumbles, rubbing a hand down his face, clearly exhausted with me. "You know what? Fuck what I say, right? I mean, it's not like I have any idea how the female mind works. Ask her out. Hell, maybe that's what she wants."

"I should ask her out," I murmur.

"Why do I even bother?" Ryland mumbles, rubbing his forehead.

"Bother with what?" I blink.

"Maybe I should call your mom," he smirks, digging his phone out and typing something into it.

"I swear to fuck, Ryland, if you bring my mother into this conversation—"

"What did my son do this time, Ry?" I hear my mom answer.

Fucking damnit Ryland.

"Ah, thank you for answering so quickly, Susan," Ryland says, his voice bright.

"Ryland—"

He reaches out and covers my mouth with his hand.

"Don't be disrespectful, Lincoln. I'm on the phone," he shakes his head at me.

"Ryland—"

"Sorry, Susan, Lincoln clearly hasn't learned his manners very well," he sighs like a disappointed mom.

"Clearly," my mom agrees.

"Now, to answer your question, Lincoln hasn't done anything wrong. Not yet, at least. But, I need to inform you, just now at Starbucks, Lincoln met this girl, and instead of taking it nice and slow, he's being all territorial with her. I was simply going to tell him that she had a very nice looking everything, and he was all like, 'don't fucking finish that sentence—'"

"Jesus Christ, Ryland," my mom mutters. "Did you seriously call me to tell me about what kind of progress my son is making with his dating life?"

"Yes, Susan, I did," he replies calmly. "Personally though, I would rather him have a sex life than a dating life. You'd think a guy that looks like him would be able to have whoever he wants. But you have to hear the rest of my story! Now, as I was saying—"

"Ryland, I really don't see the need for you to discuss my sex life with my mom—"

"You mean your lack of a sex life, right, Linc?" he smiles cheerfully.

This asshole—

"Boys, I love you both, I really do. But I really don't have time for this right now—"

"That's alright, Susan. I can call you later. Oh, or, you know what? I can stop by later today. Yeah, that's even better. Me and Lincoln will come over later and tell you everything," Ryland nods, grinning.

"Wonderful," my mom mutters before hanging up.

"Wonderful," Ryland agrees.

I glare at him and his grin widens.

"You're lucky my mom loves you," I grumble.

"Obviously," he says. "That way, if you decide you want to kick me to the curb, she'll beat your ass for me."

I shake my head.

My phone beeps and I take it out.

Paisley: What are you doing for breakfast?

She's texting me.

Ryland reads over my shoulder and nods.

"That's a good sign, Linc. She's texting you," he says, nodding at me. "Now continue the conversation, say something that'll make—"

Lincoln: Not sure.

Lincoln: Want to meet up?

Lincoln: For breakfast?

"God damnit, Lincoln," he groans. "That's not taking it slow. You probably freaked her out."

My heart starts racing when I see the three dots disappearing and reappearing.

"Fucking hell, Linc. Give me the phone," he sighs.

I hand him my phone and he starts typing something.

"Ryland—"

"Here," he murmurs, handing my phone back.

I quickly take it and read what he typed.

Lincoln: Sorry, that sounded weird.

Lincoln: I tend to not think about things before I say them.

I narrow my eyes at him and he shakes his head, laughing.

"That is not—"

My phone buzzes and I look back down.

Paisley: Hahaha, me too. Usually.

Paisley: Or sometimes I do think them through, and still decide to say them.

Paisley: I'd love to meet up.

Paisley: Any place in mind?

I can't keep the grin off my face as I look down.

She wants to meet up.

No, she'd love to meet up.

"That's probably a really good sign," Ryland nods, still reading over my shoulder. "But don't smile at her like that when you see her. She'll think you're an ax murderer. And don't say anything about it being a date. She didn't agree to go out with you, she agreed to meet you in a public place."

"Yeah, right," I nod.

Not a date.

Definitely not a date.