Allie POV
Most of my closet was on the floor, and I still didn't have a clue what to wear. I was currently laying in a heap of defeat on the floor in the middle of the largest pile. And I hadn't even started to think about my hair. In all honesty, I was probably going to just leave it.
I don't do this often. Go on dates. If that's even what this was. I reminded myself for the millionth time that it might just be a friendly fellow student looking to make friends. It wouldn't be the first time that happened. But in those cases, the men weren't normally so good looking. And I suspected that they were actually trying to pretend it was a date.
I hauled myself up and into the shower. I would just… grab something and throw it on. It's what I usually did. I spent most of my time trying to blend in. My clothes were mostly various shades of earth tones or neutrals, aside from the few neon pieces scattered throughout my closet- all gifts from my mother, who failed to realize that I had grown out of my neon phase sometime in eighth grade. Everything pretty much went together. And he didn't seem like he was expecting me to show up in a ballgown.
My stomach flipped at the thought. He was definitely my type, aside from being blonde. That was a new thing. I had never liked blondes. But he was tall, muscular, and screamed "danger" from a mile away. That was my type. Which was why I didn't do this very often. I was terrible at choosing men. I was quiet, studious, and boring. I loved reading and crochet. But every good girl has a soft spot for the bad boys. Or so they tell me.
He said he was picking me up at 7. I had forty-five minutes to throw myself together, which I knew was more than enough. I already knew I'd settle for the ripped up jeans, black bodysuit, and cardigan. It was go-to. I also knew that I wouldn't even try to mess with my hair. I had thrown it into a ponytail that morning trying to hide the grays. I hadn't dyed it in a few months, half out of rebellion and half out of defeat. But the silver was now streaking through my hair, and it was a lot more obvious when I wore it down.
For the millionth time, I debated telling Leah. It was obviously the safer thing to do, although I wasn't sure what she would do from 600 miles away if he turned out to be a murderer. I just… didn't want to. It was beginning to get embarrassing to have to report back on another failed dating attempt. Even to my best friend. Plus all it would take would be me telling her that he was blonde. She'd know it couldn't be anything I'd ever be serious about.
I picked up my phone and then threw it back on my unmade bed. Unusual for me, but I had been in a rush this morning. If the date was good, I would tell her. Probably. If it wasn't… well then no one needed to know.
I took a quick shower, and threw on the outfit I had decided (or settled) on. When I checked my phone, I saw that he had texted me that he was on his way. My stomach flipped.
One last check in the mirror. Conceal the dark circles. Throw on some mascara. I briefly reached for the root touch-up spray, but decided against it. It always got all over me and anything else I touched. I tucked the cross necklace under the collar of my shirt and then changed my mind. It was, apparently, the reason he decided to say hello. He was Irish, as was obvious from his accent, and he had an eerily similar tattoo on his arm. I told him that the necklace had been a gift from my grandmother, part of a family tradition that involved a pilgrimage to our ancestral village in Ireland. I kept the necklace visible, just in case we needed something to talk about.