Jean should not be nervous.
Dates were easy! Dress to impress, flirt, chat about fun things, end of night. She had been there, done that, got that awkward kiss at the end of the night.
But this was Logan, and her insides felt like she had consumed a pot of medicum roast coffee laced with Red Bull.
Try as she might, her hair was just not styling right. She had attempted sexy curls, but usually she had Betsy to help her with that.
As if on cue, a knock sounded at the door.
"Shit! Don't be him, don't be him yet...oh please," Jean cracked the door open and sighed in relief at Betsy's presence.
"First, I would like to apologize...what is wrong with your hair?"
"I will accept apologies in forms of cash, charge, or helping me with this," she grabbed her best friend by the arm and dragged her into the bedroom.
"Sit!"
Jean did as instructed, and in ten minutes time, her hair was a glossy curtain of waves.
"Thank you, so much."
"Wearin' the LBD?"
"Do you think it's too much?"
"Never. Just wear the nude pumps."
"Not the flats? I'll tower over him."
"He's man enough to like a tall woman in heels," Betsy zipped up the back of the dress, and let Jean use her shoulder to step into the heels.
Betsy grabbed the sparkly clutch in Jean's closet, and filled it with the small pile of essentials Jean had laid out on her bathroom counter.
"Finally took your necessities down to only three glosses, I see."
"You have no idea how hard it was," Jean groaned, she was known to be a bit of a lip product freak. "I still have a drawer full of unused stuff, go nuts."
"Hooray, payment for services rendered," Betsy ran into the bathroom as Logan knocked on the door.
"Have fun," Jean smiled.
"You too," Betsy was inspecting colors against her skin.
Jean walked to the door, and opened it to see Logan in a gray button-up shirt, rolled to the elbows as always. Jeans that showed off his muscular thighs, and nicely shined boots.
"Hi."
"Ready to go," he asked.
Jean practically giggled when he opened the door to the garage, and the passenger side door for her. He had always been corteous of the women on the team, but the clenching of his free hand clued her into some possible anxieties he was feeling as well. She settled herself into the seat of his black chevy, a team vehicle Xavier insisted he upgrade to upon taking a position at the Mansion.
"Still haven't figured out all the bells and whistles," he muttered, pulling out onto the road.
"Miss your old truck?"
"Mostly when guys yack my ear off about it," he smirked.
"I understand that. I get droolers on my Mustang."
"The mustang is yours?"
Jean laughed, nodding.
"Well hell, this is gonna be a good time."