The Good, the Bad, and the Gwen | ✔️

17 - Official Freak-Out Mode

I am in official freak-out mode.

My. First. Date. My first date!

It's here. And it's happening NOW.

I'm sitting in the passenger seat of Sully's SUV trying not to stare. It's not working very well. His golden hair is extra messy today, but the kind of messy that looks practiced and intentional. And super-duper hot. And every time I steal a peek, I find him peeking, too. Like he's completely aware of me planted in the seat next to him. I'm frazzled and excited and terrified all at once. The air between us is absolutely buzzing, and ohmygod, can he feel it too?

"You look really pretty," he says, breaking the awkward silence. "Have I mentioned that yet?"

He has. Twice.

I can't meet his eyes. "Thank you ... I had some help."

His gaze drags from me to the road. "What do you mean, you had help?"

Why did I just tell him that? Can't a girl have any secrets? My lips pucker in thought. "Never mind. I probably shouldn't have said anything. It's sort of ... nontraditional."

Beauty advice from a drag queen. Nontraditional is putting it mildly.

He gives me a funny look but doesn't pry. "So, what sounds good to eat?" he asks, changing the subject. "Gumbo? Crawfish Etouffee? Jambalaya?"

I crinkle my nose. "Jambawhata?"

"Oh no." Sully stares back in mock horror. "You're not serious?"

My cheeks begin to tingle, which I know from past experience means they're turning a humiliating shade of pink. "I am serious. I have no idea what those are."

"You poor thing." He shakes his head. "What do they feed you in Ohio?"

"You know, normal things." I shrug. "Pizza. Burgers. Chicken McNuggets." Oh.

He arches an eyebrow. "Chicken McNuggets?"

Did I seriously just say that out loud? "I've been a huge fan of McDonald's ever since I sprouted teeth. My parents even said french fries were my first words—except it came out more like frah frees." I beg myself to shut up, but my brain refuses to listen. "It's disgusting, I know. And completely embarrassing. Promise you'll never tell anyone? I don't need a lecture from Hartley."

Sully bursts into laughter. "I cannot believe the girl I have a crush on prefers McNuggets to gumbo. You have such refined taste!" He laughs even harder. "Your secret is safe with me."

Wait. He has a crush on me?! My next words come out slow and deliberate—the exact opposite of how I feel. "I never said I prefer them. I said I've never heard of gumbo before."

"Are you feeling adventurous?" He gives me a slow grin. And holy crap that dimple!

"Um ..." There's a good chance my heart might pound its way out of my chest. "I think so?"

He looks pleased. "Then gumbo it is."

A few minutes later, Sully parks his car and we start walking. Apprehension curls in my stomach as his arm brushes against mine. For half a second, I wonder if he's going to try and hold my hand, but the moment passes and he shifts away, giving me space.

Wandering through the French Quarter is like traveling to another world. It's quirky and historical and crawling with all sorts of different people. The buildings boast colorful Spanish and French-inspired architecture along with several newer structures made to squeeze inside narrow lots. The atmosphere is both restless and exhilarating. It's a contagious combination. I'm tempted to pull out my phone and snap pics of everything I see, but don't want to look like some awestruck tourist. Which, of course, I am.