Such a Pretty Face by Annabelle Costa

Chapter 11

Oh my God, my pants just split. It’s happened to me many times before, and the sensation is unmistakable. There’s now a big hole along the bottom seam of my pants. I can feel a breeze. Stupid cheap pants.

All the joy I felt a few moments ago drains from my body. This is the most mortifying thing that can happen on a first date. My shirt is nowhere near long enough to hide my pants. The second I get up, he’s going to know what happened. Everyone in this stupid restaurant is going to know what happened.

I wish I could disappear.

Brody is trying to make conversation, but I can’t focus. I take a sip of my Diet Coke, trying to figure out what to do next. Maybe I could steal a napkin and tuck it into the back of my pants. Of course, the napkins are bright white and my pants are almost black. It’s going to be incredibly obvious.

“Hey,” Brody is saying, “I was just thinking… It’s still early. There’s this great coffee shop a few blocks away. Do you want to go?”

Before my pants split, I would have been dying of happiness at his invitation. But now it’s out of the question. “No, thanks,” I say. “I’m just going to, you know, go home.”

“Oh.” His face falls. “Sure. You said you came here by bus, right? I can wait with you at the bus station. Make sure you get on all right.”

As much as it pains me, I need to get rid of him. Now. If there’s any chance of getting out of here without him discovering my secret, we definitely can’t be making more plans for the evening. Although I have a feeling the minute I stand, the gig will be up.

“No, that’s okay,” I mumble. “I’m just going to head out. I… I’ve got a headache.”

“Oh,” he says again. And this time he takes the hint.

Our waitress comes by with the check. I offer what I hope is a compensatory smile. “Let me split it with you,” I say.

“No,” he says firmly. “I’ve got it.”

“I could pay the tip.”

“I said I’ve got it.”

Brody fumbles around in the front pocket of his shirt and comes up with a credit card. It drops onto his lap and it takes him about five tries to get it into his hand and onto the table. He completely misses the tray that the check is in, but our waitress manages to figure it out.

After the waitress leaves with a credit card, we sit there in silence again. But this time, it isn’t dopey, happy silence. It’s awkward, miserable silence. I’m so angry at my stupid pants right now.

Brody leans forward. “Listen,” he says. “I’m sorry I said that thing about it being a while since… well, you know. I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that I’m happy to be here with you. And… you kiss really good. It was nice. That’s all.”

He looks miserable. He thinks he’s blown it. And right now, I’m blowing it. I’ve got to tell him the truth. No matter how humiliating it is.

“It’s not that,” I say. “I had a really nice time too, and… you kiss really good too.”

He lifts his eyes. “But?”

He thinks this sentence is going to end with “but I’m just not that into you.” He has no idea. It pains me to say this. “I split my pants open when I bent over to get the fork and knife. So I’m… I just want to go home.”

His eyes fly open. I caught him off guard with that one. I wait for his face to fill with disgust. But instead, he shifts around and starts sifting through the backpack on the back of his chair. I have no idea what he’s doing.

“Brody?”

“Hang on.” He’s searching for something. After a minute, he comes out with a black sweatshirt hooked on his fingers. He shoves it across the table. “Here. You can wrap this around your waist. For the ride home.”

“Oh.” I take the sweatshirt and unfold it. It will probably fit around my waist, although barely. “Thank you.”

I was worried I would never see him smile again, so I’m relieved when he flashes me one of his grins. “No problem. I’m prepared for any kind of embarrassing emergency. I’ve experienced everything.”

I study his face and there isn’t even a trace of judgment there. I’ve never met anyone quite like him. “I had a great time tonight, Brody.”

“Me too. I think we should do it again.”

“I definitely think we should.”

I end up sticking around until he signs the check in an illegible scribble. (Hopefully, the waitress doesn’t make up some crazy number for the tip, because it’s not at all clear what he was trying to write.) And then he kisses me one more time by the entrance to the restaurant. I have to bend down and it’s a little more awkward than our other kisses, but still really, really nice. A girl could get used to this.

_____

When I get back to my bedroom (and out of my stupid pants), I look up Brody on the internet. What can I say? That’s what people my age do when they meet a guy they like.

At least a dozen Brody Nolans pop up, but I recognize Brody’s smiling face immediately in one Facebook profile. His profile is locked, but I click on his profile picture to enlarge it. It’s just a headshot, and he’s so incredibly sexy in it. I love his smile and those blue eyes with the long eyelashes. I can’t even believe that I was kissing him only an hour earlier.

The more I think about that kiss the more I desire more from him. Before I know it, my hand slides down between my legs and I touch myself.

I masturbate. Of course I do. And I wonder if Brody is thinking the same about me. God, I hope so.

This is far from the first time I’ve pleasured myself. I started doing it in college, when I’d talk to men online or on the phone and we’d start talking dirty to each other. And I’d imagine a man doing those things to me, and I’d get so turned on.

I wanted so badly for it to be real. For Norm’s voice to reach through the phone and touch my breasts, my face, my ass. In my fantasies, I was also the kind of girl that Norm would want to touch. In my fantasies, I was skinny and beautiful.

But now the memory of actually kissing this man—not just a man, but the man on my computer screen, who is just so incredibly cute, is enough to drive me over the edge. I want to draw it out, but I come almost immediately. And then again. And again.

Brody, Brody, Brody… I even love his name. Brody Nolan. His cute Irish on Irish name.

And best of all, my session is punctuated by a Facebook friends request popping up from Brody. And he sends me a text message that says he had a great time tonight and can’t wait to see me again. Although thanks to what I’d imagine is dictation errors, what it actually says is: “Had fewer time tonight can’t wait see you Avis.”

But I get what his meaning is. He’s trying—that’s the important part.

Just as I’m putting my phone in the charger, a message pops up on the screen. It’s from that same familiar number. Norm.

Emily, I need to talk to you. Please call me.

I stare at the screen for a moment, then a second message appears:

Please.

I can’t imagine why he’s trying to get in touch with me again. He hated me after what I did to him. And I deserved it. Anyway, that relationship wasn’t real. I don’t even want to think about it anymore.

So I delete his texts and go to sleep.