Parking my car in the drive, I look at the front door and breathe a heavy sigh. I glance down at my hands when I remove them from the steering wheel, they’re slightly trembling. I shake them in an effort to get rid of the obvious nervous energy and wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. I run my hair over my ponytail to smooth any fly-aways and exit the car. Looking down while straightening my “Goonies Never Say Die” t-shirt, another memory surfaces.
Blake and I used to make homemade t-shirts all the time together. Mine were always way better than his, of course, but at least he tried. My favorite one of his was this army green, G.I Joe “Knowing is Half the Battle” t-shirt. He wore it all the time. So much so that the iron on letters started falling off and it eventually read “Koin is alf Bat.” God, I would laugh every time he would wear it. I think that’s why he wore it so much.
I still make t-shirts; I guess old habits die hard.
I look back at my hands. They’re still shaking. It seems even with the old memories running through my mind, I still can’t shake off my nerves. Making my way to the front door, I mentally chastise my anxiety. “This is ridiculous, Alex. You’re a grown woman. Act like it,” I mutter while walking up the porch steps. I note there’s only a motorcycle parked in the driveway, which bodes well in my favor. This is going to be difficult enough without having a parental audience.
Approaching the door, I raise my fist to knock, pausing for another second to take in a cleansing breath. Breathing out, I say a prayer and knock loudly.
I hear his heavy footsteps coming towards the door, followed by the sound of the deadbolt unlocking. I watch nervously as the handle turns, but when I look up, I’m completely unprepared for what’s standing directly in front of my face.
As the door flies open, so does my mouth. Blake is standing in front of me, shirtless, wearing only his red and navy plaid pajama bottoms, bare feet on the floor. His light brown hair is all over the place, but incredibly sexy as it falls messily over his forehead and flips out from behind his ears. One look at this man’s stomach renders me momentarily speechless, and I have to fight to keep myself from running my hands over every single hardened ridge of his abs. So instead, I place my hands over my open mouth and start giggling like a ten year old little girl.
Mid-giggle, I notice the door starting to close. I quickly jump into action. I immediately put my foot in the doorjamb and my hands on the door, using all of my weight to keep him from being able to close it – a trick he taught me by the way.
Shaking his head at me, Blake emphatically states, “Nope. Mmm-mm Alex. It’s too early for this right now. Go home.”