If I Fell...

The 'as friends' date was set. What was I going to do? What was I doing?
More importantly, what was I going to wear??
I ransacked my small closet, looking for that perfect shirt that sometimes just comes out of nowhere. I was half hoping I'd find something I didn't even remember buying. But life doesn't work out that way. Here were my choices: Dark blue shirt with gold applique (Not obnoxious, just a little. Subtle.), longer grey shirt, more like a tunic, with flowers on it, or a really cute flowy grey shirt with lace at the top, so you can see just the very top of my bra.
No matter what I was wearing my dark blue skinny jeans and gold Converse. But I had to decide, and fast. The hour upon which our little excursion was set was quickly approaching, the clock was mocking me, jumping ahead ten or fifteen minutes while I played eenie-meenie between the shirts. John was texting me, asking everything about myself. At a particularly tense moment in my clothes frenzy, I texted back, "What is this? The Spanish inquisition??" To which he replied "NOBODY EXPECTS THE SPANISH INQUISITION". And I laughed.
"So where are you taking me?" I asked, now between dark blue and lacey flowy.
"It's a surprise." I hated surprises. Part of me resented him for wanting to get close to me, for being nice, for trying to get to know me.
"Why are you being short with me?" He asked, as I put on the grey flowy shirt and zipped up my jeans. I quickly typed back, "I was having a wardrobe crisis. I'm sure you understand"
"All sorted out?"
"Yes."
"Good, because I'm heading over."
So I frantically applied Bare Minerals to my face, brushed out my hair, curled and mascara-ed my eyelashes, and swept a little eyeliner on my bottom lid. As good as it was going to get.
There was a knock, so I ran to answer it, hopping on one foot whilst trying to tie my shoe. I kind of crashed into the door, straightened, and swung it open. My shirt flapped at the bottom, revealing my hipbones over the tops of my jeans. I smiled.
"Ready?" He asked. I nodded and grabbed my bag. He grabbed my hand, which was not altogether unwelcome, just... not yet. So I quickly disguised the hand drop as a hair primp, and put both my hands in my pocket, out of sight, out of mind.
The Arizona nighttime swirled around us, colored lights, dry air, laughing people.
"So, where are we going?" I asked after a couple of minutes' walking.
"I told you, it's a surprise." I sighed. "It's a favorite place of mine. There's food and stuff there already."
"Like a picnic?" I asked stupidly. He nodded, glancing at me from the corner of his eye.
He made another grab for my pocketed hand.
"John..." I said hesitantly.
"What?"
"I thought this was a just friends kind of a thing."
"Can't I hold hands with a friend?" He asked innocently. I pushed one of my eyebrows down in an 'absolutely not' look. He didn't let go of my hand. He held it tighter. I fidgeted, trying to get out of his grip.
"John, please, I really just-" He let go of my hand, and we started walking again. I hadn't realized we'd stopped. "I'm sorry," I said, as his pace quickened and he got ahead of me a little bit. I jogged a few paces to catch up, my bag bouncing on my hip.
"Leila. It's okay," He stopped, turned around to face me, and smiled. I reluctantly smiled back. He took a step towards me.
I took a step back.
"Leila, why are you so guarded?" He asked, peering at me through the darkness. "I won't hurt you, we're friends." and somehow my shoulders relaxed, and somehow I let him take a step closer, and somehow I didn't stop him from putting his hands on my face and leaning forward. Somehow.