The Checklist Addie Woolridge (pocket ebook reader TXT) 📖

Janet Jackson to choral reproductions of indigenous chants.” Mike’s face split into an easy smile. “Oddly enough, that is not why I’m here. I wanted to see if you were around to go look at a couple of museums. If you aren’t busy,” he added, gracefully nodding at the dust rag she was clutching.

In the background, Janet filled Dylan’s panicked silence by describing exactly what she would do if she was someone’s girlfriend. Somehow, she had imagined a lot less spontaneity and messy topknots when she had offered to do this with Mike. And a lot less sex music.

“Yes. Sure. Let me get changed,” Dylan croaked, doing her best to casually speed walk toward the stereo as Janet let everyone on the block know whose name would be called out in bed.

Dylan smashed her index finger against the power button with so much force that it hurt. Her yellow ankle socks slid on the newly Pine-Soled floor as she dashed back to the hallway. Mike stood motionless by the wide-open door, wearing a bemused expression.

“Sorry. You can come in,” Dylan said, motioning him into the house with one hand and trying to wipe off the dust with the other. “Wait.” Dylan threw out the hand she had been using as an emergency lint brush. Mike stopped midmovement, his hand on the door handle, like they were playing Red Light, Green Light. “Did you mean we should leave now? Or sometime later?”

“You’re in charge. Whenever works best for you. If you need some time, I can go.” He used his thumb to gesture over his shoulder at the door.

“Oh no. Now is fine. I just didn’t want you to be sitting here waiting when really you meant later but were too polite to say. Then I’d be holding you hostage when you had somewhere else to be.” Dylan started with her favorite circular hand gesture as if it would make her rambling more eloquent. Mike began shaking his head, the polite smile shifting to outright amusement.

“Nope. I’m all yours.”

He turned to shut the front door, and she noticed the criminal fit of his jeans. Not obviously tight but fitted enough to give a girl some idea of what she was working with. Not that she was looking. This was Janet’s fault.

“Okay, then.” Dylan pulled her mind off his backside as he rotated around. Gesturing to the only truly clean room in the house, she added, “I’m gonna get changed. Make yourself at home.”

She dashed up the stairs as fast as her brightly colored socks would carry her and ripped the dingy sweatshirt off her body. Shedding the rest of her clothes into a pile on the floor, she wondered how she’d managed to find a wearable rainbow to clean in. Hadn’t Neale recently pointed out that she owned no color? Obviously she hadn’t looked at her workout gear.

Silently thanking the sisters of Alpha Zeta Delta for their patented five-minute-ready routine, she grabbed a pair of jeans, a gray cashmere sweater, and the blue scarf that matched her ballet flats. Hustling into her favorite all-purpose casual outfit in two minutes, she thought, Still got it.

Next, she made her way to the bathroom, preparing for the phase involving tinted moisturizer, mascara, and blush and mentally committing any extra time to a quick swipe of lipstick, when she got a good look at her face and stopped cold. A ring of lovely white pore-strip gunk encircled her nose, which was a stunning shade of red from where she had removed a layer of skin and blackheads before Mike had arrived.

“Sexy, Dylan. Very sexy.”

Throwing some water on her face, she hoped Mike thought the slime was part of the general dirt she was wearing and not her pores giving up on life. To be safe, she gave herself an extra thirty seconds to add some lipstick—better to draw attention to some other part of her face—before moving down the stairs, conscious of how anxious her steps sounded.

Dylan hit the bottom stair and rounded the corner to find Mike settled in a chair, scowling at Kierkegaard.

“Ready?”

Mike jolted, the lines on his face vanishing. “That was fast.”

“One of the many lessons I learned from my soros. The art of getting ready quickly and the finer points of Malthusian economics. Although that turned out to be less helpful.” Dylan shrugged and readjusted her scarf.

Mike chuckled, walking into the hallway and standing behind Dylan as she opened the door. Her body and mind resumed their old war over his sudden closeness, with her body attempting to lean in and her mind asking it to stay still and act like she had some semblance of self-control.

“I have something for you,” Mike said, reaching into his pocket and extracting a folded-up square of paper.

“What’s this?” Dylan’s brain stuttered to change gears as she accepted the paper, forcing her to acknowledge that lust and coherence were at opposite ends of the communication spectrum. The laugh lines on Mike’s face deepened as he watched her unfold the page, the top of which read,

A Highly Organized List of Places Dylan Asked Mike to Take Her To

“I didn’t ask you to take me anywhere. You showed up at my house,” Dylan said, over Mike’s laugh.

“I recall you specifically asking for a list.”

“I did. But this title is inaccurate. It should read, ‘A List of Places Mike Recommends Dylan Research.’ The list is basically void with this title.” Dylan laughed in spite of herself.

“I have a pen. You can change it in the car.” Mike smiled, leaning in toward her and nudging her with his shoulder so she was forced to look up at him. “Will that work? Or do you need me to retype it?”

“You’re obviously new to listing, so I’ll accept it . . . this time.” Dylan felt herself smiling up at him, despite her most platonic intentions. Folding the paper and placing it in her back pocket, she asked, “Just confirming that the rest of this list is accurate. We are going to the