Chandler’s silent for a few seconds. “I suppose we should both get some rest—I have unpacking to do tomorrow, plus I have to run to the stadium to get my ID picture taken and fill out some paperwork.”
“And I have to be up at the ass crack of dawn to take Chewy to daycare and hit the gym early,” I add.
“God, you take your dog to daycare. That’s kind of adorable.”
Adorable.
I capitalize on this moment of weakening on her part to say, “So you’re cool if I grab you at six tomorrow?”
Chandler yawns. “Mmkay.”
Too tired to disagree.
She’s tired and fading by the—
“See you tomorrow, grumpy.”
Okay. Maybe not that tired.
My lips part to argue. “I am not grum—”
But the argument is futile because there is no one on the other end. Chandler has already hung up the phone, cutting me off, getting in the last word, leaving me hanging high and dry.
Again.
Twelve
Chandler
What does a girl wear on a date that’s not a date, but more like an attempt at bribery?
What does he want from me?
A man doesn’t just call out of the blue to ask a person for drinks after ignoring you every time he’s in the same room with you—unless he wants something.
But what?
Revenge?
Is he going to attempt to publicly embarrass me?
I will admit, I hadn’t considered the onslaught of publicity it was going to garner when I tossed him on his backside. We were at a private event, in a secure hotel, surrounded by family and friends and…
Reporters.
Duh, Chandler. You should have thought it all the way through.
But I didn’t.
Too late now—every sports media outlet has shown the clip, live with the audio of people gasping, guests of the bride and groom pointing and laughing and clearing the dance floor.
No one knew what happened; some speculated that he had assaulted me. Some guests initially thought he slipped and fell, thought he’d been hurt and perhaps needed an ambulance.
“Don’t move him!” his mother shouted, worried his spine had been fractured, having seen her son in that same position on the football field.
I felt horrible at that moment—until the moment Buzz called him a pussy, loud enough for everyone to hear, setting off a riptide of laughter.
Non-disclosure agreements mean nothing to wedding guests when there are priceless videos and photographs of an athlete’s humiliation to be shared with millions of fans around the world, his privacy be damned.
Hollis and Buzz didn’t even threaten to sue; too many videos had been leaked and gone viral for threats to matter.
The fall heard ’round the world.
And now I’m having drinks with him.
Do I make an effort to look cute or just wear what I have on? It is The Ivy we’re going to, but I do not want to look like I’m trying too hard. Not with him, god no.
Torn, I call my cousin, despite her being on her honeymoon. She told me to call her whenever, said if she was available, she’d take the call. Besides, none of my friends have met or seen Tripp—or heard any of the stories, though a few of them have contacted me about the videos popping up everywhere. But they know nothing about him.
It has to be Hollis.
According to my time zone calculations, it’s evening where she’s at, and she’s most likely just getting ready for dinner, so the timing should be spot-on for a quick chat.
She answers on the third ring. “What’s up, Cobra Kai?”
She’s been calling me that since her wedding.
“Hey cuz, how’s the honeymoon?”
“Fantastic. We just took naps and are getting ready for dinner.”
“By naps she means ‘had sex’,” Buzz shouts from somewhere inside their hotel room.
“Would you be quiet,” she tells her husband, probably swatting at him, too. “It’s my cousin, she needs something.” Hollis clears her throat. “Sorry about that. What’s up?”
“Well…” Let’s see, how do I put this? “Tripp called me last night and—”
“Tripp called you? Why?” It sounds like she’s sitting up straighter, at full attention.
“He wants to have drinks. Tonight.”
Hollis gasps and I hear clapping. “I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!”
Knew what? “What did you know?”
“That he has a thing for you! Duh!”
I can’t help the fact that I’m rolling my eyes heavenward. “He does not—the guy can’t stand me. I humiliated him.”
“Yeah and he liked it. Men love strong women—it just takes some of them longer to admit it to themselves.”
“I assure you, he most certainly did not like it.” I say it a bit too primly and cringe at the sound of my voice.
Hollis doesn’t notice. “If he didn’t like it, why would he call you and ask you to drinks? Huh? No man is going to put himself through even an hour of someone’s company they can’t tolerate for shits and grins—especially Tripp Wallace. Trust me, I would know.”
Hmm, that does sound like a valid argument.
“Fine. I’ll consider it. In the meantime, what should I wear?”
“Did he tell you where to meet him?”
“I’m not meeting him—he’s picking me up.”
Hollis gasps again. “Oh my god.” I hear her snap her fingers. “It makes sense now—Tripp texted Buzz last night to see if he could stop by this morning and borrow the sports car.”
Borrow his brother’s sports car… “I thought he had one on loan from the dealership?”
My cousin stops to think. “No, as far as I know, he only has his truck. This explains why he wanted to borrow the car—he has a hot date.”
The wheels are still turning, but nothing is adding up. “It’s not a hot date! And why would he lie and say the car is from the dealership?”
“Ohhh,” she croons into the phone. “I bet he’s trying to impress you so he doesn’t want to pick you up in his ratty truck. That’s what guys do when they’re wooing a lady.”
“He is not wooing me.”
“Woo-woo!” My cousin makes it sound like a train puffing down the tracks. “I mean, a lot of the time the dealership on Michigan Avenue lends them to the players, kind of like a lease, and they get to swap them out once a year or something ridiculous. But as far as I know, Tripp owns his truck outright.”
That doesn’t answer my question and I highly doubt Tripp Wallace has tried to impress any woman, ever, in his entire grumpy life, let alone me.
So the sports car will have to remain a mystery.
Weird.
“What am I wearing?” I ask, switching gears to circle around and get us back on topic.
“Ugh,” she groans. “It’s too bad you don’t know what he’s wearing—that always makes it so much easier. Like if he’s wearing a polo shirt, you can wear just a nice shirt. Or if he’s wearing a button-down, you could wear a dress.”
“I do know what he’s wearing—his Paul Bunyan outfit.”