“Just know that I won’t be seeing other people. I meant what I said. I’m not going anywhere, Quen. I love you. And ultimately, you will be mine. Believe that.”
Drew
“Why are you still here?”
I look up at my office door and see Sam standing there with his hand on his hip.
“Did you hear a single word I said earlier?” he scolds.
“I heard you.”
“Did you call her back?”
“She told me not to.”
“And you listened?” He gasps in a high pitch. “She didn’t say she had to work. She’s out with another man, my guy.”
I shoot him a scowl. “You can’t assume that.”
“Call her, then.”
“Fuck.” I sigh loudly and cover my face with both hands. “I’m really confused about how she feels. She works at this electronics store in Oregon, which isn’t where she wants to be right now. Every time I ask her how the search is coming along, she turns cold. I figure I take this busy time with the Gillen Tech deal and give her the time and space she needs until she’s ready to come around. Besides, I don’t know if her future will keep her tethered in Oregon, or if she’s free to move here.”
“Have the two of you discussed this?”
I shake my head. “I don’t have the right to demand an answer from her. She’s an independent woman, and my career and life shouldn’t take priority over hers.”
Sam purses his lips. “The real question is—is she even aware that working here in San Francisco is an option?”
I shrug.
“Fucking tell her,” he snaps.
Disregarding that the door was open previously, Sam shuts it and leaves me with my mouth hanging ajar.
Call her.
Even though she pretty much told me not to call, the thought of her out with another man has left a sour taste in my mouth all afternoon and most of this evening. She only said not to call her thirty minutes from the last time we spoke. It’s been three hours. Surely she can step away from whatever she’s doing to speak to me for a few minutes. Besides, I didn’t like the way we ended our last call.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I lift my phone from my desk and call Quen. She picks up on the third ring.
“Hey,” she awkwardly answers.
“Hey. Sorry about earlier. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, I faintly hear a male’s voice murmuring something in the background. I can’t make out the words. When Quen laughs in the distance, I can tell that she moved the speaker away from her mouth. I’m sick to my stomach.
“Can I call you back?” she asks when she returns.
“Who’s that?” the man in the background chimes.
I hear him loud and clear this time. I’m furious. Instead of asking her who the fuck she’s with, I opt for the bitch route.
“Yeah…sure,” I murmur.
I hang up, not giving either of us the chance to say goodbye.
I did this, I tell myself.
Maybe I should just let her go. Holding her back from true happiness will do her more harm than good.
Quen
(Three weeks later)
From the moment Bobby and I stepped inside of the Moda Center, I remained in sensory overload.
When my dad found out that I was going to the first Blazers pregame matchup of the year, he was mad jealous. And courtside seats, no less! As a former college baller himself, my date tonight is friends with several guys on the team.
It wasn’t until I looked up at the marquis that I realized we were playing Sacramento. My brain immediately traveled back in time to that drive-in theater. I saw myself kissing Drew in his convertible, and I quickly doused my thoughts with ice water.
I’ve been working my ass off to train my disobedient mind to keep the past in the past. Drew hasn’t stopped texting, but he stopped calling. He probably heard Jake talking in the background the last time we spoke. I figured that may have thrown him off balance.
Oh fucking well. I’d secretly hoped that him hearing another man’s voice would’ve lit a fire underneath him. It didn’t. To ease the pain, I’ve been going out with either Jake or Bobby almost every other night.
No hanky panky, as Dad would say. In fact, I haven’t so much as kissed either of them. I’m still putting Jake through his paces, making him earn my trust back. As far as Bobby goes, he has yet to earn it in the first place. It’s still quite early for us. Jake knows about Bobby, but Bobby doesn’t know about Jake.
After our Blazers lose by a measly four points, Bobby drives us to Love & Pancakes so we can drown our sorrows in maple syrup.
“God—breakfast for dinner,” I mumble through the pancake stuffed in my mouth. I take the time to finish chewing, and Bobby laughs at me. “I love breakfast for dinner. It’s probably my favorite.”
“Same,” he testifies. “It would’ve been so cool if they served pancakes for lunch in the cafeteria during middle school.”
“I know, right?”
“Instead, we had those imitation McRibs.”
“Oh God, those things were vile.” I nearly gag at the memory.
“I always tripled up on sugar cookies on ribbit day,” laughs Bobby.
“And I always brought a lunch from home.”
“I remember,” he smiles fondly. “You gave me half of your pb&j one time.”
“I did.” I grin in return.
“And still, I took Trish to the dance,” he playfully pouts.
“You did. But I’m not bitter,” I tease back.
“Biggest mistake I ever made.”
I narrow my gaze. “You sure about that?”
“Well—one of many. I can say that one of the best things I’ve done was find you on Facebook.”
My cheeks heat up at his praise.
“By the way, I’ve got news. I talked to a friend of mine about you. She works for Rose Quarter, which oversees the events held at the Moda Center and two other venues. They have a sizable marketing organization.”
My mouth is wide open as he slides a business card in my direction.
“Shoot her your resumé. She pretty much assured me that you’d be contacted for an interview in about a week.”
“Oh…oh my God.” I gasp.
“Don’t thank me yet. It’s only a start.”
“Well, I’ve had several interviews in the past couple weeks. I say it’s more than a start,” I giggle. “I’ve had plenty of practice. I’m hoping this is my golden ticket.” I pick up the business card and wave it proudly before putting it in my purse. “Thank you.”
“Anytime, beautiful,” he croons.
Oh no, he’s really going to be expecting a kiss this time.
I guess I need to work up the nerve to deliver.
The thirteen-year-old me would be dancing on this table right now. Bobby Freaking Fisher?! I’ve dreamt about this boy for so long. Now, he’s a man. And what a man he is. Tall. Fit. Sexy as hell. Every time we hang out, the females gawk at him like hawks. It doesn’t help that he’s six-seven and practically a fucking lighthouse. Even passersby at the Moda Center thought he was a second-string member of the Trail Blazers roaming the halls.