I did my goddamn hair.
And she’s not here.
Nowhere to be seen.
Don’t worry though. Shane and Jerry are here and having the time of their lives. I made sure of it since they’re the best friends and all, and when I was about to ask them if Milly was on their way, Shane drunkenly said, “Can’t believe Milly chose to stay back at her dorm.” Then he proceeded to do a keg stand.
That’s when my boiling point hit and I blew past everyone in the party and straight to my room.
She actually chose not to come. After I asked her to, after I told her she has an invite, after I even reminded her about the party at the game. She chose not to show.
What does that say about me?
Have I really read her wrong this whole time? Do I need to give up and accept that she doesn’t share the same feelings as I do?
Wouldn’t she want to spend time with me?
“Okay, I can see a vein in your forehead throbbing,” Jason says nervously. “I’m going to assume you’re talking about Milly. You invited her tonight?”
“Yeah,” I snap. “I fucking did, and I was going to finally ask her out. Fuck,” I shout. “I was prepping her all week, trying to subtly show her that I’m interested, that I want more than just her coaching. I want her, and when she’s supposed to come to the party, she doesn’t.”
“Did she ever say she’d come?”
“Ye—” I pause and think about it. “I don’t know now.”
Jason leans against my door, arms crossed with a beer in hand. What I wouldn’t give for an icy-cold brew right now. I haven’t had one drink, wanting to be sober tonight. “I don’t know a lot about Milly, but she doesn’t seem like a girl who would enjoy a party like this.” He lifts off the door, opens it a crack, and lets the boisterous party goers boom through the small opening. He quickly shuts it. “I don’t think this is her scene, man.”
I scratch the back of my head, thinking about it. “Hell, you might be right.” With hope springing in my chest, I say, “You think she didn’t show because she doesn’t do parties, or because she doesn’t want anything to do with me?”
“Both.” My hope splinters. “Just kidding. That girl likes you, you can see it in her eyes and the way her body reacts whenever you’re around.”
“You’re a fucking dick.”
He laughs unapologetically. “I’m not even sorry. Someone has to yank your dick.”
“I’d prefer it not be you.” I let out a large pent-up sigh. “So what the fuck do I do now?”
“Well, you’re not married to this party, so go find her. Have her meet up with you somewhere else. Tell her it’s an emergency and then lay out all your cards. Women like that romantic shit.”
I mull his idea over. “She’s probably in for the night.”
“Pull her out. If you want this girl, then make it happen. Go to her, man, rather than expecting her to come to you. Don’t you have a place you can meet? Somewhere special between you two?”
My mind immediately falls to one place as a smile stretches across my face. “I know exactly where.”
“Then send her a text.” Jason pushes off the door and brushes off his hands. “My work here is done.”
When he leaves, I pull my phone from my pocket and shoot her a text. I just hope she responds.
Carson: Meet me in the dugout. It’s important.
Milly: Is everything okay? Be there in ten.
I stare at her message and then at the time. It’s been fifteen minutes since I sent her the text, and with each minute that ticks by, I’m starting to lose my nerve.
I can see us discussing late-night statistics followed by even later naked adventures. I can envision her by my side throughout my baseball journey. All I can see is us. I want to get to know her more. I want to be the guy who encourages her to chase her dreams, the one who stands behind her, acknowledging her intelligence and drive. I want to hold her hand, kiss her every time I see her on campus, spend the night in her dorm room, and wake up to those dimples.
Becoming restless, I bounce back and forth on my heels just as headlights shine on the parking lot and she pulls into the spot next to my car.
A wave of nerves and butterflies hit me, making me feel excited and nauseous. Thanks to a Brentwood baseball fan, I was given the code to turn on the lights on the field. Not wanting a giant spotlight on the both of us, I left it to one light so we can see each other.
I have a backpack full of picnic items if she says yes and an escape plan to tamp down the humiliation if she says no. Either way, I’m going to find out soon what the answer is.
Eyes trained on her, I watch her hop out of the car in a pair of leggings and a Bobbies for Life shirt. I smile to myself, loving that she’s a hometown girl. Chicago Bobcats fans are known as Bobbies, and even though her brother plays for the Storm, she still has a love for Chicago.
Keys in hand, she jogs down the hill to the field and slips past the chain link fence and into the dugout, looking frantic. She takes me in, my jeans and perfectly styled hair. Not what she was expecting, I’m sure.
“What’s . . . what’s going on?” she asks, sounding out of breath.
I stand from the bench, leaving my backpack on the ground but close enough that I can retrieve and sprint away. I rock on the back of my heels. “Why weren’t you at the party?”
“What?” Her brow pulls into an affronted frown. “That’s why you called me out here? To ask about the party?”
I nod, not caring that she might be mad about it. “Yeah, why didn’t you come?”
She exhales sharply and slips her hand up to her ponytail holder, letting her hair loose. My eyes immediately watch the wave of brown that floats down her back, swishing back and forth as she expels a breath of anger.
“Carson, I thought something was seriously wrong. You said it was an emergency.”
“It is an emergency. I need to know why you weren’t at the party.”
“This could have been done through text.”
I shake my head. “No, it couldn’t. I need to hear the reason, not read it. Why weren’t you there?”
“What does it matter?” she says, avoiding the answer.
“It matters to me. Why, Milly?”
She glances to the side. She’s about to tell me a lie. I know her well enough to understand her cues, and she’s on the verge of letting a lie fall from her lips.
“Just not my scene,” she answers, now looking at the ground.
Not her scene. That’s what I was hoping she’d say, that it was just an uncomfortable situation for her to be in. But her answer was also a lie, a flat-out lie. She looked away while saying it, unable to actually tell me face to face.
That only leads to one thing . . . it was me. She didn’t come to the party because of me.
My pride deflates into hurt and my ego is completely shot as I reach for my backpack. I need to get the hell out of here so I can go back to the loft and lick my wounds . . . and get massively drunk. I’m sure my boys will have no problem helping me with that.
“Okay,” I answer, slipping my backpack over my shoulders. “Good to know.” I step past her. “I’ll catch you later, Milly.”