But you want to just…move on.
And if I stay outside at the party with her, I’ll blurt out all these painful feelings that are clawing at me.
Feelings that she doesn’t have the time or space for.
I thrust my mallet at her, and she takes it automatically. “Sorry, sweetheart. My agent called earlier, and I’ve got some stuff on my mind about the football season. It’s nothing. But I’m going to take a walk and clear my head.”
She frowns. “Oh.” Then she clears her expression, putting on a small smile. She’s a good actress, but I’m pretty sure it’s fake—like this whole week has been. “I’ll be here,” she says.
I can barely hear her because I’m already walking away.
Thirty minutes later, I’m a little less annoyed thanks to some air and a walk, but I’m not any happier. Hell, I’m both sadder and angrier, mostly at myself for falling for a woman who’s so clearly unavailable.
Who told me she was unavailable.
But my stew of feelings doesn’t matter. This is not my birthday. This is not my party. I need to get my act together so I can handle the rest of the night.
When I trudge up the steps to Ellie’s parents’ home and push open the door, I catch sight of Ellie pacing in the kitchen, phone pressed to her ear, her back to me.
“Great. Email me the details,” she says.
There’s a pause.
“Yes, Sidney, I think it can help other women learn from my experiences too,” she says.
She’s talking to the producer of that documentary about her ex, and my frustration ramps up again.
Then she says goodbye and turns down the hall. “I said yes to the interview, Mom.”
Like James Bond, I creep across the hardwood and listen in to her private conversation with her mother. It’s like sticking my finger in a fire, but I do it anyway. I need to know where she’s at. I want to be certain that my instincts in the car were right.
“Are you sure, sweetie?”
“Absolutely. I was just protecting myself when they first called. Not dealing with the past. But this is how I can put it behind me. That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out this past week. How to put it behind me. And this will give me some closure.”
“Then I support you,” her mom says.
“Thanks, Mom. These last few days have given me a lot of clarity.”
That seals the deal. This last week was everything we’d agreed it would be—a week and nothing more. I’m the fool who got caught up in her.
I close my eyes and slump down.
Somehow, I make it through the rest of the evening. But when the party winds down, and Ellie’s grabbing her things to leave, she pulls me aside by the front door.
“Hey. You don’t seem like yourself,” she says quietly, then she adds, “Maybe we can talk on the way home?”
Her voice rises with hope.
But no fucking way.
I can’t be alone with her in the car when she breaks my heart again.
Like I’m on the field, and I’ve been swarmed by the secondary and have to scramble to get away, I think on my feet. Fast.
With a big, fat yawn, I say, “I’m exhausted. I’m going to crash at my parents’ house. But hey, this was fun. Glad you got to take your good guy challenge this week. Glad it worked out for you.”
I drop a careful kiss to her forehead, and I get the hell out of there before she can slice off another piece of my heart.
SUNDAY
No Caramel Lattes for You. Or Pancakes Either.
26
MY BIG CHANCE
Ellie
The people-watching at Edge & Plow on the main drag in Venice is top-notch on a Sunday morning. I enjoy the view from an outside table, sipping a cup of tea, my pup in my lap.
Over there, a gal my age sporting a messy bun and cut-off shorts shows pics—I presume—on her phone to her friends. They’re all dressed in the ragtag attire of a morning-after post-mortem.
My heart clutches and I look away.
A few tables over from me, a man with a neat beard excitedly tells his buddies all about last night with like, the sexiest guy ever.
Good for him, but I frown.
There could not be a more inspiring scene for my writing soul. This is the kind of background I could see in an episode of The Dating Games.
And yet, I’m too sad.
I’m alone. I’m not here with my New York girlfriends. Veronica has returned to Manhattan with Milo. Hazel has taken off for Europe.
I’m not here with my Los Angeles friends either.
I lift my black tea—because I can’t indulge in caramel iced lattes every day—take a sip, then set the cup on the iron table.
Even if Maddox or Rachel were here, what would I say? The guy I was falling for just walked away from me.
I heave a sigh, shoulders slumped. Gigi looks up, concern in her big eyes as her ears go to full bat-style.
My throat tightens and I stroke her soft head. “Of course, you’re my friend too,” I tell her. She leans into my hand, savoring the pets.
Then, I finish the tea, bus my table, and leave. I walk my girl to our new home, trying desperately to look forward to tomorrow.
To my big day, my big week, my big chance.
But it’s harder than it was less than a week ago when I pulled into town.
27
IT WAS OBVIOUS
Gabe
As I towel off from the shower, the scent of eggs and pancakes floats up the stairs of my parents’ house and wafts into the bathroom.
Damn, I’ve missed the smell of Dad’s cooking. Smells like home.
I dry off and then track down the pair of gym shorts and fresh T-shirt I left behind last time I spent the night in my old bedroom, aka the guest room. Still feels like mine even though it’s done up in pretty whites and blues now—gender neutral for guests, Mom says—and it no longer has any posters of my sports idols or favorite rock stars on the wall.
Shame.
I pad downstairs, determined to put yesterday out of mind. That’s a skill I’ve honed from decades as an athlete. Mental skills were always my thing way back in high school. I could block out the world. I damn well plan to do that now.
When I reach the kitchen, Dad is plating some scrambled eggs and pancakes. The welcoming aroma of fresh coffee curls through the air.
Yeah, this might help me forget Ellie too. C’mon, coffee. Work your magic.
“Smells delish, Dad,” I say.
He flashes me a smile. “Thanks. I hope your mom likes it. She should be back from her morning walk in a few minutes.”
I furrow my brow. “Wait. I don’t get any?”
He chuckles, setting a hand on his belly. “You thought this was for you?”
Well, yeah. “Um, I was hoping so,” I say sheepishly.
He arches a salt-and-pepper eyebrow. “After the way you acted last night?”
I flinch. “What?”
Dad shoots me a you can’t fool me kid stare. “Gabe,” he chides.
I shrug helplessly as I lean against the kitchen counter. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”