“Victory!” I cheer, throwing up both hands to punch the air.
“We’re a great team,” he counters.
“That one point I scored definitely helped,” I say faux-seriously.
He doesn’t argue with me.
We relinquish the table to the next group of players and get another round of beers from the fridge. The party has gotten crowded.
“So, Avery, beer pong champion,” he begins, “I know we spend all this time together at work, but please don’t take this the wrong way—can you tell me about yourself?”
I laugh. “Like, first date style?”
“First date style,” he echoes.
“Is this a date?” I ask, suddenly feeling emboldened by the beer and the victory and the heady rush of New Year’s Eve.
His shoulders creep toward his ears, his lips curl, and he cocks his head to one side. “Maybe?” he asks coyly, self-consciously, like my question caught him off guard. “If you want it to be.”
Before I can formulate the right response—do I want it to be?—he clears his throat and rushes to add, “Or if you don’t want it to be, that is absolutely okay, too.”
“I wondered what you were thinking when you invited me out,” I say, hedging my bets.
“I…” He falters. “I never heard you mention seeing anyone. Are you seeing anybody?”
“I’m not seeing anyone, no,” I say. I hesitate, then decide to share a little more. “But that’s kind of why I moved back to Greenwood. I was in a relationship in LA, and then it ended.”
I consider telling him more about my breakup with Tyler, but decide against it. That conversation would require exposing too much of myself. I don’t need Ryan to see the raw, messy bits of my life. It’s better that he think of me only as a stellar coach or maybe even as someone he might start to like. There’s no use ruining that impression.
Ryan nods and sips his beer. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Maybe I’m imagining it, but whatever glimmer of potential there was between us before, it’s hardened now. His jaw sets a millimeter tighter than it did before. Is he calculating how long I’ve been back in town and how quickly a person can get over heartbreak?
“It was… it was for the best,” I say. “It was time. We should’ve broken up long before we actually did.”
I’ve never said that out loud, but it’s the truth. I’ve always been conscious of the fact that Tyler pulled me out of a dangerous spiral; I know he was so damn good for me when we met. But we both changed. We grew apart. And just because I’m grateful for how he was back then doesn’t mean I owe him forever. The idea is strangely energizing. I’ve been leaning one lazy hip against the kitchen counter, and I straighten up to my full height.
“You’re a fighter,” he says serenely. “You’ll get back out there in no time.”
A fighter. I can’t remember the last time someone called me that. It’s been ages since I deserved that compliment. It feels good to be seen that way.
“Yeah, I know,” I say, testing out what it’s like to accept praise. Not bad.
Ryan digs through an open bag of potato chips, and when he looks back up at me, he has a funny look on his face. His mouth twists to one side. I get the sense that he’s weighing whether or not to say something, and I don’t want to interrupt his train of thought. I pick lightly at the chips.
“For the record, I’m not seeing anyone, either,” he says finally. “I haven’t had anything serious for a while.”
“Mmm.”
I worry that if I say too much, I’ll scare him into changing the subject—and I want to hear more.
“It was tough to date when I was training seriously, and then after, I jumped into a relationship, probably just to feel normal and fill all that time, you know? I figured, if I can’t be a competitive gymnast anymore, maybe I could be someone’s boyfriend.”
I can’t help but let out a short, harsh laugh. “Oh, I know that feeling. Maybe too well.”
His face lights up. “It’s weird, isn’t it? Going from this thing that dominates your whole world to nothing at all. It’s like, well, shit, can I even be anybody else?”
I exhale deeply. “I know what you mean.”
“But anyway, that didn’t pan out. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” I say.
He takes another chip and turns it over in his hand, considering it.
“So I guess what I’m saying is that, if this were a date, I wouldn’t mind,” he says.
I like the hopeful twinkle in his expression.
“Well, I—” I start to say.
“Hey, everyone!” Goose booms from the couch. “One minute to midnight. The countdown’s coming.”
He double-fists electronic devices, cutting off the music with his phone and using the TV remote to take the Times Square broadcast off mute. I hadn’t even noticed Melissa bustling in the kitchen, but while Ryan and I had been talking, she must have poured champagne into two dozen plastic flutes lined up in rows on the counter.
“Here, help me pass these out,” she instructs as she squeezes by me, clutching four to her chest.
I’m frustrated that my conversation with Ryan got interrupted. I grab as many flutes as I can carry and make my way into the crowd, passing them out. When I turn back to get more, Ryan is behind me, his gaze locked on the trembling, overly filled drinks. I hand three plastic flutes to strangers and keep a fourth for myself. I feel too self-conscious to take up prime real estate in a spot in front of the TV, so I move to the edge of the party, near the windows. There’s a roaring, rhythmic cheer coming from the hordes of tourists in Times Square that signals the new year is mere seconds away. I wonder how many millions of people must be watching this same exact sight, and what unfathomable pressure that must place on whoever is responsible for lowering that massive crystal ball.
“Ten, nine, eight,” the party chants.
I shrink closer to the windows, unsure whether or not to join in. They aren’t my friends.
“Seven, six, five,” they shout, growing louder.
Suddenly, Ryan slips between the couple to my left, and he’s by my side.
“Hi,” he breathes.
“Hi,” I say, instantly feeling less alone here.
He places his hand on the small of my back.
“Four, three, two, one! Happy New Year!” everyone announces.
All around us, couples erupt in celebratory kisses. I turn to him just as he turns to me. A curious grin plays on his face. His fingers slide over my waist, keeping us close. I place my hand lightly on his chest, tilt my head up to look at him, and we kiss. I feel a giddy burst of adrenaline, and it’s not only the festive energy radiating throughout the room. Despite harboring a crush on him for years, I never fathomed a world in which I stir up the same dizzying feelings that he creates in me. Ryan pulls back ever so slightly, and a smile curls on his lips.
“Happy New Year,” I whisper.
“I think I like this year already,” he says softly.
He rests his drink on the windowsill, then pulls me closer to him, sliding his hands over my hips. His embrace is warm and thrilling. I feel confident enough to let my hand roam from his chest to his shoulder to his neck, feeling the powerful muscles underneath his sweater. My fingers brush the plush edge of his hair. He nuzzles my cheek and trails kisses down the side of my neck. The sensation is electrifying, and my eyes flutter open.