Was she just some kind of cookie fairy, lifting the spirits of depressed college students? This was another idea I could get behind. If this was a Pied Piper situation, and she was planning on luring me away, I was pretty sure it was going to work.
“I’m good at making cookies, don’t you think?” Bethany asked.
I nodded. “You’re fantastic at it. You should open up your own shop. Or I’ll kick out one of my roommates, and you can move in and bake as much as you’d like.”
She waved my suggestion away. “Since I’ve proven to you that I’m good at something I say I’m good at, I’m also amazing at taking notes. Like, exceptional. I record the lectures and then go back and fill in my outlines with any details I might have missed in class.”
Bethany took out a notebook and placed it on her lap. “Sorry for eavesdropping, but I heard you saying you needed the notes from Professor Kozwolski’s class. You can copy my notes, and you won’t miss anything he said while you were gone.”
Whoa. That was a level of academic dedication I was unused to witnessing. This whole thing was confusing. “But he said he told the students not to share notes.”
“He said he ‘strongly encouraged’ us not to. That’s not a rule.”
“I think he still meant ‘don’t do this.’”
“Then he should have used his words more precisely,” she said in a prim tone. “Are you interested?”
What kind of sorcery was this? She was offering me incredible cookies and was willing to lend me excellent notes? “What’s the catch?”
“It’s not really a catch. More of a . . . quid pro quo.”
“What can I offer you? I’m pretty much quo free.”
“You can set me up with your old friend Bash. I’ve had a bit of a crush on him since football season. I just haven’t worked up the courage to talk to him. And trust me, I know how pathetic and desperate this sounds. But I broke up with my high-school boyfriend a month ago and realized that I have no idea how to talk to a new guy or get him interested in me other than sending a kissy face or winking emoji. But if you could talk to him . . .”
This was what I was willing to do for baked goods and a passing grade. Pimp out Bash. Even if it felt like she’d just sucker punched me.
But I really needed those notes.
“Leave it to me,” I said, hoping my smile didn’t look fake. “I’ll make the introductions, and we’ll get it set up. I even know where he is right now. You should come over with me and meet him.” It shouldn’t be that hard to convince him. Bethany was pretty, seemed hardworking, and could bake. Bash would probably marry her if I saved one of these cookies for him. I crammed the leftover one into my mouth instead.
“Thanks. This whole thing is so weird. I can’t believe I even talked to you about this. It’s very unlike me. It’s actually kind of stressing me out,” she said with a laugh as she began to dig through her purse. More cookies? Yes, please. “And if I’m going to actually talk to him, I probably need to, you know.”
She pulled out a package of Tic Tacs and opened it up. “Do you ever stop and wonder how many calories there are in these things?”
Was she serious? I looked at her face. Oh no, she was. It was in that moment that I knew we could never be friends. Some things in life you just know with a hundred percent certainty, and this was one of them.
I didn’t need to be her friend. I just needed her notes. “Yep. Okay. Let’s head over to the Smithson, and I’ll get this set up. You hang back, and I’ll arrange everything.”
We walked over to the food court, crunching through the snow, and we made small talk, comparing our other classes, since we shared a major. My mind was somewhere else, though. Here I’d made up concerns about Sabrina or Jess when there was someone else waiting in the wings to try and claim Bash’s heart.
It shouldn’t have bothered me, but it totally did.
Bash was easy to find in the midst of the food court. He was the best-looking, tallest, and broadest guy in the place, with the biggest mountain of food in front of him. And he was digging into it like a pack of lions attacking a zebra. It was one of the things I’d always liked best about him. How he ate like they’d just invented it. Because it meant that when we went out to eat, he was never one of those guys who was like, Are you sure you want to order dessert? as they looked you up and down.
I grabbed a bag of vegetable chips so that I had a reason to be here and paid a ridiculous amount of money for them to the nice man at the register. I wondered what had happened to Sabrina. Maybe she’d taken one look at Bash’s carnage and fled.
“Hey,” I said as I sat at Bash’s table. “I see you didn’t leave anything for the rest of the student body.”
He swallowed quickly and then said, “First come, first gets all the food. I decided to go ahead and have second lunch while I was here.”
“As one does.” I opened my bag of veggie chips and ate a few. I didn’t gag this time like I had the last time I’d eaten these.
“Twice in one day, huh? Are you stalking me now?” he asked with a wink as he settled a plate of spaghetti in front of himself.
If anything, I was rather adept at doing the opposite. “Hardly. I just needed something to eat.” I shook the bag.
“That doesn’t seem like something you’d eat. More like something they’d give to the hamsters at the pet store.”
“Shows what you know. Don’t mock my nutritionally woke food. One of my New Year’s resolutions was to eat healthier.” I did not tell him that I had broken this resolution only minutes earlier, or that my other resolutions were mainly about not doing what I was doing right now. Being around / talking to him. “These are chips made out of vegetables. Which basically means I’m eating a salad.”
“Check the label. Those aren’t healthy.”
“Says the man downing enough carbs to feed an Olympic swim team.” I turned the bag around and read the ingredients. “This is made from, like, spinach and beets. Anything that comes from the ground is basically healthy, right?”
“Potatoes come from the ground. If you’re going to eat something like that, at least enjoy yourself. Like me. I’m enjoying myself. I feel like I owe fealty to the Smithson for all the delicious food.”
“That’s what the money’s for,” I told him.
“Maybe I should name our firstborn child after it. Smithson Sebastian.”
Our? Had he actually just said our firstborn child? I was low-key hallucinating. Add to that the fact that I’d spent the last two and a half weeks eating those bad-for-you vegetable chips and today was becoming rather disappointing. I threw the bag on the table and reached over to grab some of Bash’s fries, which were at the opposite end. We ate in silence for a couple of minutes while I tried to figure out a smooth transition for the Bethany situation.
“This is nice,” he said.
“What? Me stealing your food?” I stole some more.
“No. Today’s been nice. It was fun sitting next to you in class, being able to talk like friends again.”
Well, I’d been all for ignoring the your-dad-married-my-mom-and-we-haven’t-talked-in-years elephant in the room, but he wasn’t wrong. “It was nice.” It was one of the things I’d always liked about hanging out with Bash. The camaraderie that happened without us even trying. I had always felt like the best version of myself when I was with him.
So, obviously, I had to find a way to take away nice and normal and make it all stupid again. “Are you dating anyone?”
Bash froze. Like, pigeons-could-have-landed-on-him level of freezing. And he stayed that way for longer than was comfortable. He gulped down whatever had been in his mouth. “No. Why? Are you seeing someone?”
“Only if I close my eyes and concentrate real hard.” Why was he being so weird about this? It wasn’t like I’d asked for the password to his phone or something. I was just . . . making conversation. To find out if Bethany, Giver of Sweet Things, had a shot.
Okay, I was doing it badly, but still.
“I meant, are you dating anyone?” he asked. Then his lips did that little sardonic twist that I’d always loved, and I just barely prevented myself from sighing.
“Nope. I’m single and ready to act awkward around anyone I find even a little bit attractive.” I grabbed more fries. How could I have ever thought I could give up fried potatoes? I must have been in a vegetable-chip-induced madness.
“You were never awkward,” he said in a way that made my stomach flip. Or maybe it was the veggie chips staging a coup against the tasty food I was eating. Regardless, he was a big old liar.
And now I was feeling plenty awkward. “Look, I was going to try and be slick about this, but here’s the truth. My new friend, Bethany, much to my surprise, is interested in going out with you.”
“How well do you know Bethany?” He had a weird expression on his face, almost like he’d eaten something bad. Which didn’t make any sense because he once ate almost an entire pound of potato salad that gave everyone else on the football team food poisoning. He had an iron stomach, both inside and out.
“How well do I know her? Not as well as you’re going to.” Ugh. I was grossing myself out. I could not be his wingman. What was I thinking?
He seemed to share in my sentiment as he didn’t even crack a smile. “Seriously.”
“Don’t look a gift hot chick in the mouth. I’m sure she fits all of your superhigh standards. Like, she’s alive, and she’s interested in you.” She also lacked curves of any kind other than the ones on her chest, and I had my suspicions about those.
While I was pondering whether or not to mention the chocolate-chip cookies, he asked, “Why didn’t she come talk to me herself?”
“I don’t know. There was this whole thing about how she broke up with her longtime boyfriend and wasn’t sure how to approach you, and she said she’d lend me her notes for biochem if I would just talk to you, and . . .” Again, my mouth went faster than my brain could keep up, and I’d probably just ruined everything.
He blinked slowly. “You’re whoring me out?”
“Nobody’s getting paid. It’s more of a tradeoff. And it’s good for you. She’s cute, and when you ask her out, she’s going to say yes. Please?”
Something in my tone must have affected him because he just shook his head, and that good old Bash smile was back. It meant things were okay between us. “I haven’t asked a girl out in so long, I’m not sure I remember how it’s done.”
“Just use that charm you think you have and those things called words, and you’ll be fine.” I grabbed his melting chocolate milkshake and took a big gulp.
He leaned back against the booth, crossing his arms. He studied me while I slurped down the rest of his milkshake. Resolution broken again.
“I have an idea,” he announced, and something in his expression set off warning bells.
Excellent. I just knew that somehow Bash was about to make everything stupider.
“I’ll do it on one condition.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“You let me set you up with a guy from the football team.”
“Why?” It was bad enough that I was setting Bash up. I didn’t want him to do the same. Even though I knew he didn’t want me and we had a weird family situation, as long as he didn’t do stuff like set me up with his friends, I could still daydream.
“You do something nice for me, I do something nice for you. It’s what friends do. An even trade.”
I pushed the metal milkshake cup away and let out a groan of disgust. “When did this school turn into one giant bartering system?”
“What?” he asked, understandably confused.
“Nothing,” I said with a wave. “But I’m running out of stuff I can trade. I mean, if we keep going down this road, I’m going to have to start doing unspeakable things to the guy at the register just to get some ice cream.”
He continued to seem confused, and I wisely refrained from explaining my trade tirade and kept the details of the cookie bribing to myself. No need to add gasoline to the fire.
“Is that your bizarre way of saying yes? And that we’ll make this a double date so that it’ll be less awkward for everyone?”
What? How on earth could a double date possibly be less awkward? I so did not want to agree to that. I looked across the cafeteria to where Bethany was watching us with a hopeful look on her face, and I really wanted the nice cookie lady to feel better. I also still really wanted her notes.
“I think it might make it more awkward, but whatever. I’m in. That’s Bethany over there.” I waved to her, and she gave me the most enthusiastic wave back that I’d ever personally witnessed. Like a beauty queen on meth.
“Wish me luck,” he said as he got up and made his way over to her. She jumped out of her seat, nervously shifting her weight back and forth as he approached.
Like a glutton for punishment, I watched it happen with a heightened heartbeat. I wanted her to say no, even though I knew she wouldn’t. I wanted him to botch it so badly that he had to slink away in shame. But given his charm and sense of humor, there was nothing he couldn’t bounce back from. Even if he did mess up, he’d make it cute and adorable somehow.
They greeted each other, and I wished I could hear what they were saying. He smiled, she smiled. I could see her nervousness seeping away. They looked like a short Barbie and an overgrown Malibu Ken. Even in boots with heels she barely reached his bicep. Then she put her hand on said bicep, laughing at something he’d said.
Why was my heart clenching so hard? Why was it suddenly so difficult to breathe? I mean, Bash had to have dated other people while we were apart. I certainly had. But I’d never had to watch one of his dates happening in front of me in real time. Like a slow-motion car wreck that I couldn’t look away from. Then they exchanged their phones to give one another their contact information.
OMG, this was it. They were going to get married, and I’d have to see her at holiday dinners where she’d wonder out loud how many pesticides were on the lettuce because they were obviously going to get married, and their wedding invitations would have intertwined B’s on them, and the theme would be “meant to bee” with those honeypots and mason jars everywhere, and they’d have little blond babies and get a golden retriever and live happily ever after.
It was possible I was overthinking this.
Bash returned and sat back down. “She said yes. I’ll get everything set up and text you the date and time. Is your phone number still the same?”
Still the same as it had been back when I thought I was the one who would have his blond babies someday? “Yes.”
“My number’s the same, too. We’ll talk soon. And maybe after the date we can have a post-game recap. As friends.”
“Okay.”
He walked away, and I stayed at the table, sadly surveying the leftover wrappers and whole chicken carcass he’d left behind.
What had I done?
CHAPTER FIVE
BASH
What had I done?
Why had I asked Bethany out on a date? Was it some immature thing where my subconscious mind was acting out, like, If Ember’s over me and can push me off on someone else, then I’m going to show her that I’m in the same place emotionally and it wouldn’t bother me at all for her to go out with one of my teammates?
While I was supposed to be wrestling with the fine art of astronomy, instead I was thinking about Ember and why I’d gone along with her scheme. It couldn’t have been a petty I’ll-show-you situation because Ember had told me months ago at the house that she had moved on. That she wasn’t looking for an apology or an explanation and that she wanted us to be just friends. It was hard to forget the emphasis on the word just.
She’d made it painfully obvious that there was nothing between us. Finding out that she’d had the same phone number she’d had back in high school . . . it stirred up a mixture of nostalgia and regret. It was a good thing she’d never called me after I moved. I probably would have picked
up. But she hadn’t called. I’d always assumed it was out of anger. And maybe it was in the beginning, but now . . . now I knew better.
When I’d accepted Coach Oakley’s offer, I hadn’t known that Ember was at EOL. But I did know where her mom and younger sister would be. I knew that I was going to have a way to get in touch with her. And I wanted that more than anything, to see her again. To see if we could be friends moving forward, once I’d cleared the air and apologized for my stupid teenage behavior.
I had to accept that the decision I’d made all those years ago was still the right one.
But even now . . . even after I’d stayed away and reminded myself that we couldn’t be together, I still wanted her. I still felt that spark when we touched. Felt totally enthralled whenever she was speaking and couldn’t wait to hear what she was going to say next. And when she’d talked about doing unspeakable things to the guy in the food court, my mind had wandered into not-suitable-for-work territory.
I liked being with her, hanging out with her. I always had.
And friends was better than nothing. Which I knew for a fact because I’d had nothing for almost four years.
So I was going to have to set her up with one of my teammates. I ran through a mental checklist of who was actually single, and who I would trust to take out Ember.
Only one name came to mind. Once class ended, I pulled out my cell phone and called Todd Woodby. He was the slowest texter I’d ever met, and I didn’t currently have the patience to wait for his response.
Woodby picked up right away. “Yo, what is up, you mother flipper?” he asked.
Coach had a no-swearing rule, and while I was typically fine off the field, on the field was a different story. I got . . . passionate about the game. And I expressed that passion. Forcefully. So I had to come up with some . . . creative means of expressing my frustration, which consisted of substitute words. Which my teammates found totally hilarious and mocked me constantly.
My roommate, Logan, had once told me that whenever we were watching international sports and they started playing the Canadian national anthem, he always felt slightly scandalized since one of my favorite angry expressions was O, Canada! I couldn’t explain why, but saying it angrily was really satisfying.
Just a Boyfriend Page 4