by Staci Hart
“And us?” he asked hopefully.
I smiled. “And us.”
“I thought old people weren’t supposed to eat spicy stuff.”
“Not Mrs. Frank. I swear she makes the spiciest Bloody Marys I’ve ever tasted.”
He chuckled. “You going up there later?”
“Yeah, after the game. What are you doing tonight?” I stuffed a dip-slathered chip in my mouth.
“I’m going out with Adrienne,” he answered, something undecipherable in his voice.
Thankfully, I had a full mouth to keep me from giving myself away. You’re glad. It’s good. Best thing ever. They’re perfect together. Stop being weird, Cameron. I swallowed and took a long sip of my beer. “Good,” I said, sounding completely normal. “Where are you going?”
“Frenchie’s — it’s a French-American hipster bistro, or something. That’s what Adrienne said, at least. She asked me out.”
A laugh shot out of me. “I love that. She’s got some pretty serious lady-balls.”
He smiled. “I’m glad you like her. I don’t know when I became so dependent on your approval, but it really makes me feel better knowing you set it up.”
It was like last night hadn’t even happened. I wondered if I’d imagined the whole thing, him nearly kissing me, saying things I didn’t know how to take. He just sat there next to me, eyes on the screen, sipping his beer like everything was fine.
All I could do was pretend everything was just fine. So I swallowed hard and did just that.
“Well, I’m happy to set you up. After you brought home that Julia chick, I had to stop letting you make your own decisions on the matter. She was a mess.”
“She wasn’t that bad.”
My face was flat. “She laughed like a horse, and she called a soccer goal a touchdown.”
He laughed. “She could have been taught the proper terms.”
“Yeah, but you would have had to live with that laugh. And by proxy, I would have had to live with that laugh.”
He sat back on the couch smirking, and I tried not to pay attention to how his Huskers shirt stretched across his broad chest. “Oh, come on, Cam. You have to admit that your standards are high.”
“Well, someone has to keep them high. Otherwise you’d be dragging home girls who are all wrong for you.”
Tyler’s brow rose. “And what’s ‘all wrong’ for me?”
“Well,” I said, taking a sip of my beer to buy me a second, “if I didn’t monitor you, you’d be bringing home who knows what. Nerds. Short girls. Girls who aren’t into the things you’re into.”
He shrugged and took a swig of his own beer. “Far as I know, there is no right or wrong. I don’t really think about people like that. Categorized.”
“And that’s exactly why you need my help,” I said with a smile.
He laughed and shook his head. “If you say so, Cam.”
“So what do you really think of Adrienne?” I asked, morbidly curious, as if I was asking for something I shouldn’t know, like what color underwear she wore.
“She’s smart, interesting,” he said, rubbing his jaw. “We have a lot in common — not just in work, but she enjoys some of the things I do. Football. Law & Order.”
I giggled. “It’s like a crime-based soap opera.”
“Don’t mock my favorite show, snob. Anyway, seems like a good match, on paper, at least. We’ll see how it goes tonight.”
“You don’t seem overly enthusiastic.”
He raised a brow at me. “Well, what would make you feel better about it?”
I squirmed. “I dunno.” Not going. The logical part of my conscience punched the pouty part in the nose. “I’m excited to hear about it when you get home tonight.”
“Who says I’m coming home?” He waggled his brows, and I laughed, trying not to think about the actual possibility of that.
“Ugh, ew. It’s like thinking about my brother doing it,” I lied.
Wet blanket: thrown.
He looked a little hurt, though he covered it with mock offense. “I mean, I know I’m hideous and all, but way to bruise my ego.”
“Don’t even pretend like you don’t know you’re male model material, Tyler.”
He made a face. “But still. Your brother?”
I shrugged. “I never had a brother, so this is what I imagined it would feel like.” Minus the ladyboner I got every morning watching his exit from the shower, but I wasn’t telling him that. The fib seemed to have quieted him, and I felt better and worse.
“Hmm,” he said with a frown and trained his eyes on the TV, taking another pull of his beer.
“Oh!” I perked up a little. “So Bayleigh texted me, and guess what she said?”
“That she’s running away with Martin to Vegas?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Ha, ha. No. Greg almost kissed her in the liquor cage!” I bounced a little on the couch as I did John Travolta disco moves, even though I may have been embellishing about Greg — she signaled him, leaned in for it, but he ended up patting her on the arm. Like anything could be less romantic than a pat on the arm.
He frowned, brows drawn. “Hmm,” he said again.
“You’re not actually still banking on Martin, are you?” I asked.
“I dunno, Cam. I think he really likes her.”
Now I was frowning too. “Well, that’s kind of your fault, getting his hopes up like that when you knew she was into Greg.”
“I didn’t know she was into Greg — I only knew that you thought she should be into Greg. I’m going to disagree with you on this one, Cam. I watched them the other night and didn’t get a single hint that he was into her. Not one. But I did watch her and Martin, and I’ll tell you something, they didn’t look the same way as she and Greg did together.” He took a drink. “Not that I’m an expert or anything.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for him to get hurt.” I touched his arm, feeling cowed, hoping he knew I meant it.
He sighed. “No, I figured you didn’t. And anyway, it’s not like he’s really hurt, just has a thing for a girl who may or may not like him back.”
“Well,” I said cheerfully, “maybe I can find him someone too.”
“You realize it’s not your responsibility to matchmake the world, right? People have been handling it on their own for thousands of years before you.”
“But I’m so good at it,” I joked.
“Yeah. I guess you are. But did you ever think to give it up and leave people to their own devices?”
I shrugged, feeling a little foolish, a little meddlesome. The truth was that it kept me busy and fulfilled enough that I didn’t often consider the fact that I was alone. But rather than admit all that, I said, “It makes me feel good to bring other people to happiness. I find it satisfying.”
He looked at me with deep brown eyes, eyes that believed me and accepted me, even when I was presumptuous and proud. Eyes I could fall into, if I looked long enough.
“I guess I can’t argue with that,” he said.
“Good.” I smiled like it was all okay, like he didn’t affect me the way he did. “I hate arguing.”
“Liar.”
“Fair enough. But I hate arguing with you.”
“Liar.”
I laughed and punched him in the arm. He pretended it hurt, bless him, rubbing the spot my tiny hand smacked into his bicep. And then I settled into the couch next to Tyler, through the afternoon and into the evening, trying not to think about his date later or what it would mean. Trying to remind myself that he didn’t belong on my shelf. He belonged on the shelf with the Adrienne Christies of the world.
Night had fallen, and the game we were watching had all but ended when he finally hauled himself off the couch.
He yawned and stretched, arching his back a little. “Guess I should go get dressed. I’m picking Adrienne up in a half hour.”
“Ugh,” I groaned as I picked up the remnants of our afternoon munchies and beer. “It’s not fair. A girl can’t
get ready in any less than an hour. That’s a plan and simple fact.”
“Not true. I’ve seen you get ready in ten minutes.”
I rolled my eyes. “I mean real girls.”
He didn’t respond, and when I looked up, he had a look on his face that I couldn’t place.
“What?” I asked.
He shook his head, breaking eye contact as he walked over to help me clean up. “You’re as real a girl as I’ve ever seen, Cam.” He reached for some beer bottles. “Here, let me help you with that,” he said before I could respond.
I waved him off, trying to will my heart to slow down. “I’ve got this. Go get ready for your hot date, mister.”
He scooped up beer bottles. “Too late. Already going.”
I chuckled and followed him into the kitchen, tossing beer bottles in the recycling before setting my armful of snacks down on the counter. Tyler turned on the water and picked up a sponge.
“Get out of here, Tyler. Go on!” I karate kicked him in the butt, and the bridge of my foot spanned one of his rock-hard ass cheeks.
He laughed and put up his hands. “Fine, fine. I don’t want you breaking any appendages trying to hurt me.”
“Ha, ha, tough guy.” I turned and made my way back into the living room as he headed toward his room.
By the time I’d cleared everything and had all but the fundido to deal with, he walked out of his room looking simply beautiful. His tailored shirt was light gray, sleeves cuffed just above his elbows, top button undone. Black pants and belt with a slate gray buckle that you couldn’t help but look at, even if it wasn’t anything special, just a small flash of metal around the line of his waist. He wore deep gray suede oxfords, and as they tread through the apartment and to the bathroom, I found myself frozen in place, watching him inspect his reflection through the frame of the bathroom door.
Something changed, shifted in that moment, and I realized I’d just covered up the fact that I cared about him in ways I wasn’t prepared to deal with. Maybe I’d been hiding the fact that I wanted him more deeply than the simple rules of attraction, knowing he could never really be mine.
Maybe I’d been wrong about everything.
He turned and caught me looking, smiling brightly as he made his way over to me, and I snapped back into action, grabbing the skillet and keeping my eyes on the remnants of the dip inside to avoid meeting his eyes.
“Don’t get into any trouble, you hear?” I said to my hands as I rounded up the dip with a spoon. “If Jack has to fly back to bail you out of jail, he’s not gonna be happy.”
He laughed as he scooped up his keys. “You wouldn’t bail me out?”
“Psh. I don’t have that kind of cash, Knight. Tell Adrienne I said hi.”
“All right, I will.”
I looked up, my hands stilling. “And Tyler?”
He was turned toward the door, his face angled back to look at me, eyes expectant.
“Have fun.” I smiled, lips closed, swallowing hard as I fought the feeling that I was sending him on a death march.
He smiled back, a crooked smile full of mirth. “Thanks, Cam.”
And with that, he was gone.
I looked into the cheese as if the configuration of sausage and tomatoes would tell my fortune like a soothsayer’s tea leaves. But I found no answers. So I sank into a chair at the table and ate it all out of spite.
Tyler
I left the apartment feeling like she’d had more to say — the sensation was so strong that I fought the urge to turn around and go back to talk to her. But Cam was Cam, and I was me. And she’d made it all too clear that the two of us were separate, even referring to me as her brother.
I shuddered at the thought. I had enough sisters to know for a fact that how I felt about Cam wasn’t even in the same universe.
On the walk to Adrienne’s apartment, I considered the last few days.
Last night I’d almost kissed Cam. I don’t know what had come over me. Maybe it was just being a little drunk, like I only needed a tiny break in my inhibitions to make a move. But she’d backed away. Laughed. Rejected me in the way only she could, in a way that didn’t hurt so much as it stung. All I could do about it was to pretend like it hadn’t happened, though I wished I had the courage to find that part of myself that wasn’t afraid and let it loose.
But she was her. I was me. And we weren’t together. She didn’t want me.
No, she wanted me to date Adrienne.
I puzzled over it all, tried to push it away and pump myself up for the date, but by the time I reached her apartment, I was still distracted, feeling distant, lost in my thoughts.
I should have been cheered by Adrienne’s smile. I should have appreciated the way she looked in the deep red dress she wore. I should have felt better when she hooked her arm in mine and we made our way to dinner.
But I didn’t.
Our salads had been carried away before she asked me if I was all right, and I took a sip of my wine, knowing I had to at least get my head straight enough to entertain her through dinner.
“I’m sorry. I’m fine.” I sat back in my chair, watching her across the flicker of the candle between us, doing my best at small talk. “Cam says you do cosplay?”
She smiled reassuringly. “I really just go because Sarah hates going alone. Too many creeps, she says. But it’s fun dressing up. She’s so into it, watches anime pretty much nonstop. She’s read more comics than I’ve watched Law & Order.”
I chuckled. “Well, if what you say is true, that’s impressive.”
“Sarah’s convinced me to read a few, but it’s not really my thing. I actually prefer non-fiction.”
“I’m the same way. Cam’s been trying to find a book for me to fall in love with since I met her, but so far, no luck. The last one was The Martian. Should have watched the movie first, but she wouldn’t let me.”
“It’s a good one. You into movies?”
“Over books, definitely.” I shifted, turning my wine glass by the stem, struggling to keep the conversation going. “I feel like I should ask you your sign or something.”
She laughed. “Scorpio. Don’t look so scared — I’m at least self-aware enough not to stab people with my opinions. Often, at least.”
“I’m a Pisces.”
“Ah,” she said knowingly. “Go with the flow. Selfless, loyal. Cam’s good. Astrologically, we’re a match made in heaven.”
“She just seems to know things, like a sixth sense. She’s just hyper-observant, I think.”
“Well, it’s a pretty impressive trick. So you used to play for Nebraska, right?”
I took a drink and nodded. “Tight end. Injured junior year. Jack offered me a job, thankfully, because I couldn’t go back.”
She bit her lip. “I read a little about it. I’m so sorry.”
I smirked. “You studied up on me?”
Her cheeks flushed. “I make sure to at least search my dates’ names on the internet. That’s just being responsible.”
I laughed. “Maybe I should take notes. It’s been a minute since I’ve dated.”
“Any reason?”
“No, nothing specific. Just hadn’t found anybody I was interested in enough to pursue.”
“Well, I’m glad I chased you down.”
I smiled and lied. “Me too.”
She took a sip of her wine. “So, what does Tyler Knight do for fun on the weekends?
“Cam and I watch football every weekend that I’m not traveling. In the summer, she dragged me to a bunch of indie films and a couple of conventions, but otherwise, not much. I’ve been told I’m boring.”
She chuckled. “Well, I have to disagree with that. Were the cons all that bad?”
“Nah. I actually had a great time. She’s easy to get along with — like she’s just one of those people who makes everything fun, you know? I just like to mess with her about it.”
“So what about you though? I mean, what are you interested in?”
My
brow dropped a hair, and I tried not to frown. “I play chess, and video games sometimes. But mostly, it’s football. It’s just that’s only a few months out of the year. The rest of the time, I’m pretty open, so I just tag along with Cam wherever she’s going. Otherwise I’d probably just be addicted to Netflix like the rest of the population.”
“It’s a real epidemic. So, you two are close, huh?” She took a sip of her drink, watching me.
I sighed, not knowing why I kept bringing her up. “Yeah. I mean, when I met her, I’d just come out of a long-term thing that didn’t end well. I have friends, don’t get me wrong, but …” I paused, not even sure where I was going with any of it. Not that I could stop rambling. “Everything changed when I was injured. You look at your life, the course of it, and you think you’ve got it figured out, you know? But then one day it’s gone. That dream disappears, and you’ve got to figure everything out.”
“I get that,” she said quietly.
“Well, everyone else I knew got their dreams in one way or another. Part of me is glad it turned out this way. I’ve seen what going pro has done to some of the guys I know, and even though I’d like to think I’d hold onto who I am, who knows if I could have. In any event, I just didn’t fit anywhere after that. I want to stay connected to the game, but sometimes it hurts. And Cam … well, she was the first person in a long time who didn’t care about any of that. She just saw me. So, the short answer is yeah. We’re close.”
“I’m glad you have her.”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah, me too.”
“Do you … are you two …”
I shook my head. “Cam’s never shown any interest in that,” I said, answering too honestly, catching myself too late.
“And what about you?”
I shifted in my seat and smiled. “Why are we talking about Cam? I’m on a date with you.”
“Because you keep bringing her up,” she said without accusation.
“She’s been working really hard to set us up.”
She smiled. “I could tell by her interview that she was on a mission. Sarah said she used to set people up at the comic shop when she could, though the ratio of connectable patrons was a little off.”
“Then you’ll also know she’s got a knack for it.”