Which is stupid. We hardly know each other.
Although, not knowing much about the kind and mysterious first baseman who used to live with my brother hasn’t stopped my inconvenient crush on him from taking root. It’s only grown since the first time I visited North Bay. So maybe I don’t exactly hate the idea of having a little bit of alone time with him, even if it is going to be mortifying.
Thankfully, Madison restrains herself from making any more comments, but I can still picture her eyes rolling from all the way across the country.
“Tell me how Greek life is treating you.” I try yet again to change the subject.
She takes the bait this time, launching into the latest gossip about the girls who share her house. I peruse the aisles while she talks, tossing my favorite yogurt and granola bars into the cart until one of her sorority sisters calls out to her and she needs to go. After we say goodbye, I head over to the deli.
“Here you go, Ms. Miller. You sure do throw a lot of parties.” The worker behind the counter recognizes me and hands me my special-order catering tray.
I place it carefully in the cart and hand over the empty one from last week. “Call me Shelley. I’m afraid it’s a party of one.”
He gives me a look I can’t interpret. I’m not sure if it’s pity, judgment, or just indifference. Sometimes I have a hard time with faces.
I know it’s a little unusual to custom order a party-sized fruit and veggie tray every week when I’m the only one eating it, but it’s one way I’ve learned to manage my quirks. Having healthy foods already washed, prepped, and ready to eat keeps me from noshing on takeout every night or forgetting to eat altogether, and saves me money in the long run. It’s an accommodation I’m willing to make for myself, but not everyone understands. Or maybe the deli worker couldn’t possibly care less and I’m reading too much into it.
Either way, the interaction reminds me I need to put a call in to my psychiatrist for a refill on my meds. And I also still should try to talk to Jo, if I can manage to remember how phones work this time. I wish I didn’t have to spend so much of my already limited time dealing with this problem. I’ve been using the cream Dr. Dupree recommended, and I think I might be noticing a small difference, but not enough to conclude it’s working. Is there really no better option than messing with the med schedule it took years to work out?
“Thank you,” I tell the deli worker before I push the cart toward the checkout, trying to convince myself that it doesn’t matter if he’s judging me. As my mom is fond of saying,what other people think of me is none of my business.
My phone vibrates with a text I assume is from my sister wanting to share another piece of Theta gossip she forgot. When I see Jordan’s name instead, a singular little butterfly dances in my stomach.
Jordan:Is early afternoon OK to pick you up on Thursday? Mike says the plan is for you to stay here with me for one night, then go to the hotel the next day.
Me:Yep. I was also told that’s the plan. Thank you for driving me.
Jordan:Sure thing.
There’s no logical reason for the smile that finds its way to my face each time a text from him comes through. It will most likely be a long, awkward car ride followed by a quiet night in, with both of us doing our best to talk about anything but my ridiculous question. Okay, questions. Plural.
Still, it means hours alone with one of the most attractive men I’ve ever met. These days, I need to take my excitement where I can get it.
All the way back to my apartment, my heart dances with anticipation at the same time my stomach gurgles with anxiety and unanswered questions. This crush is really freaking inconvenient. I don’t have time to be daydreaming about a baseball player who lives three hours away. I have actual important things to do. Like pass my classes.
At least the spring semester is wrapping up soon, and I’ll have a small reprieve before the summer session. And I get to fly home to visit my family during the week-long break in our schedule next month. My mom wants us all to go to the Foxhounds game when Mike’s new team plays in Idaho.
As I walk in the door, I kick off my shoes and set my purse on the floor. I toss my keys onto the counter and eye the stack of unopened mail. I’ll get to it later. Probably. Come to think of it, I haven’t been down to my mail slot for a while either.
After putting the groceries mostly away, I strip out of my fitted jeans and the button-down top I’ve been wearing all day and kick them toward the in-unit stackable washer and dryer in my hall closet. Which reminds me, I never switched the load I put in yesterday, so now I have to run it again to get out the wet clothes funk. Slipping on some pajama shorts from the full basket of clean clothes that never make it to my drawers and letting the rest of the day melt away, I let out a moan as I unhook my bra and replace it with my Stacy Haverson tank top. ThenI drop into a kitchen chair and start my homework before I get sidetracked again.
I get in two solid hours of reading before my eyes cross and the words on the laptop screen are blurry. Taking my computer to my room, I call it a wrap on the studying and open a new tab. It’s time to treat myself to a much-needed night in watching the Wing Warriors competition.
When I’m stressed out, which is pretty much always, I like to watch competitive eating challenges. Especially the female competitors. There’s something invigorating about seeing a woman dominate a man twice her size by taking down twenty pounds of chicken wings while he taps out next to her. I’m obsessed with Stacy Haverson, the reigning champion.
Flopping onto the nest of pillows in my bed, I set up my computer in front of me. A few seconds later, Stacy’s sauce-covered face fills the screen. Now I wish I had chicken wings or something else loaded with sodium and grease. Sparing a glance toward the kitchen, I heave a huge sigh because, despitejustbuying all that prepared food for this exact situation, I know I won’t be eating any of it tonight. Why is it so hard to make yourself eat all the healthy things after you bring them home?
It takes approximately thirty seconds for me to cave and place a delivery order for a burger, then I’m able to get lost in the controlled chaos of the event as Stacy tears into a pile of wings, stripping the meat from the bones like the beast she is. With a minute and fourteen seconds left and barbecue sauce coating her neon pink fingernails, she sticks out her tongue to prove she swallowed the final bite.
“Yes!” I jump out of bed and throw my arms in the air, but when I realize I’m screaming alone in my apartment, I quickly bring them down again. Maybe I should get a cat or something. It’s lonely not having anyone to share these moments with.
Chapter 5
Jordan
Things in North Bay have been so busy, today sort of snuck up on me, but I’m on my way to get Shelley. After Mike’s awkward bachelor party and the crazy storms that caused our games to get cancelled and sent the whole town into a frenzy, Thursday came quickly, even though there was no baseball. At least I got a new roommate out of it. I talked with Danielle’s friend, Jake Gibson, at the party, and he’s going to move into Mike’s old room, along with his bulldog, Hazel.
Jake seems cool, but he definitely has a misguided idea about what’s going on between me and Shelley after seeing her latest panic text, which happened to come through while he was putting his number into my phone. Because of course it did. Keeping with her theme of unfortunate messages, that one said,No one at this wedding can know you have intimate knowledge of my body. I’m serious, Jordan. Promise me.I told him nothing happened between us, but who would believe me after seeing that?
