“I asked first.”
“Just wasn’t into it tonight.”
“And you’re here eating... what, exactly?” He glanced at my empty hands. “Coffee?”
“I was going to order but I was interrupted—”
“No you weren’t.” He flagged down the waitress without asking. “Two orders of pancakes. Extra butter. Bacon if it’s not burned.”
“It’s always burned,” the waitress said, but she was smiling slightly. “But I’ll bring it anyway.”
She walked away.
I should’ve told him to leave and said I wanted to be alone.
But something about him—his ease, the way he’d just sat down like it was the most natural thing in the world—made it impossible. There was something magnetic about him and it helped that he was cute.
“Why aren’t you at your team thing?” Ethan asked.
“Why do you care?”
“Because I need an in with crew. And you’re my best shot.” He said it plainly, no pretense. “You bail on the bonding event, show up here looking miserable—that tells me something.”
“Tells you what?”
“That you’re not all in on the legacy thing. Which means you might actually listen when I pitch my idea.”
My phone buzzed again.
Marcus
Seriously man this looks bad
The pancakes arrived faster than they should’ve. Dense and somehow both overcooked and undercooked at the same time. The bacon was nearly carbon.
“Perfect,” Ethan said cheerfully, cutting into his stack.
“You call this perfect?”
“Terrible pancakes are therapeutic. Trust me.”
He ate with the unselfconscious enthusiasm of someone who’d never been told to watch his posture or use the right fork. I picked up my fork and took a bite.
He was right. They were terrible.
But something about it—about sitting here with a stranger who didn’t expect me to be perfect—made the tightness in my chest loosen slightly.
“So,” Ethan said. “The pitch. I film your practices, your races, make content for recruitment and social media. You guys need it—Riverside’s kicking your ass online.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I’ve been stalking your program for three weeks trying to figure out how to get in.” He grinned. “Plus I grew up watching crew. My uncle rowed at UW. I know the sport.”
My phone buzzed again.
“What’s in it for you?” I asked.
“Portfolio. Experience. Recommendation letters.” He counted on his fingers. “Also, you guys are aesthetic as hell. Golden hour on the water, slow-motion spray, muscular determination—it’s basically sports porn.”
