“Sucha gentleman,” she smirks, sipping her smoothie.
“Call me old fashioned but, the guy always pays.”
“But this isn’t a date,” she reminds me.
“This isn’tthedate.” I playfully cheers her cup and she shakes her head in disbelief, a grin spread across her face.
“Gentleman my ass.” Her voice is sarcastic but there's something serene in the way she’s looking at me and, not for the first time, I think about how I’ve never seen her like this, how she actively hides this part of herself.
I lean forward on the table, clasping my drink with both hands and for a second I wish we met under different circumstances. Maybe five years from now when she had moved on from Will and I could pursue her freely. I feel a surge of frustration course through me.
“It makes no sense to me, Gen. You’re stunning. You’re intelligent, whip smart, funny, accomplished?—”
“Do go on,” she grins, a slight blush creeping up her neck.
“I’m serious,” I tell her, my brows knitting together as I try to work her out. “Ifhecan’t see that, you should findsomeone who does.” My stomach knots at my mention of Will, but he’s like the cloud lingering over every encounter I’ve had with Gen.
Something like shame flares in her eyes, her posture noticeably deflating, and I know I hit a nerve, her walls sliding back up at an impressive speed. Guilt hits me like a wave, watching the woman who seemed so free moments before crawl back into herself.
“What, someone like you?” Her tone is biting, clearly feeling defensive, and I can’t blame her.
I scoff as I shake my head, looking away. “There’s a world of people out there, andhe’swho you want to hitch your wagon to?”
“My friendship with Will doesn’t have to make sense to everyone else. Because it makes sense to him. It makes sense to me.”
“Does it?” My voice is tender, realizing this is a sore subject but wanting her to open up to me—needing her to. I catch the uncertainty in her eyes. Her throat bobs, her chin raising ever so slightly.
“Yes. He’s not who you think he is,” she tells me, her voice is quiet, insecurity clear in her tone. “He has these really great moments.” She pauses as if remembering something before continuing. “He’s been through a lot the past few years and you haven’t gotten to see the Will I know. The one who made sure I had a friend when I was just the weird, out of town transfer girl.” There’s a tinge of sadness in her tone that I can tell runs deeper than she’s letting on and it tells me to stop pushing. To leave it alone, but I can’t. Not yet.
“Maybe he’s not that guy anymore,” I say. Her eyes search mine before they shutter, and I know the conversation’s over.
“Maybe,” she shrugs again, rolling her lips together as we fall into a long pause. I recognize her need to shrug this off, the want to get back to the place we were in just a few minutes ago like we didn’t just talk about the elephant in every room she’s in. “So why were you in Atlanta?” she changes the subject and this time I let her, taking her place in the hot seat.
I suck in a breath, remembering the phone call I had with my dad just the other week about my post graduation internship and now it’s my turn to shut down.
“A Fielder Foods thing.”
“Don’t sound too excited,” she jokes, but her eyes soften, snagging on something as she takes me in. “Wanna talk about it?” I feel myself balk, the uncertainty of how she might respond to my change of plans sending a wave of insecurity across me. “I thinkfriendstalk about these things, no?” Her smile, gentle and unthreatening, is like a key unlocking me.
“I’m supposed to join the company after graduation,” I say on an exhale. She nods, patiently letting me unravel my thoughts. “I just can’t picture it anymore. Not like I used to.”
“But…” she gently coaxes, understanding brimming in her eyes.
“It’s what my dad expects. And the one thing Iwantto do is the only thing he’s ever had an issue with. I think he might stroke out if I tell him I’m going for the draft.” A weight lifts off my shoulders once I say it out loud, and when I realize she’s the only person I’ve vocalized this too, I feel like we’ve been tugged closer together by invisible laces.
She smiles eagerly, her mouth spreading wide.
“Are you going to do all that early entrance stuff or justsee what happens or…?” She’s excited, which I wasn’t expecting.
“To be honest, I’m not sure yet. I’m still figuring out the best way to go about it,” I admit, reveling in her reaction. “I didn’t think I’d even try until this year. Going pro has been a nonstarter for as long as I can remember. A pipe dream, I guess,” I shrug, shoving my hands into my pockets and leaning back in my chair.
“A pipe dream?” she furrows her brows. “I’ve been to enough games to know you’re good. You’rereallygood.”
“Thought I wasfine,” I remind her of her underhanded compliment that night under the tree, just as the server slides our dishes onto the table.
“I only said that when I thought you didn’t like me,” she explains, taking a bite of her incredibly green toast.
“But now you know I do?” A smile pulls at the corner of my lips as I cut into a biscuit, her eye roll sending a shot of desire down my chest.
