There she is.
Long blonde hair.
Tight red dress.
High heels that make her already long legs look like they could stretch from here to Oklahoma.
I never said Simone wasn’t attractive.
But in the time we’ve been apart, I’ve been able to examine her, examine our relationship, and see all the things wrong with it. She’s a beautiful girl who isn’t really beautiful at all.
Simone is the reason I believe my life doesn’t necessarily need love to be happy.
Toxic.
Yes, my game went downhill the day Simone and I started dating, and it didn’t improve until the day I met Fran. But it’s more than that. With Simone, I avoided my family. Ifelt less grateful for my circumstances. I tied love to success and taking. If Fran is my good luck charm, Simone is my curse.
When did I become so superstitious?
I suppose, since my stats, wins, and joy became tied to the woman I kiss goodnight.
Like a serpent, Simone sucked the happy out of my game, out of my life, and I couldn’t quite get it back until I saw Fran Fairchild sing really off-key karaoke. Or maybe it wasn’t until I kissed her.
I’ve been staring ahead long enough that Fran has spotted Simone as well. No whispering clues needed.
“Blonde,” she mutters beside me. “Of course she’s blonde.”
While Fran is adorably cute, most would say that Simone is insanely sexy. And yet—I am no longer attracted to the woman. Not in the least. In fact, Fran Fairchild singing karaoke, climbing over walls, and forcing me to walk through a field of wet reeds is ten times sexier than that viper.
Why it took so long for me to come into the light, I’ll never know. My best friend knew it. My mother knew it. And yet, it took me months to figure out. Months of playing my worst, seeing myself as a win or a loss, and even separating myself from the people I love.
“So, what’s our play here?” Fran asks, interrupting all my enlightenment. “I can make myself scarce so you can talk to her.” She swallows, her tone vulnerable.
“No,” I say. “You don’t need to do that.” I rest my hand over her fingers clasped around my arm. “I don’t want you to do that.”
“Okay,” she says, and this time she sounds stronger.
I’ve given the right answer, which calms the discomfort attempting to rise in my chest.
“Am I pretending to be your girlfriend? Half the people here think I am anyway.”
“No.” I don’t want that either. I don’t want to use Fran in any way. No pretending. I won’t abuse our relationship or her. “Just be you. That’s all I need.”
“Lucky charm,” she says.
“Lucky to have you with me,” I say.
Teasing, she flutters her lashes up at me. “Aw, Cal.”
I chuckle and instinctively lean down to peck her cheek. Raising my head, I blow out a puff of air—Simone’s watching us.
“Are we avoiding or approaching?” Fran asks.
“I think we better approach. Maybe we can talk her into leaving. I can’t have toxicity at my mother’s once-a-year soirée.”
“We can’t have that,” Fran says. She draws her eyes back up to me. “She’s that bad?”
“I’m sorry to say—yes. Because of that woman, I hardly talked to my family for months. I was sure I was wasting my worth playing a game. And I cost my team multiple wins.”
