“It’s a really nice idea, but it’s way too much.”
“Okay, don’t worry,” I say. “I get it. No mixer.”
That night, my dreams are vivid and feverish. The kiss is imprinted on my brain, and I relive it again and again. I can still taste the sweetness of Ally’s lips, smell her peach shampoo, feel the softness of her waist in my hands.
I wake up Sunday morning aching and frustrated. I take a cold shower, and after a few minutes I turn the temperature up as hot as I can stand.
But neither the cold nor the heat seems to help.
I promised her I didn’t want anything physical.
I resolve to avoid Ally today. I’ll leave for the hospital before she’s awake, and catch up on my horrific backlog of admin work.
But when I walk into the kitchen, Ally’s standing at the counter, cracking eggs into a bowl.
“Hey, Drew.” She’s wearing my green T-shirt over a pair of slouchy pink pajama shorts, and her blond hair is pulled back into a messy bun. “How do you feel about French toast?”
And just like that, my good intentions fly out the window. “I feel pretty good about it.” After all, I have to eat.
“I hoped you’d say that.” Ally beats the eggs with a fork, then pours in some milk. “I woke up craving it.” She shakes some cinnamon into her bowl, then attacks it with the fork again. “And I wondered if you wanted to play tennis today?”
If I’m going to eat breakfast with her, I might as well play tennis, too.
“Yeah, I could do tennis.”
The weather’s beautiful, so we walk to the courts after breakfast. This time, we play two sets, and Ally wins both fairly easily. On the way home, we stop at a coffee shop for drinks.
“You know, Drew,” Ally says as we’re standing in line. “I’m a bit worried about your cervical spine. I think that bag is too heavy for you.”
“Are you offering to carry it, Ally?” I tease. The duffel bag holds our tennis rackets and balls, and it’s not actually very heavy. “That’s very thoughtful.” I slip the strap off my shoulder and over hers.
She clearly wasn’t expecting that, and she bursts out laughing.
“Drew?” The voice from behind is very familiar, and I turn around and see my sister.
“Oh, hey, Breanna,” I say, trying to sound casual. “This is Ally. Ally, my sister Breanna.”
“We’ve just been playing tennis,” Ally says quickly.
“I see,” Breanna says, but she’s staring at Ally with undisguised curiosity. Which isn’t surprising, because we must have looked like we were flirting.
“I was reminding Ally that the winner has to carry the rackets,” I say.
“Right,” Breanna says, glancing at the bag on Ally’s shoulder. No doubt realizing that we’ve got all our gear in one bag, like a couple.
Fuck this. I know we said we wouldn’t involve our families in this deception, but this is silly.
“Actually, Breanna, Ally and I are dating,” I say matter-of-factly.
“Is that right?” Breanna asks with a grin. “I’d never have guessed.”
“It’s pretty new,” Ally says, blushing a little.
We reach the front of the line, and Breanna and Ally order coffee. I ask for a bottle of orange juice.
“Still off coffee, huh?” Breanna asks, as the barista sets our drinks on the bar.
“Just craving orange juice,” I reply. Ally gives me a curious look, so I keep talking. “What are your plans for the rest of the day, Breanna?”
