“No. The kickoff game is tomorrow night,” Larissa corrects, then turns to me. “Ashton’s been freaking out about the half-time choreography being polished enough, but it’s all for nothing. Our routine is immaculate.”
“Basically,” I say without glancing up from scrolling my inbox.
“But we still need rest,” she adds.
Josh and Larissa stand, and I follow, pushing to my feet just as Ryan plops onto the cushion next to me.
“Text me later, kay?” Ryan empties his beer down his gullet and places the can on the coffee table.
I look around and then realize he’s talking tome. “Yes. Of course. I will.”
“We have that trivia tournament soon, too,” he adds. “We lost half our team, so we need more players to qualify. You’ll be there, right?”
Nothing says romance like being invited solely so we meet a specific number qualification.
“Avery’s full of random information… She’s perfect for this.”
I smile at Larissa’s compliment. She’s not wrong. “Randomismy specialty. I’ll be there.”
Ryan smiles up at me, lounging into his couch as the rest of us wave goodbye and escape out the door. It would be nice if he seemed more interested. To feel like he was pursuing me. But it’s a crapshoot in this day and age when it comes to dating.
After Josh ensures we make it safely into Larissa’s car in the apartment parking lot, we tell him goodbye and start toward Soleil Drive. As she babbles along about her next juice recipe and tomorrow’s first NFL game of the season, all I can think about is my night. About Ryan. About Josh. About how differently Josh treats Larissa than Ryan treats me. Should I be disappointed at Ryan’s lack of initiative? He’s absurdly casual. Should that be refreshing? I’m not sure how to feel about it.
Admittedly, Ryan’s not as much of a catch as Josh is. Josh works in marketing. He has cute little glasses—I’m a sucker for a guy in glasses—he makes good money, and Ryan… Well, he’s a bartender. Which is totally fine. I definitely don’t judge people for their work—believe me, I’ve had my fair share of odds and ends jobs—but that’s all he wants to do. Maybe that works for some people, but if we aren’t trying new things or working toward some type of goal, what are we doing? I’m too restless to be appeased with the same job for years and years and years. The thought alone shoots a hot anxiety through me that I have to squelch with the reminder that it’s his life. Not mine.
Larissa turns toward Soleil Drive. “I had no idea your plant business branched out into house-sitting.” She snorts. “Pun intended.”
A tight giggle burbles out of my mouth. “Just trying to keep a competitive edge. You can stop… here. Here is good.”
“This is like a block from where I picked you up.”
Was it? I can’t remember. I kind of zoned out earlier after I texted her to hang out. When my car took three attempts to start, and I tried to cancel the “date” because I didn’t feel safe driving it, Larissa insisted she pick me up. And I caved.
“It’s okay! I need to get my steps in,” I fib.
“I hope you’re making bank.”
“This is kind of a trial run, but they’ve been generous.”
“Are you allowed to say who you’re watching the house for? Did you sign an NDA?” She leans forward, peering over the dash. “These places arefancy.”
“No, definitely can’t say.” I reach for the door handle, popping it open. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll see you at practice.”
At first Larissa doesn’t budge, insisting she watch me get into the house. After reassuring her at least fifty times that I’ll be okay, she rolls her eyes.
“Don’t get murdered,” she says, the annoyance obvious in her voice.
“These houses have more video surveillance than TheOscars. I’ll be fine.” Walking toward whatever gated mansion I’m near, I take my time as she peels off and starts home. When I’m sure she’s gone, I do a 180 and begin my trek in Ty’s direction.
Sirens blare in the distance, drowning out the twitter of tonight’s cricket orchestra just as I come to the end of his long driveway. I round his yard to the back of the house, pausing for a second to take in the ambiance of his back patio. The market lights, the glassy pool, the little navy chaise lounges arranged meticulously across the concrete slab. It’s peaceful. And something I’d never be able to afford in a million years, even if I keep my plant-sitting business on track. My eyes travel up the side of the house, skating across the bevels of the Tuscan-style roof and landing on a certain window. Ty’s window. A shadow eclipses the yellow light beaming down, and I swear for a moment I see a silhouette.Hissilhouette.
Butterflies erupt as a silly question pops into my head. Was Ty thinking about me tonight too? My heart stutters with one final question… Was hewaitingfor me? I push the notion aside and slide the spare key into the door off the garage. Dollyboy greets me immediately, his sleepy blue eyes blinking as I refill my yellow tumbler and start upstairs.
Rifling through the walk-in closet, I bop to my eclectic playlist as it shuffles from one genre to the next, setting out everything I’ll need for the kickoff game tomorrow.
My first performance with the team.
A ball of antsy little winged things jolts my insides. My stuff is easy to find, which helps relieve the anxiousness. I’ll admit, it’s sad how little my stuff fills up thisspace. Someday I’ll have a closet just like this one, and it’ll be full to the brim. Someday when my business takes off, when I’m done with my dance career and no longer a Kings cheerleader. An unexpected wave of guilt washes over me.When I’m done with dance?I can’t believe it’s an actual thought I just had. I mean, I guess everything has to end eventually, but considering I’ve danced for more than half my life, it’s a part of me. I’ve dedicated the last part of a decade with my eyes set on one goal: Become a Vista City King Cheerleader. And now I am. And this is how I show my appreciation? By already planning the ending of it?!
