“That’d be great,” I say.
“So, what are you looking for? In a relationship, I mean?”
I pause, for a moment, and he fills the space.
“Personally, I’m a long-term guy. Looking for something to go the distance, you know?”
“Yeah. Absolutely. Uh, me too,” I reply, although I don’t believe it when the words come out of my mouth.
I mean, itshouldbe.
And this is exactly the kind of guy I should be talking to.
“Actually,” he adds, a little more direct now, “could I get your number? I mean, if anything we could just chat marketing or whatever.”
I open my mouth to give him my number.
Then I glance back toward the yard.
Logan’s mid-argument with the same ten-year-old now.
“Hey,” he says, pointing, “you went out of the baseline again. That’s game.”
“I did not!”
“You absolutely did.”
“You’re cheating!”
“I’m not cheating, I’m enforcing the rules. You’re projecting, buddy.”
“What’s projecting?”
“It’s when you go out of the baseline and then tell someone else they’re cheating. Three feet on either side is legal. Look it up.”
The kid crosses his arms. “You’re the worst.”
Logan grins. “And yet—you’re still playing.”
The kid tries not to smile, and fails. Something in my chest tightens.
I look back at Eric and his expectant expression, waiting for my number to “talk marketing” or whatever.
This should be easy, but it’s not.
“Um—yeah,” I say finally. “Sure. Marketing.”
I give him my number, because that’s what you do.
And when I glance back one more time, Logan looks up like he feels it.
Our eyes meet.
I swallow down a knot in my throat. And just like that, nothing about this feels simple anymore.
I see Ivy on the patio, and she waves and comes over to me.
“So. How’s, ah, Professor Eric?”
