“Why not?”
“Because…” I gesture uselessly, then laugh. “It sounds conceited.”
“True.” With a few keystrokes, she amends the description. “How’s that?”
“Better,” I allow.
She moves on to the next section. I’m glad she’s taken control. I knew she would, which is one of the reasons I invited her over. With Lena here, I won’t wimp out.
“What traits do you find attractive in a man?” she asks.
“Physically, or personality-wise?”
“Both.”
“Erm…” I turn the question over in my mind. It’s not something I’ve considered much before. I don’t really have a type, I just feel a spark around some men and not others. “I’m not fussy,” I say. “But he needs to take care of himself. I don’t care if he’s in amazing shape, but I’m not dealing with someone else’s poor lifestyle choices down the road.”
“Fair call.” She adds a note in the box. “What else?”
Closing my eyes, I try to picture each of the men I’ve crushed on over the years, but Gabe is the only one who keeps popping into my head, eclipsing them all. “I guess I prefer tall guys. And ones who aren’t put off by intelligent, ambitious women.”
“Rock solid ego,” Lena mutters. “Preferably six feet plus.”
I’m on a roll now. “He needs to be kind and supportive.”
“Profession?”
I shrug. “Don’t care as long as it’s legal and he covers his own bills. I’m not being someone’s sugar mama. I have enough debt of my own.”
“No freeloaders,” she says while she types, then sits back. “Okay, I think we’ve got enough to start with.” She turns, wearing a grin. “Time to start searching for the future Mr. Sydney Coleman.”
Gabe
More than thirty-six hours have passed since our dinner that went nowhere, and I still haven’t heard from Sydney. It’s weirding me out. Perhaps it makes me needy, but I’m used to hearing from her every few hours, even if I’m too busy to respond. And yeah, I know that makes me sound like an asshole. The thing is, she’s my rock. The one consistently good thing in my life. And just seeing her name light up my phone is enough to improve my mood.
Surely she should have cooled down by now and reached out to schedule another get-together. That’s what she does. She’s a connector. She needs people around, especially ones she’s comfortable with. Ones like me. What does it mean that I haven’t heard so much as a whisper?
All I know is, it can’t be good. She’s never shut me out like this before.
I’ve already tried calling three times since Sunday, and she never picks up. How many calls will it take before I enter crazy stalker territory? Because I have to say, it doesn’t feel good. During a break in training, I try again, and leave a voicemail.
“Hey, Syd. It’s me. I miss you. Call me.”
God, I’m pathetic. If a girl left a message like that on my phone, I’d delete it and never call her back. But this isn’t any old girl. It’s Sydney. My best friend. My one fucking constant. So I do what any good best friend does, and send her a text.
Gabe:Want to hang out tonight?
Okay, I feel lame as soon as I send it, but a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do.
“Bro, are you waiting for a call from your dad or something?” Devon, my training buddy, asks as he drops into a seat beside me.
“Sydney,” I grunt, shutting the phone off so he can’t see that this isn’t the first text I’ve sent without a reply. He may be one of my best friends, but he’d be merciless if he knew how desperate I am for a response. Sydney gets me out of my head. Devon and Jase, much as they mean well, only push me deeper into it, because MMA consumes their thoughts as well as mine. It’s our shared addiction. I need Sydney to bring everything back into perspective.
My phone buzzes and I jump, scrambling to open it. Devon’s eyes widen. I scan the text.
Sydney:I have plans.
That’s it. No details. No offer of a rain check. Just those three words.
