"Is he the one who was girl-crazy at the Fourth of July party?" I ask.
"You remember me saying that."
"I remember everything." I say quietly, admitting more than I’m supposed to.
A beat passes between us and I hate myself for being so honest and so open. Maybe there’s some value in playing relationship games and keeping things closer to the metaphorical suede fringed vest.
Duncan blinks. "Yeah, he’s the one. He and Laila got pregnant and he’s in love with her. I’m just not sure that she’s ready to handle the brunt of his dad so I still need to be there for him. But, if he’s got a girlfriend or, fuck, a kid, how can I be over at his place all the time, or have him come to mine to hang out? He’s going to have better things to do. More important things to do. I’m needy but not a baby ya know?"
"I know." I answer him, even though I would give anything to have a friend like Duncan in my life. Someone to help me fight my battles. Someone to help me move through them.
Even without knowing Crosby, I’m sure he feels the same way.
His fingers continue to trace circles and the rest of my body feels numb compared to where he’s connected to me.
"I’m getting left behind." He says quietly.
"By who?"
"Everyone." He scoffs. "First Young Gun, but like that wasn’t a big deal because he was new to the team anyway so we sort of got used to him and Harper as a unit before the end of his first season. Then Boba Tea went off and rekindled things with Jo. And, that was fine, I mean he was super annoying about it, but they’re in a long distance relationship while she plays in Salt Lake City so he’s still available to hang out. But Crocs hooking up was not on my radar. He hasn’t really been interested in a bunch of random hookups but he’d come with me to the clubs at least. And he’d be game to hang out whenever. But then he got his dog last year and moved to a house last summer and I’m killing myself taking Ubers to his place all the time to see him."
Throughout his speech Duncan’s hand stopped its circling and his breathing picked up.
"Well, it isn’t a solution to your problem exactly but soon you’ll have a new friend in D.C. to see." I give him a gentle pinch and he rolls to his back and looks up at me.
Beneath my hand, his heart pounds and he breaks eye contact to look down and pull my hand in front of his face. "Why WILD HOPE?"
"It was my mom’s idea."
"She told you how to position them." He remembers? "But did she give you the word?" He chuckles as he looks more closely at W-I-L-D as his thumb brushes against the letters.
"Yeah, I was her wild one. My BSL nickname isRed." I make the sign as I say the word. "But she also called me wild."
"Says the guy who rinses out a beer spill immediately. So wild." Duncan’s twinkling eyes betray his flat tone.
"Shut up. I was a wilder child."
"How so?"
"Well, I played music really loudly because my parents couldn’t hear it to tell me to turn it down."
"That’s a bonus." He chuckles. "What else?"
"I’d rollerskate through the house."
His thumb stops its back-and-forth strumming of my knuckles and his jaw clicks. "What?"
I breathe through the urge to giggle. "Yep, it’s pretty dreary in Scotland most of the year so I would roller skate through the whole main floor."
"Unbelievable." He grumbles.
"How’s your skating going after trying to roller skate?" I bite my lip to keep my smile in check.
"It’s just fine, thank you." He lifts his hand to make thefuck yousign in BSL thinking he’s sayingthank you. His sarcastic tone actually lands thefuck youmessage better.
I laugh as he shakes his head.
"Can I ask you something?" Duncan says quietly as he continues to study my hand.
