Now it’s time to be an adult and own my mistakes.
Me: No, this weekend is fine. There’s no need for you to make a special trip back from, um. Where is it you’re living now?
Jack: Denver.
Duh. He plays for a team in Colorado.
They’re champions, as a matter of fact, and if I wasn’t such an idiot, I could lay claim to knowing him as a friend.
Me: Sorry, I’m tired.
Jack: I honestly wasn’t expecting you to respond to me at all, let alone tonight. You should be in bed!
Me: LOL—you’re the one who should be sleeping. Don’t you have like, training and stuff this weekend?
Jack: Yeah, I’ll see my trainer and probably work out, but no practice or anything. Game on Monday, obviously.
I can’t help but wonder if he purposely came to town these few days early to see me. There is technically no reason for him to be in town already. He could have flown in on Sunday night.
Jack: So you’re up for drinks? I have to shake these weird dreams, so I appreciate you meeting up. You can sage me or something, ha-ha.
He’ll want more than sage on him after I tell him my secret, and he hates me forever.
Me: Sage?! It can’t be THAT bad.
Jack: Trust me, it was worth humiliating myself in front of your brother to show up at his door. He looked confused and annoyed at the same time.
Me: I’m sure. Davis isn’t used to men showing up on his doorstep unannounced specifically to see me.
Jack: Ah, so does that mean you’re not dating anyone?
No, Jack—I don’t have the time. Not really. Or haven’t made the time, considering I have a daughter to raise, want to finish my college degree so I’m not living off my brother’s charity, and work full time…
Me: It means Davis only has his buddies over so unless you’re there with a pizza or beer, he’s going to look surprised to see you. LOL
There’s a long pause before Jack’s next message.
Jack: How is he doing now that he’s retired?
Me: Good. He doesn’t talk much about the old days. He’s pretty focused on his career. Really glad he got that degree in finance. Many of his clients are former teammates.
Jack: It’s good to know there’s life after football, ha-ha.
Me: Indeed.
I stare, not sure what else to add. Or what to say.
This whole conversation was a huge leap for me. My tummy churns in a way that makes me want to vomit or use the toilet, whichever comes first.
Jack: So tomorrow night works for you?
I’ll have to see if Davis or someone can watch Skipper, but it’s now or never for the news I have to share.
Me: Yes, tomorrow works just fine. I just need an address.
Not twenty seconds later, an address comes through along with the map app.
Jack: Or I can send you a car?
Oh god, there is no way I’m letting him send a car. This is not a date, and he doesn’t have to be so polite. His chivalry is only making me feel worse. Like a horrible human.
Me: Thank you, Jack, but that’s not necessary. I’m not far from the city, so it shouldn’t be an issue.
Jack: It’s not an imposition. I can even come grab you myself.
Me: And be trapped in the car with me on the way home? What if the evening is a trainwreck?
Jack: Somehow, I doubt that.
Me: Still, it’s probably best if I just drive on my own, although I do appreciate the offer!!
Jack: So…7:00 then?
Me: Yes, 7:00.
Jack: Great. I’ll see you tomorrow night then.
Me: Yup, tomorrow night.
Jack: Hey, Penelope?
Me: Hmm?
Jack: I’m looking forward to it.
I stare at that sentence for a good long while before responding, knowing full well that soon enough, I’ll be knocking whatever smile he has off that handsome face.
Me: Me too.
But not really.
I google the address he sent me to look up the place where we’re meeting. As one of the fanciest restaurants downtown, it was voted the city’s most romantic three years in a row. Situated high in the sky, the Italian restaurant is eighty stories up, so it overlooks the entire cityscape. Dimly lit with candlelight at each table and fantastic food.
A quiet place to talk.
Shit.
There is nothing casual about this spot.
There is nothing casual about this meeting.
Either Jack is trying to impress me or he’s genuinely clueless about the spot. Or maybe he does not care that it’s romantic and better suited for a first date or Valentine’s Day or an engagement proposal than to tell a woman about your bad dreams.
Sick to my stomach, I lie in the dark unable to sleep, counting down the hours.
“Who are you going out with?” my brother asks, seeing me in my dress. He looks me up and down as if seeing me for the first time. First time dressing up for a date, that is.