“Of course.”
“How did you know Dylan was the one?” I push out of the chair and walk over to the window. Outside, the sun beats down, casting shadows from the privacy fence onto the grass.
“Whoa. What’s going on?”
“I’ve met a guy, and at first, I thought he was an ass, but he’s not.”
“Oh, my God, he could be Dylan’s clone.” Her laughter fills the phone.
“That’s right. Dylan couldn’t keep an office manager until he hired you.”
“He was a total pain in the ass. It was impossible to please the man. Of course, that was mostly because he couldn’t figure out how to ask me out on a date. And then he took me on a fake trip to get into my pants.”
I lean my shoulder against the windowpane. “But it all worked out. You’re two of the happiest people I know.”
“He’s gotten a lot better at expressing his emotions. So, tell me about this guy.”
“He plays football and is taking ballet classes with me.”
“Oh….” The surprise in her voice is clear even though we’re miles apart, and I can’t see her. “The guy from the bar? The one with your brother?”
“Yes,” I groan. “I know I said I wouldn’t date a football player, and it would be stupid to date this one. He’s been traded to the team and may be gone in a few weeks, but….” I trail off as the image of him sitting across from me at the café takes root in my brain and won’t let go. “I like him. What do I do?”
“Well, in my experience, putting limitations on who and when you’ll see someone, blows up in your face. That’s usually when you find the person you’re supposed to be with, and it gets all fucked up.”
“Exactly.” I rip the curtains together and stomp into the center of the bedroom. “If I go out with him and he gets traded, he’ll expect me to move across the country with him.”
“What if he doesn’t ask you to go?”
I frown. “Well, that sucks.” Not that I want to move and transfer to a new school, but him not asking would be worse. That would mean he didn’t like me.
“What if he asked and you didn’t go?”
My heart skips a beat. “I’d miss him.” How is that possible? Maybe it’s because I’ve been watching him for months and having stupid schoolgirl fantasies about the out-of-my-league football player.
“That answers your question. You don’t like the thought of him not wanting you to go with him, and you’d miss him if he asked you and you didn’t go. Does he have to move?”
“No. It’s not a given. He could end up being here until he retires.”
“Then stop envisioning worst-case scenarios. You like football–despite what you tell everyone. And you like the guy, so see what happens.”
“I can’t. He needs to focus on football because if he doesn’t get back to pre-injury form, he won’t get the contract he needs to take care of his family.”
“Ahhhh, he does sound perfect. How about you don’t push things and see where it goes? Maybe the spark will fizzle out on its own, and you’ll go back to normal.”
I slump into the chair. “Thanks, Tara.”
“You’re welcome. By the way, we’re having a party Wednesday. Why don’t you come? It’s a neon pool party with foam, Jell-O shots, and lots of Dylan’s friends. If things don’t work out with this guy, I promise I can find you a hot business owner who’s looking for a ballerina.”
“We’ll see.”
After hanging up, I try to picture going to a party without Weston and can’t do it. Crap. Why do the best-laid plans get all jumbled up?
My stomach growls. Eating. Remember, I need to eat. What do I have in the refrigerator? As I visualize the individual shelves, I groan. Not much. Sadly, I don’t have a lot of time to cook. And it’s not my forte. I should have gone grocery shopping.
Before I can decide on what to make, my cellphone rings. I don’t recognize the number and wrinkle my nose–spam.
With my finger hovering over the button, I stop. What if it’s something important? At the last second, I swipe to answer, “Yes?”