Me: I’m almost home anyway. Good night.
Jake: Night.
“We can go,” I say to Paige, putting my phone into my purse and sliding off the barstool.
She just nods, but I see the disappointment in her expression.
Men. Every time I expect the slightest thing from one, I end up feeling let down. And even though this was a stupid thing to expect from Jake since it’s late and he just played a grueling game, I’m bummed.
“I’m tired anyway,” I say to Paige.
It’s a lie and she probably knows it. But it stings to feel blown off by a man when I vowed not to let myself get hurt again. At least no one witnessed it but Paige. My sister doesn’t judge.
We’re both quiet on the train ride home. When we get back to our apartment, I take a hot shower, put on my flannel pajamas and settle into bed to read my Economics textbook. It’s not an exciting end to my Saturday night, but it’s a predictable one. I’ll take predictable over exciting any day of the week.
Chapter 15
Jake
My Sunday morning workout is light—just a run at the lake. I nod at a few other runners devoted enough to dress in layers and endure the cold November weather.
I woke up early after a restless night. I hated that I couldn’t go out with Miranda and her sister after the game. They must think I’m a huge asshole for giving them tickets to the game and then not making time for them after.
I would have invited them out with me and some teammates, but Hailey was hanging around as usual. Though I strongly considered going out with just Miranda and Paige, I decided it was too risky. After a big win like last night, I was more likely to have fans approach me for photos, and I couldn’t afford for Hailey to see I’d gone out with someone else. It was go out with the guys and her or not at all. So I’d seized the chance for her to feel like we’d “gone out” even though we were in a large group. Now I could avoid seeing her for at least a week.
She’d hung on me obnoxiously all night. I could tell my teammates knew something wasn’t right, probably because I can’t even bring myself to look at Hailey without cringing.
But Gene had no sympathy for me. I’d approached him about the Hailey charade affecting my play and he’d told me to suck it up. So for now, I had to keep up the pretense.
My feet pound the pavement in a rhythm as I try to think of ways to make it up to Miranda. Maybe I should send her flowers. Or get her a gift certificate for something relaxing like a massage.
I picture another man putting his hands on her bare shoulders and nix that idea. Hell. What I really want is to take her out tonight. I can’t fault her for needing to study, though.
It impressed me that she wouldn’t blow off studying for me. Miranda is interested in me, I can tell, but she doesn’t have stars in her eyes over me. She still puts her classes and other responsibilities first.
I once had a waitress quit her job on the spot to go out with me. I was in LA and I asked her out. She wasn’t off work for several hours and my plane was taking off before then, so she told her boss she was leaving. When the boss told her not to bother coming back if she did, she left anyway.
We only went out the one time, and it was partially because she’d quit her job. I love a woman who can say no to me. Miranda says it more forcefully and often than any woman ever has, which is probably why I’m so crazy about her.
Suddenly it hits me—I’ll help her study. Nothing says I’m a good dude to be with like that does. I aced Economics in college, so I should be able to help.
I pick up my pace in the homestretch of my run, breathing hard. I’m liking this idea more and more. I’ll get to see Miranda after all.
When I get back to the Dupont, my laundry has been delivered to my suite. I put it away and take a shower, dressing in jeans and a flannel.
After that, I don’t know what to do with myself. I know I should wait until this evening, but I want to see Miranda sooner than that. I pick up my phone from the coffee table and text her.
What are u doing?
It takes her a couple minutes to write back.
Miranda: I was carrying groceries up the stairs.
Me: Yeah? What’s for dinner?
Miranda: Mac and cheese. We’re pretty gourmet.
Me: When do u have to study?
Miranda: I’m starting when I get the groceries put away.
Me: Want some help?
I feel a little nervous as I wait for her to write back.
Miranda: From you?
Me: Yes, from me. I was a business major, remember?
Miranda: Sure, help would be great. It’ll be boring, though.
Me: I’ll be over in a few.
I feel a surge of something as I get up from the couch and grab my car keys. It’s unfamiliar and warm. This is the best I’ve felt since Dustin’s birthday. There’s something about Miranda that’s just good. I want to be near that goodness, even if I have to relive Econ 101 to do it.
—
It’s actually Econ 220—American Economic History. I didn’t take it in college, but it’s pretty interesting. Miranda is knee-deep in notecards about the economy during World War II. We’ve been studying for three hours when my stomach growls loudly.
“Are you hungry?” She looks up from the notecard she’s reviewing. “Want me to make some mac and cheese?”
I smile wryly. “Yes to the first question and no to the second.”
“You think you’re too good for mac and cheese, Birch?”
“Not at all. I think it’s the shit, actually. But I’m fucking starving and I need something with meat. How about Chinese?”