Had I known what was coming for me, I would have peed first.
“Okay,” Carlos says. “What’s so bad about that? And you know I want more details about the hookup.”
This is where it gets embarrassing. “Apparently, I was not the first girl to use the second egress. And you could totally see the sidewalk from the living room. Every single one of his roommates watched me sneak out on my walk of shame. And one of them decided that I was to be known as the ‘Back Door Girl’ from then on out. That’s what they called me.”
Even a dozen years later, I still want to die when I think about that. The sad thing is that it was just the beginning of my life falling apart. Going through college with a nickname that severely misled people about my sexual prowess seemed like the worst thing that could happen at the time. I had no idea that, within a week or two, things would be infinitely worse.
“Girl, that’s awful, but nothing we all haven’t had to deal with.”
I glance at my friend, knowing that he’s heard all the comments—and much worse. Giving him a thin smile, I continue, “Yeah, well, even before I knew what they were calling me, I had already started to freak out. I mean, he was the hottest guy on the team. I was totally in love with him, and until that night, I didn’t think he saw me as anything but a friend. He was the team captain and was going places. Like literally. I didn’t even have to figure out how to avoid him, because he got called up by the Nevada Renegades and left. He was gone like the next day.”
“So that was it then?”
I shake my head. I don’t want to unpack the rest of it right now. “No, but that was the last time I saw him.”
“What happened to him? Did he become professional? Did you follow his career?”
I level a stare at Carlos. “Are you really asking me if I know his sports stats?”
Carlos holds up his hands. “Please don’t talk sports at me again. You know that’s not the kind of ball play I’m into.”
“You watch games with me all the time.”
“Yeah, because they’re fine specimens in tight pants with rock-hard abs. Also, why I’m not into baseball, other than it being so boring. Too much variability in the tightness of pants and the physique of the players. Shallow, I know.”
I can’t fault him for any of that. It’s why any number of my female friends over the years have tolerated watching game after game with me.
“He plays for the Boston Buzzards. He’s their goalie. They’re heading to the playoffs in Indianapolis this week.”
“And you haven’t had any contact with him or seen him since the morning you snuck out of his room?”
I let out a sigh and begrudgingly stand up. I’ve got to get into the shower, as I’m working another event at The Tower tonight. I work for Longwood Venues, which owns five elegant, high-end facilities in Boston and Rhode Island. My favorite is Alden Castle in Brookline, but I’m usually at The Tower.
“Contact, no.”
Carlos jumps to his feet. “What’s that mean? That’s pretty cryptic.” My damn roommate doesn’t miss a beat.
I take my robe off the hook on the back of the door. “The event last night was for the Buzzards. He was there.”
In a freakin’ tuxedo. Hotter than ever. My mouth goes dry remembering how he looked last night. He’s aged like a fine wine. I didn’t think it was possible for him to look better than he had a dozen years ago, but achievement unlocked.
“And?”
“And nothing. I avoided him and thought about jumping out a window so I didn’t accidentally make contact.”
“Why?” Carlos puts his hands on his hips. “Why didn’t you reconnect? Maybe you could have gotten a little action. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you could probably use some.”
I look down. While I’m not ashamed of what I do for a living, it’s not like I’ve done anything remarkable. I’m no longer an athlete. Nor do I have an athlete’s body. Normally it doesn’t bother me, but when the other person is literal physical perfection, one can’t help but be a smidge self-conscious.
Not that he was going to see me and immediately pull me back to bed. Not that he’d want to. I’m not sure why we hooked up in the first place, other than copious amounts of Fireball.
A dozen years later, and I still can’t handle the smell of cinnamon.
“Let’s face it, I’m not even sure if he’d remember me. It was a long time ago. I’m sure I wasn’t the sentinel event for him that he was for me.” He wasn’t the one with feelings there. Not to mention, he didn’t have to deal with the repercussions for years to come. “What was I supposed to say to him? It was a one-and-done, and it’s in the past. No need to make things awkward.”
Like crawling out of a second-story bathroom window wouldn’t have been awkward.
I shake my head, trying to get thoughts of Callaghan Entay out of it. He’s taken up entirely too much mental—and emotional—space in my life, and I don’t need to let him back in. “Plus, I hate him.”
