What bothers me is that he didn’t stick around to even be aware of what I was going through.
Not that I thought one night of amazing sex would turn him into a devoted boyfriend, but we were at least friends before. Or I thought we were. Maybe he would have visited during my long recovery.
Maybe not.
We’ll never know.
I close my eyes, willing my feelings to return to their tiny boxes; their dormant status, like some ancient spell in a fantasy novel.
However, like in a fantasy novel, once the box is opened, things are never the same. Apparently, that’s where I’m at now because the main gossip story on the sports pages involves none other than my former friend and one-night stand, Callaghan Entay.
What are the freakin’ odds?
It’s like the universe is deliberately messing with me by putting him in my path.
I watch the video, saving the site. Man, he comes across as a conceited ass.
I mean, he is, but still, this video of him telling a fan that the performance of the Boston Buzzards was nothing worth smiling about is not a great look for him. But then, like the gift that keeps on giving, there’s more footage of him, in a facility I recognize well, giving possibly the worst motivational speech in the history of motivational speeches.
Yeah, the optics on this are not going to be in his favor.
I don’t envy his agent and publicist on this one. Especially not this year, when he’s in contention to not only be named to the National Team for the Global Games but also to get the start as their goalkeeper.
As much as I want to ignore this story, it’s a slow news day for salacious sports gossip. I bookmark the pages so I can make a video when I get home.
Throughout my shift, I cannot keep my mind from wandering back to Callaghan. The first day I saw him on campus. Watching him in the weight room. Realizing he was watching me back. Bonding during a European history class that I had no business being in, but it fit into my practice schedule.
Such are the sacrifices of an athlete.
It didn’t mean I didn’t have to bust my ass to make the grades, though. Until everything went down, I’d been on track to graduate summa cum laude.
All that changed after one stupid night with Callaghan.
One night that left me scarred—literally—and scared. A piece of me was gone that I’d never get back.
A literal piece. One of my kidneys.
I want to hate him.
My emotions mix as my gut churns. What am I even feeling right now? There’s definitely some anger. More than I thought I was holding onto. It was so long ago. But as much as I don’t want to admit it, there are still those butterflies too. The stupid butterflies I used to get every time I looked at those chestnut-brown eyes. I mooned over him for years. Both before and after it all went down. God, I was pitiful. It’s probably a good thing he isn’t smiling in the video. There’d be a good chance my panties would melt if he did that.
My undergarments are safe though. He’s not smiling, and it’s not like we’re going to be hanging out again any time soon.
Or ever again.
Even with him here in Boston, the odds of ever running into him casually are virtually non-existent. Imayhave stalked his social media a bit to see what he’s up to. I mean, that’s totally normal to do with one’s ex. Not that he was my ex. All we were was a hookup.
Still, totally normal behavior.
The few glances I had at his social media were enough to know that it’s probably an assistant posting on there for him, as intermittent as the posts are. They’re too cultivated. Too perfect. And mostly of him, not the environment around him. I bet he doesn’t even know his own logins. It’s highly unlikely we’ll reconnect through social media.
I’m safe.
Not to mention my gossip features don’t get as many views on ClikClak as my dog park videos, so odds are he’ll never even know if I make a video about him. As long as I don’t say anything inappropriate, like how he has a magical tongue, it’ll be fine.
I watch the videos of him again. This is for research, obviously. I take the time to write out my script. I even practice it in the mirror. I can’t do a half-assed job with this one.
Finally, I’m ready. I sit at the table in my kitchen, a sheet over the door behind me to look like a backdrop. It makes me look professional while hiding an ugly brown door. I smooth my hair down once, twice, before getting up to check my makeup one last time. Then I wipe my damp hands on my thighs.
