“That too.”
The stiffness is gone. I don't know when it left, but it's gone, and the conversation has a rhythm to it. It feels like it's beenrunning on a track we laid down at sixteen, and all we had to do was step back onto it.
“Do you remember the boardwalk?” she says.
“On Long Island?”
“Friday nights, after your games. We'd go with Dom and Nolan and get those disgusting cheese fries from the stand near the arcade.”
“Gino’s.”
“Yeah, that’s it. Is it still there?”
“I don't know. When I go to Long Island, I drive to my parents' house, and I drive back. I don't walk around the old spots.”
“Why not?”
Walking around Long Island means seeing the places where we used to be together, and I can't do that without remembering what I gave up. But I don't say that.
“Fame,” I say instead. “People recognize me. It's hard to walk around without someone wanting a photo or asking about the team.”
She nods. “I forget that your life is public. You seem so private.”
“I am private. The public part is the job. I keep them separate.”
“That must be exhausting.”
“You get used to it.”
“Do you?”
I take a drink. “No.”
She smiles at that, and for a second, she looks exactly like the girl who used to steal my fries at Gino's and dare me to win her a prize at the arcade.
“Do you remember the beach?” she asks. “Past the boardwalk, down by the rocks?”
I remember the sound of the waves and the feel of the wind and the way Jasmine tucked herself against my side because she was always cold. That beach was the first time I told her that I loved her.
We're quiet for a moment, and I wonder if she’s remembering that too.
Miles refills my beer without being asked. Jasmine is on her second cocktail, and the line of her jaw is softer than it was when she walked in.
“We should do this again,” I say an hour later, when we’re about to leave.
She gathers her coat from the back of the stool and stands. “I’d love that.”
I walk her out. The street is cold, and the air hits us after the warmth of the bar. She pulls her coat tighter, and I almost put my hand on her back to guide her toward the curb, but I stop myself.
She turns to me on the sidewalk. “Thank you for the drink, Logan. It was awesome catching up, and I’m glad we can be friends.”
“Me too.”
She flags a cab, and it pulls over. She opens the door and looks back at me one more time. Her hair is blowing across her face from the wind, and she tucks it behind her ear before I even have long enough to register that I wanted to. She gets in the cab, and the door closes. The cab pulls away, and I stand on the sidewalk until it disappears down the block, wishing I had gotten the nerve to tell her that I’d missed her.
I pull out my phone and text Blake.You were right.
He responds in under a minute.No surprises there. Goodnight, idiot.
