“Sorry, Hoot. Didn’t mean to scare you, just wanted to clean up if you’re done?” I ask.
Celeste sits up straight and arches her back a little, her shirt rising and exposing a strip of bare skin around her lower waist. I swallow and fumble with the stack of mugs, almost dropping them entirely.
“Sorry, Dom.” She yawns. “I would have brought them over but I just got caught up in…well, boring stuff really.” She scrubs her face with her hands, leaving her cheeks pink from the friction. She sighs heavily, hunching over again and resting her chin in her palm, “How the hell do people maintain high averages and have a love life when I can barely keep my eyes open long enough to finish a sentence in this text?”
I steady the stack of mugs back down and lean my waist sideways against the ledge, “Is that what you were doing with the two meatheads from the football team?” I ask, trying to keep disdain out of my voice.
She chuckles darkly while massaging her neck. “Well if you don’t put yourself out there at all then there will be no results. Cause and effect. At least I’m trying. If I have to fake an interest for a meet-cute then so be it.”
I shake my head at the absurdity. “So you need help finding someone suitable, like a matchmaker of sorts.” She makes a pained face while throwing her textbooks in her backpack and following me back to the counter so I can clean up the dishes.
“I guess.” She grimaces at the thought.
“How about this, Hoot. If I see an eligible guy come in I can pass along your number. I can be like…a sieve, filtering out all the rotten eggs and serial killers so you don’t waste your time. What do you say?”
Why am I doing this?
My brain doesn’t compute. Maybe it’s my admiration in her putting herself out there so fearlessly, to medical schoolnonetheless, but in multiple aspects of her life at once. It’s clear she strives for success in everything she does. Yet something in me softened when I saw just how exhausted she looked pouring over that textbook. I could do it, I could be her friend and…matchmaker? Before I can renege my own offer, Celeste is pulling out her phone and creating a new contact. She hands me her phone as I scurry to hand her mine from my back pocket. I read the name “Peggy” across the top and an emoji of the pirate flag already assigned to my contact photo in her phone.
“Really,” I muse, trying to hold in my smile and begin typing in my phone number. She does the same on my phone before we exchange them back.
I look down at her contact in my phone,Celeste June Pinkfordt, AKA Hoot.Under her name it reads “Taurus, likes puzzles and sunshine, dislikes books in hard to reach places” in the notes section. Already she has a small owl as her contact photo.
“Wow, you work fast,” I say, mildly impressed.
“Gotta swoop fast to catch those field mice.” She smirks at me, flinging her backpack over her shoulder. “Okay, so I’m putting a little faith in you, someone I barely know, filtering out the psychos and setting me up on dates because fuck it. I have no time for it so I won’t turn down help.”
“How do you knowI’mnot a psycho?” I ask, trying not to sound like a cliche murderer.
She squints at me.“Well, I’ve come in here several times to try my luck with guys, and what I’ve seen so far is you hand delivering pastries straight to the car of that one old lady with the giant black purse that can’t stand for too long. You also allowed that one professor’s kids to water all the plants in here while asking a hundred and one questions,andI’m pretty sure you feed a stray cat with the leftover cream from the mini fridge.” Celeste rocks back on heels and scrunches up hershoulders. “You seem like a decent guy I guess, so yes, I’ll trust your judgment and delegate potential dating candidates to you.”
I’m a little astonished at how much she’s noticed, a little flattered, and a little lost for words.
“You really are an owl.”
Celeste’s laughter bubbles up into the space between us. Her laughter sounds unpolished, genuine and warm. It’s so contagious I can’t help but grin back. Suddenly her smile drops and she points a stern finger right in my face making my breath catch a little, “Absolutely no mullets. I’ll text you my list.”
I huff out a breath and scratch the back of my head in confusion as she turns and heads out the door.
* * *
#1: Loyal
Strike.To the people that deserve it, sure.
#2: Tall and handsome
Inhale.Check, if I do say so myself.
#3: Chivalrous…
I think too long about that one, letting my eyes drop for half a beat and Olly notices. The next thing I feel is the cold synthetic leather from his boxing glove strike my cheek lightly. We’re in the ring at Remington Hills Athletic Club. It’s a great facility open to all Remington Hills residents even if it’s mainly for students. Olly is studying part time and enrollment grants us an admission discount into the gym, particularly the kickboxing arena, where I happen to be going over Celeste’s list in my head and not paying attention to my sparring partner.
“HANDS UP!” Coach Z yells from the sidelines, his thick forearms resting against the ring. He’s not our coach but if hesees someone’s hands are down, he’ll yell at them no matter who they are. He’s a pit bull; all bark, all bite, and he one hundred and fifty percent scares the shit out of me. I’m sure he’s a softie on the inside. Deep, deep, deep inside. I nod at him regardless and lift my fisted hands in my gloves.
I duck Olly’s next incoming hit, his movements jerky and slow from the clear stage fright of having the Bloody Behemoth Coach Z watching his movements. I zone out again, running through Celeste’s list again.
#4: Honest, but in a kind way
