I groaned and headed for the kitchen.
The counter was already clean.
I wiped it anyway.
Then I wiped it again.
Halfway through a third pass, I stopped and stared at the cloth in my hand.
"What am I doing?"
The counter remained silent.
Apparently, nobody in the apartment had answers tonight.
I abandoned the kitchen and moved into the living room. A textbook that had been sitting perfectly acceptably on the coffee table suddenly offended me. I relocated it to the bookshelf. A throw pillow got fluffed. A blanket got folded. The sweatshirt on the couch got carried to my bedroom.
Ten seconds later, I returned and fluffed the throw pillow again.
The problem wasn't the apartment.
The problem was that Thane was actually coming. For the past two days, he'd existed mostly in my head. A memory. A hockey game on television. A press conference. A handful of articles and interviews I'd probably spent far too much time reading.
That version of Thane felt manageable. This version didn't.
This version was getting into his car and driving across the city. This version knew where I lived.
The worst part was that I believed he was coming.
If some random guy from the bar had said he was on his way, I might have doubted him.
Thane wasn't some random guy. When he said he was coming, I believed him completely. And that somehow made me even more nervous. Because every minute that passed made one thing increasingly clear. The man I'd spent the last forty-eight hours convincing myself I would never see again was on his way to my apartment.
The problem with waiting for something important was that time immediately stopped cooperating.
Five minutes felt like twenty. Twenty felt like an hour. Every time I glanced at the clock, I was convinced more time had passed than actually had. Every time I checked my phone, I discovered the same thing I had discovered thirty seconds earlier.
Nothing.
I straightened a stack of papers that were already straight. Adjusted a lamp that hadn't been bothering me until now. Checked the clock for the fourth time in three minutes.
I wandered into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and stared at the contents without seeing any of them. A minute later, I found myself standing by the living room window. The street outside looked exactly as it always did. Cars passed. People walked by bundled in coats and scarves. Christmas lights glowed from neighboring buildings.
Meanwhile, my brain refused to settle on a single thought.
Why was he coming?
The question kept circling back, no matter how many times I tried to dismiss it.
People didn't usually do this. They especially didn't do this after a one-night stand. They definitely didn't do this after spending the previous day becoming the biggest story in Seattle sports.
Thane Hale had reporters following him. He had cameras shoved in his face. He had teammates, sponsors, executives, and half the internet demanding pieces of his attention.
Yet somehow he had finished all of that and decided to spend his evening driving across the city to see me.
I looked down at my phone again.
Still nothing.
