Page 7 of I Wish He Would

“I have an emergency at home, so could we just get the check, please?”

Tracy’s face sobers. “Of course, I hope everything’s okay.” She looks to Mike. “Will that be one check this evening?”

Mike snorts. “This is only a first date. I’ll be paying for my mother and myself.”

Susan leans over and pats his cheek. “Such a sweet man. I taught you well.”

Not well enough to pay for this awful date.

Tracy turns to me with a bewildered expression.

“I guess two checks, then,” I say.

Our waitress is barely gone for a minute before returning with two pieces of paper. She slides one to Mike and places the other in front of me. I flip it over and find that my meal and drink have both been comped.

There’s a handwritten note on it.

Your friend called and paid for your meal. He said he hopes this makes up for the terrible night you’ve had.

It does, Tracy. That and the fact that I now get to go be a couch blob with said friend while eating a delicious dessert.

I smile up at her and mouth, thank you.

She offers me a nod and a smile. I hand the receipt back to her, pretending like I’m paying as Mike does. Once the bills are settled, I endure the awkward walk out of the restaurant with Mike and Susan.

Mike stops just outside the front door. “I think that went well. Too bad you had to end the dinner early.” His mouth pulls to one side as he turns to his mother. “Should I kiss her?”

That’s it. I turn and bolt for my car while yelling over my shoulder, “I’m not interested.” After what I just put up with, I can’t find it in myself to care what they think. They can call me rude or impolite. But I call them people I’m never going to see again.

When I reach my car, I slide into the driver’s seat and lock the doors. I turn it on and blast the air conditioning, then heave out a sigh. Once I connect my phone, I crank up the stereo volume and play “We Are Never Getting Back Together” by Taylor Swift at a decibel that probably could cause lasting damage to my eardrums if I leave it this loud for too long. But right now, I need to jam out while I mentally prepare myself to share about this catastrophic date.

As I drive to Austin’s house, I can’t help but think that maybe something is wrong with me. I strive for perfection in all areas of my life, but dating is the one realm where I just can’t seem to ever get it right.

Does it make me a horrible person to hope that my friend’s dates go badly?

It’s not like I don’t want her to find love. Of course, I want that for her. But every time Alyssa goes on a bad date, she drives to my house after, where I have a new cookie recipe waiting for her, fresh out of the oven. Then we spend the night eating cookies, watching New Girl, and recapping her terrible evening.

I know if—when—she finds her person, our friendship will change. So, sue me for wanting to maintain a little of my normal rhythm. She’s the only person I hang out with in Louisville aside from my teammates. And I love those guys, but I already spend a lot of time with them. Alyssa is my escape. And I don’t want to lose that.

I grab a pizza cutter and sing along to the NSYNC song playing over my speaker system before running it along my baking sheet, cutting the cooled vacuum cleaner cookies into bite-sized squares. I hear my front door open, followed by heels clicking against the tile floor of my foyer.

There’s no stopping the smile that tilts my lips. I set down the pizza cutter and walk through the hallway that connects the foyer to the rest of the house.

I nearly trip over my own feet when I see her standing there. Alyssa’s long blonde hair cascades down in perfect curls nearly to her waist with two little buns on the top of her head. The black dress she’s wearing looks like it was designed specifically for her. The fabric on top hangs off her shoulders, emphasizing her neckline, while the rest of her dress hugs her curves perfectly, ending halfway between her knees and ankles.

It’s a real travesty for the man that fumbled her tonight.

I shake my head, stopping myself from surveying her any further. Stopping myself from thinking about how that guy’s loss is my gain. Because it’s not. We’re only friends. Just friends. We might have shared a small moment when we first met, but we can’t be anything more. Not when Louisville is only supposed to be a stopping point in my baseball career.

It’s not like I have a say in where I play right now, but once I become a free agent, I always planned on returning to Boston to be closer to my family. In the meantime, I’ve dedicated all my focus and drive to baseball, forgoing the dating scene.

I’m not a casual relationship kind of guy. My parents have been happily married for thirty-three years, and I want a marriage like theirs. I’m just not sure I’ll find that until after my baseball career is over. Starting off a relationship where I travel all the time for games and can be traded to a different team at any given moment feels like a lot to ask someone to put up with. When I decide to look for the person I want to spend forever with, I want to be able to truly commit to them. Not have them compete for my time with my demanding career.

But at least I get to spend tonight with my best friend. Friendship, I can do.

Alyssa drops her heels by the door and looks up, her eyes finding mine. Her smile instantly makes the room feel warmer.

I’ve lived here ever since I got called up by the Louisville Mustangs three years ago, but I never quite got around to decorating. When I play over one hundred fifty games a season, it doesn’t leave much time for things like choosing artwork or accent rugs. And the offseason is filled with training to stay in shape and relaxing. When I go into chill mode, the last thing I want to do is go shopping to decorate my house. I guess I could’ve hired an interior decorator, but I never thought I’d be here long enough to want to make this house feel like a home.