Page 64 of Unforgettable Player

Brad slaps me on the shoulder. “This guy’s awesome at hockey.”

I grit my teeth and keep smiling.

“Great!” Ophelia beams.

All this time, I’ve been forcing myself not to look at Elliot. When I finally glance around for him, I find him standing at the bar, next to that guy.

I hop off my stool and sidle close enough to my sister to ask her something without being overheard.

“Is that the bookstore guy with Eli?”

“Yeah, his name’s Gabe.”

I take a moment for the confirmation to sink in. Okay, this is fine. I can handle this.

“I’m getting a drink, what do you want?”

She smirks up at me. “Get me a Shirley Temple.”

I nod, barely taking in what she said. When I get to the bar, I stand next to Elliot. Gabe is on his right.

I wish I could push him out of the way, but that would definitely not be okay. I order two beers and a Shirley Temple before turning to Elliot and asking if he wants a Sprite.

He bites his lip and looks down at the full glass of lemonade sitting on the bar in front of him. “No, I’m good, thanks.”

Gabe got him a drink, fine.

They walk away together. I get our drinks before following them.

The group has set themselves up around the air hockey game, the first pair facing off.

I keep trying to catch Elliot’s eye. I don’t want him to think I’m crazy for coming here tonight when I knew he was gonna be here.

I listen in on the group conversation, especially whatever this Gabe guy says to Elliot. He’s talking about books. I pick up a Proust reference and am reminded of the time a guy at college made fun of me for pronouncing it wrong. Gabe pronounces it right, of course.

Gabe talks with that haughty air of all young, pretentious people who believe their opinions are so fucking profound and haven’t learned that they’re cringey yet. I could be imagining it, but Elliot looks embarrassed.

He and Scout like some pretentious stuff, but their conversations are nothing like this. They gush over Cher and do Yoda impressions in between the artsy, smart stuff. More importantly, Elliot is humble and open minded. When I told him I didn’t understand Dostoyevsky that day by the pool, he didn’t get all snobbish about it and use it as an excuse to show off. He leveled with me, told me he sometimes didn’t understand it either, which was a lie, even if it was a kind lie. He called out gatekeeping academics and quoted a silly line he probably found on Pinterest. He’s way too good for this guy.

I finally get my chance to talk to him alone when he breaks off from the group and heads to the men’s bathrooms.

Before I miss the opportunity, I put my beer down and follow him.

“Listen, I’m sorry,” I say as soon as I walk into the bathroom.

Eli’s standing in front of the urinal, about to unzip. He stops when he sees me.

“What are you doing here? Do you want Scout to catch us?”

“No … I just, fuck.” I rub the back of my neck, feeling out of control and hating it.

Elliot lowers his eyes to his shoes. “Listen, I’m sorry, too. I didn’t want to come here with Gabe, I just didn’t know how to turn him down without hurting his feelings, and then Scout⁠—”

“Wait, you guys aren’t on a date?”

Elliot shakes his head. “At least, I didn’t mean it to be. I hate sneaking around, I feel like a total sleazebag.”

My stomach drops. “Do you want to stop hooking up?”