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Something blossomed in my chest like a flower. The mere sight of her here, in front of me, flooded my brain with joy. For a few brief seconds, I remembered how happy I had felt at the trivia bar that night, full of hope and excitement that the woman I had met was something special.
Isabella looked back and forth between us. “You two know each other?”
“We… sort of met this summer. And then he never called me.” Taylor’s bright eyes narrowed. “What you just told me about football players is right, Isabella.”
My elation at the sight of her, this perfect woman who I had been pining after for months, disappeared and was replaced with anger. “You kidding me? I tried calling, but you gave me a fake number!”
“No I didn’t!” she replied stubbornly. “I gave you my real number.”
The way she brazenly lied to my face, both then and now, infuriated me.
“What are you even doing here?” I asked. “You said you were a college professor. I guess that was a lie too, huh?”
“I am a professor,” she insisted. “At Utah.”
“Who moonlights as a cheerleader?” I barked a laugh. “Craziest story I’ve ever heard.”
Taylor’s lips pursed together so tightly they could have collapsed into a black hole. “I didn’t give you a fake number. You must have read it wrong.”
“If I read it wrong, then you must have awful handwriting,” I shot back.
“I work in academia. My handwriting is perfectly legible!”
Isabella cleared her throat. “What’s going on here? Sweetie?”
Taylor blinked. “Sweetie?”
My girlfriend’s stare was strong enough to burn astroturf. I realized what this must look like to her and quickly changed my focus.
“Taylor and I played trivia together at a bar this summer. She gave me her number. Well, she gave me a number. Nothing else happened. This was two months before you and I met, darlin’.”
Isabella looked like she was trying to decide whether she wanted to laugh about it or blame me for the situation. Then one of the other cheer assistants called her over.
“I’ll be ready to go in thirty minutes,” Isabella told me. Then she cupped my face and gave me a long kiss before leaving. The kind of kiss she rarely gave in public, and especially not at work. It felt like she was marking her territory.
As soon as she was out of earshot, Taylor hissed, “You told me you worked in the receiving department.”
I laughed. “I’m a tight end. I led the team in receptions last year. I felt real clever when I told you that.”
Taylor crossed her arms under her breasts. “So you lied.”
“Did not.”
“You omitted key information about yourself,” she said curtly.
“I realized you didn’t recognize me,” I explained. “And for once, it was nice just being a normal guy. I wanted to get to know you without being judged based on my job. That’s much better than the lie you told about being a college professor.”
Taylor let out an annoyed groan. “I am a professor! Cheerleading is just a side-hobby!”
“You aren’t listed on the University of Utah faculty page!”
Taylor pulled out her phone and quickly tapped at the screen. Then she held it up for me to see. “Yes I am.”
Sure enough, there on the webpage was her information and headshot. For a few seconds, I was speechless.
“Well, you weren’t listed when I checked this summer,” I muttered.
“You know what? It’s fine that you didn’t call me,” Taylor said, long eyelashes batting with frustration. “You’re a big time football player. I can see how someone like me would be beneath you.”
