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“Yeah. Raincheck,” I say.
Reality crashes in as they drop me at my Tacoma. The night seems to stretch endlessly in front of me. I have a twelve-hour shift early next morning, and that fearless, wild, risk-taking person I was at sea? The one who momentarily forgot about all the things weighing down his mind?
He’s gone.
And Dr. Mansfield, the person my father wanted me to be, is left in his place.
Thanks, Dad.
We stand at the back of the truck, divvying up our spoils from the basket. I ask for two, just two. I have it in my head I might have someone to share them with. But that hope is tenuous at best. I’ll probably just boil them up and throw them in the freezer, have a shower, and do what I usually do—drink a few beers until I pass out alone.
“We should do this again. Real soon,” I say, surprised at how desperate I sound. Never mind that we literally just said this a few minutes ago. But I don’t want to be the kind of person who talks about plans and never follows through. “What are you guys doing next weekend?”
“Uh, I’ll have to check,” Aidan says quietly as he closes the tailgate. I know that voice. It’s his way of saying, I don’t know about that. And I get it. They have wives and kids and jobs and obligations. They’re not a couple of teenage wisecracks with all the freedom in the world. Those days are gone forever.
Cooper chuckles. “Yeah, same. I need to check my schedule. Might have some free time next fall.”
Aidan claps my back. “One of these days you’ll get it. Until then, enjoy the freedom, man. ‘Cause once it’s gone …”
I drive home. Thirty minutes later, the full weight of exhaustion drapes over me when I step out of my Tacoma and head for my door—until a thrill of excitement shoves my fatigue aside when I spot a note sticking out from under it.
At first, I recognize the paper as mine and think Stassi did a Return to Sender. I wouldn’t blame her. My last message was pretty corny. But as I pick it up, I realize she’s crossed out her name and put mine.
Opening it, I read:
Alec,
I regret to inform you that your latest poem made me cringe. That said, it was inventive. Let me know when you have a second to talk. My number is 555-282-1193.
Stassi
I grin. Finally. I’ve been doing all the chasing, so it’s good to see her throwing me a bone.
While nothing about her note gives the impression she wants to hook up, it’s a step in the right direction. Besides, she’s never been overt about wanting me. I’m wise to it, though. I know she does. As much as she hates me, she wants me just as much as I want her.
I can feel it in a way I can’t fully describe. It’s just an inner knowing, a hope that won’t die down, a nudge from the universe saying this is the way it was always meant to be. I know she feels it too. I can’t be the only one. If she’d ever get around to accepting it, we could finally be together and she’d get to experience the happiness she’s always deserved.
It’s after ten, and all her lights are off, so probably too late to call her. I’ll hold off until morning. But despite my exhaustion, I spend an entire sleepless night, composing a text to her in my head.
First thing in the morning, before I leave for my shift, I decide not to be too cute.
Me: Hey, it’s Alec. You wanted to talk?
It’s not even seven AM, but she texts back immediately—odd for a girl who works evenings most of the time. I’d like to think it’s because she’s been thinking about me as much as I’ve been thinking of her.
Stassi: Yes, are you free tonight after I get off work? Like ten?
Coy and professional. If I weren’t savvy, I’d think this was a business text. But that’s the way she usually is before she falls into bed with me. Me and my big, fat cock. If she wants to get together tonight, that’s perfect. I can think of no better way to cap off a long shift. My stomach flips just thinking about it. And screw coffee—I’m going to be running on pure anticipation today.
Alec: Sounds good. Should I come over there?
Stassi: Yes, please.
I expect she will be saying that a lot more tonight.
And I can’t fucking wait.
22
Stassi
I’m dead on my feet.
I barely made it through my shift. I kept leaning against everything—walls, counters, tables—because I felt as if I might collapse at any moment. On top of that, I kept zoning out at the worst times. I mixed up table orders twice, gave the wrong change, and nearly tripped over my own feet and face-planted with a full pepperoni pie on my shoulder. Ted wasn’t happy with me, and it wasn’t all that busy so he sent me home early, which was great, because I need time to think.
