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The pristine grass reminds me of a soccer field.
Reminds me of Kluvberg’s field.
Reminds me of lying on it with Beck.
I gulp down the rest of the bubbly alcohol and spin so my feet rest on the opposite end of the concrete bench. My stilettos fall to the stone floor as I stretch my toes, luxuriating in the freedom the lack of a pointed prison allows for. Champagne fizzes in my stomach, making me feel restless and relaxed.
I pull my phone out, rubbing a sore spot on the arch and my foot, and it turns out there is something I would do drunk I wouldn’t sober. Or maybe I’m just using alcohol as an excuse.
It rings once, and I take a bite of cake. A choice I regret when he picks up on the second ring.
“Saylor?” His voice is raspy and rumbly, and it takes me approximately ten seconds to realize how I fucked up. It’s getting late here. It’s much, much later in Germany.
I don’t reply at first. I can’t, because there’s a lump of flour and sugar blocking my windpipe.
I wash the cake down with some more champagne.
“Saylor?” he says again, tone more alert and softer. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.” Silence, while he’s likely wondering why I’m calling, and I savor the sound of his even breaths in my ear. “I’m at my dad’s wedding.”
“How is it?” There’s a soft rustle in the background, like he’s moving between sheets.
“It’s…weird. A lot of people I haven’t seen in a long time. And my sister basically has a second child to look after this weekend. But my dad seems happy, so that’s good.”
“Are you drunk?”
“No.” I pause. “Maybe a little.”
“Is that why you’re calling?” Beck asks.
“No. You said I didn’t call. So I’m…calling.”
“It’s been two weeks.”
“I’ve been busy,” I tell him. Same excuse I gave my dad. Truthfully, I don’t know how to draw boundaries between soccer and the rest of my life. I’ve never tried to.
“I know. Nine goals. Impressive.”
A warm flush spreads across my skin that has nothing to do with the drinks I’ve been downing. He’s been checking my stats. “Does that mean you didn’t change your mind?”
“Change my mind about what?”
“About me. About wanting me.”
He doesn’t reply right away, so I brace myself for the worst. “I’m never going to change my mind about wanting you, Saylor.”
This time, the lump in my throat is all emotion. It takes a lot longer to get rid of. “I miss you,” I whisper.
Hallie chooses this exact moment to burst out onto the patio. “We need you for another round of photos.”
Out of all her interruptions tonight, this one is the worst. It anchors me back to reality, reminding me that I’m at my father’s wedding—a dad I barely talk to. That my relationship with my sister is complicated at best. That I’ve been avoiding this exact situation—falling in love—for a reason. That the reason I woke Beck up is because he lives far, far away. That me admitting I miss him might have just been torture for the both of us, and I should keep that bottled up so that he can change his mind about me.
“I have to go. Sorry for waking you up.” I tap the end button before Beck can reply, shoving my feet back into the stilettos and wincing as my feet protest.
“Who were you talking to?” Hallie asks as I approach her.
“No one.”
