“Because he practically made you!” she cries, forcing me to hold the phone away from my ear. She’s loud when she wants to be. “He never called you, he always canceled on you when you had plans. I don’t know how many times I had to comfort you while you cried over him bailing yet again.”
Everything she says is true. I cried a lot over Jordan when he went away to college. I let the distance and his success and my insecurities destroy our relationship.
“He didn’t make me end things. I didn’t give him the choice,” I tell her with a sigh.
“Well, whatever. I just hate seeing him on TV looking like such a smug bastard.”
“I’m surprised you even watched it.” Livvy’s always busy working. She’s a real estate agent in Austin and currently making a killing.
“Dustin told me we had to watch it,” Livvy says with an irritated sigh. “He got excited when he saw himself in that one class picture.”
“Ha, I was in that class too.”
“I was in Haskell’s class so no brief brush of fame for me. Dustin thinks he’s some sort of celebrity now.” She sounds amused. “He wishes he could go to one of Tuttle and Cannon’s games.”
Cannon Whittaker played football with Jordan in high school and was one of our friends. A big, sweet bear of a man now, he was traded onto Jordan’s team last season, and the media went wild with stories about them being reunited.
“I could, not that I’m going to,” I say. Their stadium isn’t too far from where I work. It’s almost like I went into sports medicine on purpose so maybe Jordan and I could cross paths someday.
Yeah. Right.
“Don’t ever chase that man. He sucks,” she says with total assuredness. “I have to go. I have an open house in forty minutes. I’ll talk to you soon. Love you.” Livvy ends the call before I can say anything else.
I check my phone, leaving Instagram for last. Snapchat—I’m not into it as much I used to be, though I do still like watching people’s stories. Fast glimpse at Facebook to see my mother has posted a bunch of recipes that make me hungry. I click out when my stomach growls. Email inbox is full of nothing but junk sales stuff, so trepidation filling my veins, I open up Instagram to see…
I have a message.
And it’s from Jordan.
Sorry got distracted. Glad you followed me. It’s been a long time.
Oh my God, that’s it? Though I don’t know what I was expecting. A declaration of his undying love? That’s never going to happen.
I start typing my response.
It has been a long time. I hope you’re—
What else do I say? I hope you’re doing well? Doing shitty? Having the time of your life? Do you miss me? I miss him. I can admit that right now, early in the morning and all alone in my bed, I totally miss him.
Watching that show last night was absolute torture. I dreamed of Jordan, though it’s fuzzy and I can’t quite remember what happened. But he was there, like we belonged together, and it didn’t feel weird.
It felt…
Right.
I erase what I typed and redo it.
I hope you’re doing well.
Setting my phone on the table, I get out of my fold-out bed and go to the bathroom. Brush my teeth. Stare at my reflection, thankful my skin looks decent. I need to figure out what to wear on my date with Cade tonight. I want to look nice, but not like I’m trying too hard. There’s a fine line and I don’t want to cross it.
Sometimes I really hate this dating game bullshit.
I wander out into the kitchen and make myself a cup of coffee with the Keurig my parents bought me two Christmases ago. I toast an everything bagel and spread too much cream cheese on top. For some reason, I’m extra clumsy this morning, and my foot slips across the floor, causing me to almost drop the plate, and everything from my everything bagel scatters across the tile.
After I sweep it up, cursing under my breath the entire time, I sit at my extremely small kitchen counter, take a bite out of my bagel, sip from my cup of coffee, and realize I am totally stalling on checking my phone, which is still sitting on my nightstand.
I dash back to the end table to get it.
And holy shit, he answered me.
Are you doing well, Mandy?
I wish he wouldn’t call me that. And I wish he wouldn’t ask loaded questions either, though I’m sure he doesn’t see it that way. I’m the one who’s being ridiculous. I’m the one who’s reading too much into this.
I’m great, I tell him after I eat half my bagel. Really busy with work.
What do you do?
I’m an assistant physical therapist at a place that specializes in sports medicine.
You’re here in the Bay Area, right? Where exactly do you work?
I chew on my lower lip, wondering if I should answer him. Why does he care?
Screw it.
Atlas Wellness Center.
He doesn’t answer me right away, so I finish the rest of my bagel and down the coffee, though I need no caffeine. I feel jittery enough. When he finally responds I can’t read it fast enough.
I know exactly where that’s at.
Of course he does.
We’ve had some professional athletes as patients, I tell him.
I hope you never see me in there. Jordan follows it with a winking face emoji.
He’s making a joke, something Jordan Tuttle doesn’t do very often. Yet I take it wrong. It feels like he’s trying to tell me he hopes he never sees me again, which is totally ridiculous. I’m reading too much into his response, I’m overthinking this entire situation.
I need to chill.
We start talking about the Inside Football episode, and he’s very modest, not making a big deal about it. I tell him Dustin feels famous because of the class photo they showed and he says Dustin should hit him up on IG. I say yeah, sure, but no way am I telling Livvy I had this conversation with Jordan. Not yet.
Not sure why, but I want to keep this secret all to myself.
It’s weird, but we chat off and on all day. While I do laundry, he sends me a DM. I send him one back and a few minutes or even an hour later, I receive a response. We talk about everything else but the fact that we broke up. We play catch up about people and places, talking like old friends, which I suppose we are.
But it’s finally near six and I still need to take a shower and curl my hair. Cade is picking me up at seven for our date and I haven’t even really picked out an outfit yet. As fun as this stroll down memory lane is, I need to get on it. Focus on the guy who’s interested in me now, not on the one from my past.
I’m afraid I have to go. It’s been nice talking to you.
I’m in the bathroom, shedding my clothes, the shower running when Jordan immediately replies. Hot date on a Saturday night?
Livvy would encourage me to say hell yes, motherfucker since that’s her style. But is that rude? Is that me rubbing it in his face?
No. it’s the truth.
Yeah.
That’s all I say. I jump in the shower before I say something I regret and I hurriedly run through my usual ritual. I don’t bother shaving my legs because hello, I’m not moving that fast with Cade. There will be no bare leg touching tonight. I don’t wash my hair because it curls better when it’s a little dirtier, and I’ve shut off the water and barely wrapped the towel around myself when I’m already checking my phone for a response.
Who’s the lucky guy? Got someone steady in your life?
My damp skin prickles at his words. For some reason, it feels like he spent a lot of time laboring over those two sentences. Should I be honest? Or make up some elaborate story about my hot sexy boyfriend who keeps me well satisfied in bed every night?
I’m not a liar, though. So I tell him the truth.
It’s a first date with a guy I work with.
He doesn’t respond for so long, I’m dry, lotioned up, and halfway dressed with my makeup done and my hair partially curled by the time I receive a reply.
/> Have fun.
My smile is smug at his words and my stomach bottoms out, but damn it, I will have fun.
Even if it kills me.
Did I expect Amanda to reach out to me after the Inside Football interview?
If I’m being completely honest with myself, that’s a yes.
What I didn’t expect was the swarm of conflicting emotions that overwhelmed me while I chatted with her over social media throughout the day. In the beginning, I didn’t know what to say. Should I be polite? Distant? Treat her like an old friend? An old lover?
She was all of those things to me. Friend. Lover. At one point, she was the most important person in my life—and then she ended it. When she reached out last night, I thought I wanted to stick it to her. Remind her of what she could’ve had, but lost. When she broke up with me all those years ago, I’d been crushed.
Then I got pissed.
Fuck her, I thought more than once.
But as time went by, I realized what I did to her. What I did to every woman who tried to come into my life since her. I didn’t have time for any of them. Worse, I didn’t have time for Amanda—the supposed most important person in my life. College consumed me. Football consumed me. So many things were happening and I let them take me away from her.
So I felt like shit. After some time and distance, I realized I’m just as much to blame for the breakup as she is. She gave up on me.
I gave up on her too.
And that’s hard to admit.
Yet now, at this very moment, here she is. Back in my life. Just like I knew she would be. Can we be friends again?
I’m not sure.
Knowing she’s going on a date tonight with some undeserving jackass did something to me. Jealousy reared its ugly head, no matter how much I told myself that I’m over her.
Because I am. Over her.
We could never work. I’m still just as consumed by my too-busy life. I don’t have time for anyone. I barely have time for myself.
And besides I’m over her.
Over. Her.
Maybe if I keep repeating those same two words in my head, I’ll start believing them.
“I hope you like Chinese,” Cade tells me as we walk toward the restaurant.
I smile as my answer, thinking of the crappy Chinese food I ate last night. Though this place looks way fancier than my neighborhood standby China Restaurant. When we enter the building, we’re immediately enveloped in the cool, dark atmosphere. The interior is very chic, with dark walls and mirrors, golden lit sconces and sleek furniture everywhere. There’s a gorgeous girl standing behind the black lacquered hostess stand, her blood red lips pouting as we approach.
“We have a reservation at seven-thirty for two,” Cade tells the hostess in a hushed voice. It’s quiet throughout the restaurant even though it’s busy, and I can hear the tinkling music in the background.
The hostess shoots him a bored look before checking her reservation list. “Name?”
“Cade McDougal.”
Any time I start dating a guy, I imagine his last name as mine. Amanda McDougal. Amanda Winters McDougal…
Has a decent ring to it.
Does this make me a psycho? Maybe.
Probably.
“Ah yes.” The hostess taps her finger on the list, her black nail polish gleaming in the light. “McDougal. Two for seven-thirty.” She lifts her head, sending us both a withering look. “You’re late.”
“By what? Two minutes?” Wow, look at me being so snappy. The hostess glares at me, quietly fuming.
Without a word, she grabs two heavy menus and heads deeper into the restaurant. Cade settles his hand against my lower back as we follow after her. I’m not surprised at all that she seats us at a tiny table close to the kitchen.
“What a bitch,” I tell him after she’s gone and we’re seated at the table.
Cade winces. “I’ve heard this place has great food, but snotty service.”
“She’s like the queen bee of the snots,” I agree, flipping open my menu. I try my best to contain my sticker shock, but dang, this place is expensive. And it’s not just regular Chinese food either. It’s fancy Asian fusion, which I love, don’t get me wrong. I just have no idea what I’m supposed to order. Since Cade’s never been here before either, how much help is he going to be?
We’re both going over our menus, comparing notes and trying to figure out what to eat when I hear my text notification ding from deep within my purse. I ignore it, fighting the impulse to check who it is.
When it dings again two minutes later, I must physically freeze up or give off a certain aura, because Cade says gently, “Go ahead and check it.”
I offer him an apologetic smile as I reach down for my purse. “Sorry. It’s just—no one ever texts me on a Saturday night.”
Cade grins. “Not even for a hookup?”
My smile stays in place. I can’t believe he just said that. “Not usually, no.” I almost say, I’m not that type of girl, but I hold off. Sounds too over the top.
I pull my phone out of my purse to see I have a text from a number I don’t recognize.
You still use this number?
Frowning, I contemplate ignoring the text. But curiosity gets the best of me.
Who is this?
The answer is immediate.
JT
Who? Oh…
Jordan freaking Tuttle.
I shove my phone back in my purse and drop it to the ground, focusing all of my attention on Cade. This is about getting to know him tonight, not being hung up on the past. Good ol’ JT is part of my past.
If I’m lucky, Cade could be part of my future.
“Everything okay?” Cade asks.
“Definitely,” I say with a smile, and I freaking mean it. I’m fine. Great, actually. I have a handsome guy sitting across from me at a nice restaurant and my hair looks fabulous. Life can’t get much better than this.
We figure out what we want to eat, opting to sharing a few plates, and then we start asking each other questions. The usual first date thing.
“I’m from central Washington,” he says when I ask where he grew up. “In a small town called Wenatchee.”
Never heard of it. “Do you like it there?”
“It’s okay. It snows in the winter and can get one hundred plus degrees in the summer, so that kind of sucks. But the Columbia River is right there, and I like the downtown area. There are cool restaurants and shops.”
“That sounds nice.”
The waiter appears, a friendly guy in all black, and he takes our drink orders. I can actually feel my purse buzzing against my shoe like it’s an actual call, and I want to check my phone again, though I’m afraid it’s stupid Jordan.
No way am I going to answer the phone and talk to him while out with Cade. That sucker knew I was going on a date tonight. It’s like he’s purposely trying to sabotage my evening.
“Have you ever been to Washington?” Cade asks after our server delivers our drinks and takes our dinner order.
“No.” I shake my head, reaching for my glass of wine. “I’ve barely been out of the state.”
“Really? Well, I guess I get why. Everything you need is here in California,” Cade says. “I like to travel, though, so…I’ve been lots of places. Moved around some, too.”
“How long have you lived here?” I ask.
“Almost a year. I was working at another physical therapists’ office, but it wasn’t what I really wanted. I was settling while waiting for a spot to open up at a place with a sports medicine focus, and luckily enough I found Atlas.” He smiles.
I smile in return. “More like we were lucky to find you.”
“How about you? Where did you grow up?”
“Oh, in central California. I moved here for college—went to San Jose State my junior and senior year.”
“Went to community college first?”
I nod. Take another sip of my wine, which is crisp and delicious. Not too sure if I wa
nt to get overly liquored up tonight. Girl has to have some limits.
My phone starts incessantly buzzing again and I kick my purse, wishing I could send it flying. But I can’t. And I swear Cade can hear/feel it too, because he sends me a concerned look, and I finally give in to see what’s up.
It’s not just a call from Jordan, he’s trying to actually FaceTime me.
Un. Real.
Grabbing the phone, I clutch it in my hand with the screen against my palm as I rise to my feet, sending Cade another one of those apologetic smiles. I hope this isn’t a habit I’m going to start. “I really need to take this. Give me a minute and I’ll be right back?”
“Everything okay?” he calls after me as I leave.
“Everything is great. Don’t worry,” I tell him as I move through the restaurant. I hit the answer button just as I walk out the front door, and I glance at my phone, watching in disbelief as Jordan’s handsome face fills the screen.
“Why are you FaceTiming me?” My greeting is rude, but I don’t care. The past twenty-four hours has been filled with nonstop Tuttle and I’m kind of over it.
Well. I should be over it…
He raises his dark brows and I allow myself to really drink him in. His hair is cropped close on the sides but longish on top, and currently a bit of a mess. There’s dark stubble on his face, giving him a bad-boy air, and his eyes are as blue as ever. He’s wearing a plain black T-shirt that stretches across his broad chest and shoulders, and I’m instantly annoyed. It’s so unfair that he’s somehow gotten better looking over the years.
“Why so hostile?” he asks, sounding genuinely surprised.
I glance around, thankful no one is nearby. “I told you I was going on a date.”
“Must not be going so well if you answered me.”
Now he just sounds smug. And no way can I dignify what he said with a direct answer. “You need to stop.”
“Come on, Mandy. Aren’t you curious?”
“What do you mean?”
“I wanted to see what you looked like. Your Instagram profile doesn’t have enough photos of you on it,” he says, being so blatantly honest it’s downright disconcerting. He leans in close, like he’s really checking me out, and I’m tempted to end the call.