Page 11 of Playing For Keeps

By seven-thirty, most of the work was done, and his coworkers all looked decidedly peevish at the intrusion into their weekend. For the first time since he’d gotten this job, Sebastian commiserated wholeheartedly. They wrapped it all up by eight, Andrew thanking them for their time and work, promising overtime pay Sebastian knew was unlikely.

Salaried employees rarely had that luxury. Full-time meant forty hours—minimum. Their bosses promised floating holidays to compensate, or offered workers the opportunity to put it toward their P.T.O., but rarely—if ever—did they see overtime pay. The only time Sebastian could remember was when the shifts were grossly over, or he worked a holiday.

He tried to ignore the bitterness welling within him. It was almost the end of their agreement with the government, suspense date looming; things should theoretically calm down once it passed. All he needed to do was keep his head down and grind a tiny bit longer, then he could entertain the possibility of whatever this was he felt toward Farren. It was still a fledgling flame in his chest, nothing concrete, nothing more than a slight breathlessness and an uneasy coil in his stomach. In other circumstances, it might have come across as anxiety, but it was accompanied by joy, so he allowed it.

Sebastian trudged out of work, the Metro stops and his brief walk to the apartment passing in a blur. Night claimed the city, streetlights and some overeager fall enthusiast’s Halloween lights lit his walk home. People mulled about on the sidewalks, conversing, deciding the rest of their weekend plans. The emptiness of his own brief reprieve from work loomed ahead.

As soon as we meet the suspense date and the SLA is over, it’s vacation time—no ifs or buts. For the first time in a while, Sebastian’s ‘inner monologue’ was something he agreed with. It had been so long since he’d gotten a break from work. Maybe he would come back refreshed, ready to jump back in and claim the job he’d been working towards.

He got Nando’s delivered through Uber Eats, and the slightly spicy scent of Portuguese-style grilled chicken filled the apartment. The roll was pillowy as he bit into it, the perfect amount of char on the mild meat. He finished it off with a pasteis de nata—cinnamon custard and flaky layers lingering on his tongue long after he’d savored it. Some inoffensive TV show played off the cable he needed to stop paying for, and Sebastian searched for ideas on how and when he could see Farren again. She hadn’t responded to his text yet, probably already at game night and absorbed by her peers, but Sebastian hoped.

And he’d always given in to the saying that by failing to prepare, you prepare to fail. So he would have a plan ready. He’d have multiple ideas ready and take the time to get to know Farren better so he made it worth her while.

When she did respond, it was much later. Sebastian lay in bed staring at the static gray on the ceiling as his eyes tried to adjust to the dark room. He’d showered, tried watching more television, but his mind just wouldn’t shut down. Usually, it would have been work related, everything yet to come or, worse still, things he’d done wrong that day. Tonight, his mind was on her, regretting not being able to join her, trying to brainstorm ways to see her again.

Logically, he knew he could try and swing by the next game night, but there was no guarantee he wouldn’t be working late again. He didn’t want to set an unrealistic expectation and disappoint her all over again. So, Sebastian hoped she had some free time within the next two days. It was the only uninterrupted time Sebastian could be sure of, and even then, there was a niggle of doubt.

I’m listening.

She’d texted, letting him know she was open to hearing him out, or possibly seeing him again.

We’re in the middle of a big deadline right now.

Guaranteeing work nights is going to be difficult.

But I’m free this Saturday and Sunday.

If you’re available, I could take you out somewhere?

Nerves ate up his chest, building up like soap bubbles under a harsh spray of hot water. It fizzed inside him as he waited for Farren’s response. He set his phone on the bed beside him, face down, to avoid refreshing the chat every couple of seconds. It was silly. It was juvenile. Sebastian never wasted too much time on this inane back-and-forth. There’d been a few hookups in college when his acquaintances dragged him out to events on Greek row. Surface-level. Encounters which only left him feeling guilty after because they didn't mean anything to him besides physical release, but he hated the thought of hurting someone else in the process. When he’d opened himself up last year, his fledgling attraction cost him everything he worked for. It drove him away from Ohio and away from the vulnerability of a relationship.

Isolation was comfortable, if lonely, but an existence he was accustomed to. It was easy enough to ignore during the day when work took up all the mental space he had available.

He worried his thumb and forefinger together, rubbing them along each other in an attempt to have the physical sensation quiet the anxiety running amok inside him.

It was the longest five minutes ever waiting for his phone to buzz on the bed beside him.

I could move some things around.

Tomorrow?

It bubbled up his chest, effervescent happiness spilling over the low simmer of anxiety, and it came out as a surprised laugh, astonished at his luck. Or her grace. Either option was more than he deserved.

Works for me. One question for you…

The urge to try to make this perfect for her was overwhelming, but Sebastian knew how he could get it. Knew his need for control, his stupid rigidity, could get in the way.

Yes?

He tried to fight his programming.

Would you like to chat about it this evening and figure something out together?

Or do you want me to cook something up myself?

Please choose option one. Pleeease choose option one.

Since you owe me, let’s make this interesting.

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