Page 133 of Even Exchange

My first official day of practice is finished, and I pick up my phone from my locker with no new notifications. None that I care about at least. I shower and dress quickly, then head for the parking lot. It’s been less than forty-eight hours since we’ve spoken, but it’s driving me crazy. Even if we don’t talkmuch, we usually talk every day. I open the door to my truck, shut myself inside, and tap the call button.

No answer.

I drive home, prepare dinner, spend three hours putting together an Imperial Star Destroyer Lego set, and still nothing. Not a text. Not a call. Not a fucking carrier pigeon.

Picking up the phone, I call again. It goes to voicemail after two rings.

Great.She’s avoiding me.

Tuesday

CHARLOTTE

Me

Am I going to have to send out a search party?

I’m on my way to practice, listening to an audiobook Porter suggested about work/life balance to get my mind off things. My phone dings with a notification, and I almost crash the truck, checking if it’s her.

Charlotte

Sorry, been busy. You free tonight?

At a red light, I type out a resounding:

Me

Yes

Rubbing a towel against my head, I walk towards the kitchen for water. Practice today had me so dehydrated I threw up—twice. The Florida sun isbrutalin July.Not to mention it’s been impossible to focus since Charlotte’s avoiding me.

Maybe she’s still upset about how distant I was after starting the Barracudas’ pre-training camp?This is my first time playing football while being in a relationship, which I’m hoping this is, and I definitely need to learn how to balance that. The last thing I want is her feeling second-best.

The ring of the doorbell has me tossing the towel on the kitchen chair and rushing towards it.

I throw it open, my body immediately relaxing at the sight of her.

“Hi,” Charlotte says, her weak, defeated expression reigniting my anxieties.

“Hi,” I say, hand gripping the door.

“May I?” She gestures inside, and I snap back to reality.

“Yeah, please.” The conversation is formal. Awkward. And I hate it. “Why didn’t you use your key?”

She wrings her hands together. “I forgot it.”

Is she dumping me?

Can you even be dumped if you aren’t actually dating?

“You thirsty?” I ask, and she follows me towards the kitchen as I try to shove down the anxiety threatening to overwhelm me.

“Sure,” she says, setting down her purse on the kitchen counter. “Noah, I?—”

“How was your—” We chuckle awkwardly. “Sorry, you first.”

I grab two water bottles out of the fridge, hand her one, and turn the cap of the other.

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