Page 67 of Changing the Playbook
“That means he’s hot.” Her grin is audible. “Details, Pearson. Height? Build? Does he have that brooding thing? Tattoos?”
“He’s tall,” I admit reluctantly. “Six-three. Dark hair. No current brooding, though evidence suggests past tendencies. No tattoos. And… he’s athletic.”
“Athletic as in CrossFit bro who won’t shut up about macros, or athletic as in actual athlete?”
I hesitate a beat too long.
“Oh my god,” Ally gasps. “Hockey player. One of your dad’s players. Sophie Pearson, you absolute maverick!”
“How do youdothat?” I demand, collapsing deeper into my couch. “Are you psychic now?”
“Please. I know you better than you know yourself. You haven’t dated anyone since Jimmy, and suddenly there’s a mystery guy in Jersey who’s got you scrubbing grout atmidnight? Had to be someone complicated, and what’s more complicated than Dad’s player?”
“Pretty much nothing,” I sigh, surrendering. “His name’s Mike. He’s… I don’t know, Ally. He’s different.”
“Different how?”
I stare at my ceiling, trying to articulate what makes Mike stand out. “He listens. Like, actually listens. Not the pretending-to-listen thing guys do while they’re mentally undressing you or making monosyllabic affirmations of whatever you’re saying until it’s their turn to talk.”
“Color me intrigued.”
“He took me to batting cages after I had a fight with my dad,” I say, knowing how absurd it sounds.
“Batting cages?” I can hear the gears grinding in her head. “Is a euphemism I’m not familiar with?”
“No,” I laugh despite myself. “Actual batting cages. Metal fencing, pitching machines, the works. He said it was good for working through feelings.”
“And was it?”
“Surprisingly, yes.” My fingernails dig into my palm. “I kissed him there.”
Ally’s excited squeal makes me yank the phone away. “Finally! Some action! How was it? Did your foot pop like in those old movies?”
“It was…” The memory floods back. “Perfect. But then he stopped and asked if I was sure, and suddenly I wasn’t sure at all.”
“Wait. He stopped to check in? Mid-makeout?” Her surprise mirrors what I felt in that moment. “Whoisthis guy?”
“Yeah. Said he wanted to make sure we weren’t just hooking up because I was upset. That he wanted it to be for the right reasons.”
“Which are?”
“He can’t do casual with me. It would have to be serious.”
A long silence stretches between us. “And that terrified you,” Ally says softly.
“Completely,” I confess. “I told him I couldn’t do serious, and he just… accepted it. No argument. No trying to change my mind. Just total respect for my decision, even though I could tell it wasn’t what he wanted. It’s the third time I’ve pushed him away after he clearly wanted more, and he’s respected it every single time.”
“You’ve pushed him awaythreetimes? Then how did you kiss on attempt number three?”
I realize how ridiculous it sounds, because it is. “After we slept together—one-night standonly—I told him relationships were off the table. He accepted it, said he’s happy as friends. Then we danced at a bar, and he told me he wanted me, but only if it meant something real. Then again, at the batting cages…”
“And you don’t know what to do with someone who respects your boundaries.”
“It’s unnerving,” I admit. “I’m used to guys who push for what they want or sulk when they don’t get it. But Mike just… backs off when I ask him to. He says he’s happy being friends, and I believe him, and now I can’t stop thinking about him at all.”
“So what’s really holding you back?” She pauses. “Jimmy baggage, or something else?”
I move to the window, staring at fall leaves scattered across the quad. Students hurry along paths bundled against the late-October chill, and I’m suddenly glad the heater in my apartment works better than the one in Michigan, which would leave me freezing come winter.
