Page 19 of The One Night Dash
“Very from what I see at Icehouse after games.”
“What the hell?” I laugh. “I’m not babysitting bunnies. I?—”
“I mean”—she scrunches up her face—“do you ID them?” She laughs again, and I can’t even be mad. That laugh is lethal.
“IDs get checked at the door, smartass. I was talking about my sisters. Well, one. She’s in love”—I pause—“again.”
She smiles. “What doesagainmean?”
“Means every asshole who says the right thing, she ends up calling me and saying, ‘I think he’s the one, Dash.’”
“How old is she?”
“Twenty.”
“It’s good she’s optimistic.” She nods once.
“Why is that good?” I ask.
“Lots of reasons, like, no one has torn her heart to shreds.”
“Someone shred your heart, Noelle?”
She forces a laugh. “Why would you ask that?”
“In college, your nose was stuck in a book, you weren’t trying to hook up at the parties I saw you at, and I’ve never seen a guy with you at a game or at the bar after.”
“I focus on what makes me happy. Books make me happy.”
“I’m focused, too, but we all have needs.”
She silently laughs. “We do. And some of us just don’t share that information.”
I lean in and whisper, “You have a secret lover?”
“I have what I need when I need it.”
The fact her face isn’t on fire is kind of disappointing, to be honest.
“So, you haven’t caught feels?”
“I have a very specific idea of what I want my life to look like, and if …” She pauses. “Why am I getting interrogated?”
“Not an interrogation, just curious.”
“I could turn the tables and ask you the same questions.”
“My stance hasn’t changed since college. I don’t have the time or energy to put into a relationship. So, yeah, I’m not a choir boy, but I don’t pretend to be.”
“Admirable,” she states.
“I think so.”
“Don’t get defensive. I was being real. I’ve been on enough dates to know the difference between types of players, and to Icehouse after enough wins to know none of you are bending down on one knee to get laid.”
“Wish Briar knew the difference.”
“That bad?” she asks.
