Page 18 of My Merry Mistake
Cue the chorus of “Ohhhhhh!!” accompanied by clapping and whistling.
I sigh. Because I know nothing will ever come of it.
The day after we met seven years ago, I went back to her apartment, thinking maybe I had a shot. Sure, she was a couple of years older than me, but I swear we had a connection. She’d sat down at the bar, and the second our eyes met, I felt the spark. And yeah, I go on a lot of dates, but I’d never felt that spark before—and I haven’t felt it since.
If those two drinks hadn’t immediately gone to her head, maybe the night would’ve gone differently.
But in the light of day, all I got was rejection and closed doors. And you’d think that would be enough for me to get the hint, but every time I’m in the room with her, I’m drawn to her like a magnet. I stare because I can’tnotstare.
I want to watch out for her. To protect her. To make sure she’s okay, because even though on the outside Raya Hart is one of the fiercest, strongest, most independent women I know, I also know there’s a lot more to her than what she shows people.
But it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t see me as anything other than a joke—and that’s not going to change.
“All right!” Jericho claps his hands together and shouts above the hooting and hollering. “Now we’re getting somewhere! What are you gonna do about it?”
“Nothing?” I say, because really—what else can I do?
“Nothing?” Jericho’s brows lift in surprise. “For real?”
“Do you know how many times I’ve asked her out?” I ask. “Probably a hundred.”
“I don’t think she knows you’re being serious.” Dallas pulls a hoodie on and tousles his damp hair.
I drop onto the bench in front of the locker. “Okay, so what else can I do to show her I’m serious?”
“Start by being straight with the yoga chick,” Jericho says, “and stop bringing women like that to every party Raya’s at.” He shakes his head like this is obvious because, well, it’s obvious.
I look around the room. “Guys. Comeon. I have exactly two chances with her. Slim, andnone.” I pause. “And Slim just left town!”
“Look.” Gray, who’s been completely silent in the back of the locker room, turns around. “You need to be honest with yourself about what you want. That’s step one.” He looks at me. Gray doesn’t talk a lot, but when he does, everyone pays attention.
“What’s step two?” I ask, pulling my hoodie from the hook in my locker, and tugging it over my head.
“Make sure you’re good enough for her,” he says.
“Dude, he’s already scared of this woman,” Jericho says. “You want him to be terrified of you too?”
“I just want to make sure he understands,” Gray says to him, then turns back to me, eyes piercing. “She’s not some fitness influencer looking for a little extra publicity, right? She’s one of the good ones. From a good family. If you can’t be the guy who’s good enough for her, then don’t even try.”
There’s more than just my ego or my feelings on the line here. If I screw this up—it could mess up the dynamics on our team. Maybe that’s too big of a risk.
“I got it.” I grab my duffel and sling it over my shoulder.
As I walk out of the locker room, I hear Jericho say, “Why’d you have to go and do that? You know he’s never going to go for her now.”
I’m through the door before I can hear Gray’s response, but the whole conversation has me conflicted. Because yes, I have big feelings for Raya, but does that make me the right guy for her?
Nope.
As I walk down the hall, I catch my reflection in the glass of a display case.
I stop.
I try to stand a bit taller and suck in my stomach.
Man, I’m not her type.
I don’t wear a suit. I don’t have Dallas’s face or Gray’s abs. Heck, I don’t even speak right half the time.
