That’s always Mom’s second option: someone. She’s dying for me to settle down already.
But that’s not in the cards at the moment. “I don’t want to,” I answer with a shrug. “Hockey’s my main priority right now.”
“Hockey has been your main priority since you were five years old! Don’t you think it’s time for some new priorities?”
“Nope.”
She shakes her head in disapproval. “You’re in college, Jake. You’re young and handsome, and I just don’t want you to one day reflect on this time in your life and regret not having someone special to share it with.”
“I don’t have regrets, Mom. Never have.”
Although if I’m being totally honest, I am feeling regretful about something.
I can’t seem to shake off the guilt over my interference with Brenna and McCarthy. Sure, it’s not as if they were engaged to be married, but she’s right—I did ask him to dump her. That was a dick move. I wouldn’t want someone dictating my sex life, either.
I’d hoped the guilt would simply fade away, but it hasn’t. It was gnawing on my insides last night, and it’s still chewing at me this morning.
Game day, a stern voice reminds me.
Right. Today’s game against Princeton is all that matters right now. We need to win.
We will win.
The alternative is not an option.
8
Brenna
“I can’t believe you’re abandoning me.” I glower at Tansy, but deep down I’m not surprised.
I had desperately hoped that she and Lamar wouldn’t ruin this weekend for me, but as my father likes to say, hope is for fools. Work hard and make your own dreams come true, he always harps, and then you won’t have to hope for a damn thing.
“It’ll only be for an hour or two,” my cousin promises.
“Yeah right,” I scoff from her roommate’s bed. Once again, Aisha proved herself to be my hero. Somehow, she replaced the standard-issued mattress that came with the dorm room with one of those memory foam ones that make you feel like you’re sleeping in a cloud. I dove right back under the covers when Tansy and I returned from our afternoon of lunch and shopping. That’s how comfy this bed is.
“I’m serious,” Tansy insists. “I’m just going over there so we can talk about what happened last night.”
“Oh, you mean how the two of you screamed at each other like maniacs in front of the entire bar?”
Yeah. That was fun. Tansy and Lamar started arguing almost the instant we arrived at the Frog and Fox. It was one of the most impressive snowball progressions I’ve witnessed in a while.
They kissed hello, she teased him about getting the location wrong, he grumbled that she gave him the wrong bar name, she denied it, he insisted, she said it wasn’t her fault his dumb ass couldn’t read a text message, he said, “Why are you acting like such a bitch,” and there you have it—the Apocalypse.
Oh, Lamar. You never, ever tell your girlfriend she’s acting like a bitch. Even if she is.
Lamar’s friends and I decided to do a couple of tequila shots. We figured that Tansy and Lamar would eventually tire themselves and rejoin the group, except they never did, and Tansy dragged me out of the bar in tears and we went home before midnight.
I woke up this morning and didn’t even have a hangover. As far as I’m concerned, that constitutes a crappy night.
“Come on, Tans, tell him you’ll see him tomorrow. You already ruined Newbury Street by texting him the entire time.” We were supposed to be shopping and having a blast, and instead I spent the day watching her tapping on her phone. We barely spoke during lunch because he kept messaging her.
“I know, I’m so sorry. It’s just…” She peers at me with big, imploring eyes. “We’re talking about getting engaged after graduation. I can’t ignore him when we’re fighting. We need to work it out.”
I don’t even blink at the word “engaged.” Tansy and Lamar have been on and off and off and on so many times that I no longer take their relationship seriously. If you keep breaking up, there’s a reason for it. Fun fact: perpetual drama is not conducive to a long-lasting commitment.
I highly doubt an engagement between them is in the cards. And if by some chance it happens, no way does it lead to an actual wedding. I’d bet my meager life savings on that.
But I tamp down my skepticism and say, “Okay, you’re talking about getting engaged. That has nothing to do with the fact that your cousin, who you haven’t seen in months, came all this way to spend the weekend with you. Last night turned into a sob fest. Today’s shopping trip turned into a text fest. And lo and behold, now you’re blowing off dinner and the club.”
“I’m not blowing you off, I swear. I’ll miss dinner, but we’re still hitting the club. You can use my meal pass and eat here, won’t even cost you anything. Then take a nap or something, and I’ll be back in no time, and we’ll go to Bulldozer just like we planned.”
Bulldozer is the nightclub I’ve been dying to visit. Despite its crappy name, it’s been getting rave reviews, and apparently the music is off the charts.
I have a feeling I’ll never get to hear it.
“Please,” Tansy begs. “I won’t be gone long. Just a few hours.”
I love how it went from “an hour or two” to “a few hours.”
“And I promise I’ll never, ever do this to you again. The next time we plan a girls’ weekend I’ll come to Briar, and Lamar will stay home, and you and I will have the best time ever.”
I swallow a nasty retort. She’s already made up her mind, so what’s the use in arguing? “Do whatever you want, Tans.”
“Come on, Bee, please don’t be mad at me.”
“Then don’t ditch me.”
“Brenna—”
My phone goes off. Normally I wouldn’t be rude and check it in the middle of a conversation, but Tansy’s testing my last nerve, so I grab the phone just to be a bitch.
Except…how lovely. The notification on the screen is even more aggravating than my cousin’s bullshit.
“Harvard beat Princeton,” I growl.
She eyes me warily. “Is that good or bad?”
I take a calming breath. “If you’d listened to a word I said today, you’d already know the answer to that.”
TANSY: I’m heading back soon.
The message comes at nine o’clock, triggering a rush of relief. Finally. She’s been gone for three hours.
Earlier, I took full advantage of her dining hall privileges. Had a yummy dinner, chilled with some cool chicks, fended off the advances of a few lacrosse guys. But now the boredom is creeping in, and for the past forty minutes I’ve been lying on Aisha’s bed, mindlessly swiping through Tinder profiles.
I don’t use dating apps much, but what else do I have to do right now? I can’t call any of my friends—they’re all back at Briar, either attending the semifinals game against Yale, or playing in it. I can’t watch the game on the New England station because Tansy and Aisha don’t have a TV, and I was unable to find a live stream on my phone.
So, chatting with random dudes it is.
Within two minutes of opening the app, I matched with about fifteen guys. And fourteen out of fifteen have already messaged me, an assortment of heyyy and hey sexy, a handful of heart-eyes emojis, and a “holy shit are you real??”
The last one brings a laugh to my throat. I peek at the guy’s profile again. His name is Aaron, he has the lean, lanky build of a basketball player, and a great smile. Rolling onto my side, I message him back.
ME: Sometimes I wonder.
* * *
HIM: LOL
* * *
ME: I mean, what is real? Are any of us real? Is the sky real?
* * *
HIM: The sky’s not real. Sorry to break it to you…
* * *
ME: OMG. What is it then?
* * *
HIM: We’re in a dome. It’s like a Truman show scenario.
* * *
ME: Um. Spoiler alert, dude. I’ve never seen that movie!
* * *
HIM: You should. It’s so good. You’d be really into it. I’m a film major so we watch a lot of really cool shit in class.
* * *
ME: Sounds awesome. So what’s your specialty? Screenwriting? Directing?
* * *
HIM: Directing. I’m gonna win an Oscar one day :) Actually, I already make my own movies.
At first I’m intrigued. Until he follows it up with a winky face.
Uh-oh.
I decide to keep my response vague, because I sense where this is heading.
ME: That’s cool.
* * *
HIM: You’re not going to ask what kind of movies I make? ;)
* * *
ME: I have a fairly good idea.
Two more winky faces appear.
HIM: You’re so gorgeous. I love your body. I’d love to feature you in one of my movies.
Although he hasn’t officially gone full douche yet, it’s only a matter of time, so I kibosh the conversation by typing, Sorry, I’m not interested in being an actress.
HIM: I bet your tits are so sexy. Mmmmmm, and your nipples. I’d love to suck on them and film myself doing it.
Ugh. Why? Why?