Oh, well. Not a problem. Long-term loving relationships are built on more than just flutters and stomach flips anyway, right? So even if I don’t feel them now, it’s totally fine. Tons of time for flipping later down the road. What I’m looking for is a partner. Not a roller coaster.
If only I hadn’t just experienced a big stomach flip this morning, maybe this would be easier. Not only did Will make out with me until my bones felt like mush, but…he told me he has feelings for me. Feelings. And I told him that I have feelings for him. And now here I am on a date with someone else. It feels so wrong and backward and upside down. When two people declare their feelings, they get together, right?! That’s how it happens. But of course I would fall for a man who doesn’t believe in marriage. Who doesn’t want a family. Who wants to remain as wild and free as a bird.
I knew I’d get feelings for him from the beginning, though, didn’t I? I think something in me has known I was capable of loving him since the second I laid eyes on him.
But I would never in my wildest dreams want to try to change Will, and he doesn’t want to try to change me. Neither one of us wants to ask the other to sacrifice anything. So our only options are to move on.
Digging into my mind for dating advice from He Who Shall Not Be Thought Of, I pull out a piece of memorized conversation. “So, Brandon…would you rather skydive or read a book?”
“Oh—good question.” He makes a thinking noise and narrows one eye. “Read a book.”
Ding, ding, ding. Right answer! See stomach? This guy just keeps getting better and better.
I angle excitedly toward him. “Me too! I love to read. What’s your favorite genre?”
“Pretty much anything,” he says, and then adds, “Well, not true. Anything besides romance.”
Oh no.
I chuckle lightly to cover my despair. “Why not romance?”
He gives me a come-on look. “Because the whole genre just seems messed up. First, it sets unrealistic standards that no one can obtain, and, second, it’s just…fluff. I’d rather read something that actually has substance, you know?”
Cue my internal crisis:
He hates romance.
But he loves his family!
But he just belittled an entire genre that I adore by calling it fluff.
But I’ve hidden my romance-loving ways for my entire adult life. What are a few more years?
Will’s voice adds to the chaos in my head from when he read the romance book I gave him. It was sexy as hell. And there were a lot of profound moments too. Felt like free therapy. Ugh. That’s not fair, though. I shouldn’t compare Brandon and Will. They’re two completely different men. As in…Brandon is turning out nothing like Will.
However, that thought is irrelevant because Will is leaving, and he doesn’t plan to look back.
“What about you?” he asks. “What kind of books do you like to read?”
The sun seems to grow eight times hotter, if that’s even possible. If you listen closely you can hear the sound of my sweat dripping down the back of my neck. “Oh, me? Well…I actually—”
Two figures suddenly catch the corner of my eye, trying to hop up onto the bleachers from the side, several rows behind us. Oh my gosh…this cannot be happening. What are they doing here?
“What’s wrong?” Brandon asks, about to turn his head to look at the path of Will and Amelia, wearing baseball hats, sunglasses, and…is Amelia wearing a fake mustache?
I grab Brandon’s jaw and tug it back in my direction. His eyes widen as I pretend to knock an imaginary bug from his jaw. “It was a bee. Didn’t want you to get stung.”
“A bee?” he asks, immediately standing. “I’m very allergic to bees.” He’s looking everywhere for the bee. Now I feel terrible.
“Oh—don’t worry. It’s gone! It flew under the bleachers.”
“This one? Okay, we need to move, then, in case it has a nest. You okay if we scoot up a few rows?”
I cast a quick glance up and the only available seats are right next to Tweedle Nosy and Tweedle Mustache. Seriously, who does Amelia think she’s fooling wearing a mustache? And it’s not even stuck on that well. And Will…well, he’s dressed normally and looks absolutely delicious in that hat, and that’s why I can’t sit by him.
“Oh, I don’t think we need to. I’m sure the bee is—”
“I’m sorry, I know I seem overly paranoid here, but the thing is, I’d rather not have to use my Epi-Pen today if I don’t have to.”
And now I feel terrible that this man would ever think I was not worried about his safety. Or that having a deathly allergy is an inconvenience for me. “Oh my gosh, absolutely. Let’s move.”
“Great, thank you,” he says, extending his hand for me to proceed him first.
When I turn and face Will, he immediately diverts his eyes and tries to hide himself behind the bill of his hat. He holds his hand up to tug the hat down farther over his eyes, and this makes me laugh. As if he didn’t think he was distinct enough on his own, he’s shielding himself with his tattooed arm. Nice.
I walk up the bleachers and stop just in front of Will. “Excuse me, sir, is this seat taken?”
* * *
—
Both guilty persons turn their eyes up to me and then to the man over my shoulder. “Of course! Have a seat there, young lady!” says Amelia in the worst impression of a male country accent I’ve ever heard.
Will—the devil—bites his lips together to keep from laughing.
“Thank you,” I say solemnly while taking the seat next to Will. Brandon takes the seat beside me and now we are one big awkward human sandwich. Should I just acknowledge that I know these two loons beside me and get it all out in the open? If I do, however, that might stir up a lot of questions. None of which I feel like answering.
Suddenly, Brandon’s nephew steps up to bat, and Brandon shoots up from his seat clapping and shouting encouragements.
I take the opportunity to whip my head toward Will and Amelia. “What the helicopters are you two doing here?” I hiss.
“Just enjoying America’s favorite pastime.” If I could describe Will’s expression in one word it would be provoking.
I shove my elbow into his ribs. “Don’t you dare smile right now! You both need to go. Immediately. Amelia, you look ridiculous.”
“Leave before I find out who wins the game? Never. We’re not fair-weather fans,” Will says way too over the top.
“Knock it off. And you,” I say leaning toward Amelia. “Your mustache is falling off!”
She gasps and presses it back on with a grin. “It’s pretty convincing, isn’t it? It was a leftover from a Halloween party costume.”
“No. You look suspicious and mildly alarming.”
Will shrugs. “Told her not to wear it, but she insisted.”
“You shouldn’t have come at all! I don’t need a bodyguard.”
A smile touches his mouth. “Executive protection a—”
I hold up a menacing finger. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”
Brandon does the dad whistle through two fingers, and it’s so loud I have to clutch my head. He finally sits back down when his nephew gets three strikes. He then leans around me to indulge in my worst nightmare: my date having a conversation with Will, the one man he’ll never live up to. “Hi, I’m Brandon. And I guess you’ve already met Annie?”
I watch the moment Amelia slips back into character. It’s painful.
She smiles so big her mustache unpeels in the right corner. “Hi there! M’name’s Joe! And this here is my brother, Sam.”
I watch in silent dismay as the two men’s hands cross over me to join in a man shake. The sight of Will’s butterfly hand clasping my date’s very normal one makes me irrationally angry. I shouldn’t be able to compare the two men so directly like this. It’s not fair to Brandon. And when Will’s eyes cut to me for the briefest of heated moments, I’m afraid that the thought He licked my neck this morning is projected onto my face. Will’s invisible fingerprints all over my body are now glowing like a radioactive substance.
“Nice to meet you both,” says Brandon.
“Likewise.”
Brandon sits back and then leans into my side. “That’s definitely a woman with a fake mustache, right?”
“It appears to be so, yes,” I say, my gaze fixed forward, wishing I could drop the two people beside me into a black hole somewhere.