I don’t know where my future lies. I don’t know if I’m even going to be any good at this job, and certainly nothing can be ascertained based on four days of practice and one game.
But what I do know is that I like this city. I like the challenge of what I’m facing—I’ve never liked anything being too easy. Without challenge, there’s no reward.
More than the city, though, I like Sophie. I’m glad I reconnected with her, if you can count our first meeting as a connection. More like a shared trauma, and then I’m not even sure we should count our second meeting at all, which was an awkward, one-sided conversation in my hospital room.
But there is absolutely a link between us now. It doesn’t even seem based in reality, but more mystical. A friendship forged from tragedy.
Beyond that, there are a hundred reasons and probably more why I like her. She’s beautiful, smart, and funny. That’s the trifecta every man looks for in a woman. She’s flawed, but not helpless. She’s down on her luck, but not ready to give up. It may sound stupidly poetic, but her smile doesn’t just light up a room, it lights me up as well every time I see it.
My feelings for her are a jumbled mess, but I have to have faith they’ll sort themselves out, eventually. Things are happening so fast, it’s hard to keep on top of my ever-evolving sentiments where she’s concerned.
And while I could never presume to know what Sophie feels for me, I’m intuitive and confident enough to recognize that she feels something. However, I also know she’s skittish, and many of her actions and beliefs are rooted in fear. I must tread carefully where she’s concerned. I already care too much about her, so I worry about hurting her.
I finish my Heineken and intend on ordering another. Since I’m driving Sophie home, two beers will be my limit. But I note that she and Frankie are down to their last sips, so I ask if they would like another round.
They both take me up on my offer, and I flag our waitress. “You want another beer?” she asks.
I circle my finger around the table. “Another round for us, but put their other beers on my tab.”
“Sure thing.” The waitress takes my empty bottle and walks away.
“Thanks,” Sophie says, but then chastises me. “I wanted to buy your beers as a way to congratulate you for the game.”
“Cook me some more of those scallops with risotto you made night before last, and we’ll call it even.”
Because that was one of the best meals I’ve ever eaten. If the work weren’t so damn hard and time-consuming, I’d encourage her to open a restaurant, but I’m not sure cooking for the masses is her passion. She seems to delight in more intimate connections.
Sophie laughs and agrees, and then pops off her stool. “I have to run to the bathroom.”
She looks toward the small alcove where the restrooms are not but twenty feet away and seems to hesitate.
“Want me to go with you?” Frankie asks, picking up on Sophie’s uncertain vibe.
“Um…,” she hesitates and then looks to her friend with a bit of a tremulous smile. “No… you know what… I’m fine to go by myself. No one’s going to jump out at me in the stalls.”
“Exactly,” Frankie says with a resounding nod, and I hear the affection and pride in her voice.
And then Sophie’s gone, and I’m left sitting at the table with Frankie, who is a virtual stranger to me.
Since I arrived, she and I haven’t had a direct conversation. It’s definitely been more of a group chat, and I know I can take this opportunity to delve deep.
On the outside, Frankie is gracious, witty, and outgoing. But there’s a bit of reservation, as if she’s holding back. Is she jealous of my new friendship with her best friend? Protective?
Either is fine and understandable.
It’s clear just watching their interaction that Frankie loves Sophie and would do anything for her. It’s also clear that she’s harboring suspicion surrounding my relationship with Sophie. I can read it in her expression, in the tentativeness in her smile.
Ice needs to be broken, and now is the perfect time to do it.
Leveling what I hope is a charming enough smile without seeming creepy, I ask, “I’d give anything to know what’s going on inside your head right now. I can tell you’re worried about your friend.”
“And what makes you think that?” Her stare is direct and challenging.
I shrug. “Just a vibe. I might be wrong.”
Frankie glances in the direction Sophie just walked and then back to me. “She’s been through a lot the last seven months,” Frankie says, her tone motherly with a hint of warning.
She’s taking her role of overprotective best friend seriously.