On a Tuesday (One Week 1)

“How many drinks have you had tonight?”

“Two.” He held up five fingers and laughed. One of the girls who was dancing on him mouthed, “Twenty.”

I mouthed “Thank you” in return and walked over to the guy who was mixing drinks on the TV stand.

“Do me a favor,” I said to him.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t serve Kyle any more alcohol.” I pointed to the liters of orange juice behind him. “Go ahead and prefill a few beer bottles and red cups with juice just in case he comes over and asks for more.”

“He’ll know it’s juice.”

“He’ll also know it’s his best friend who is making you do this, so he won’t die tonight.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Do it. Now.”

He groaned, but he grabbed a carton of orange juice and began filling the bottles.

I pushed my way through the bodies on the dance floor, smiling at a few of the girls I knew as I made my way to the crowded kitchen. A few of my teammates were sitting at the bar with girls in their laps.

“Hey there, stranger.” Penelope, a girl I once hooked up with, handed me a beer. “How are you feeling these days?”

Betrayed. “I’m decent. Yourself?”

“Good.” She sipped her beer and looked up at me. “You didn’t call me at all this summer. I was feeling quite neglected.”

“I was busy.”

“You weren’t that busy. I heard you haven’t been around much lately. You must have gone out and got a girlfriend. Is that true?”

“I think you know me better than that.”

“I would if you called me sometime.” She rubbed my shoulder and batted her eyes. “Call me so we can catch up in my room. Sooner, rather than later.” She looked me up and down before walking away.

I was never going to call her, but I smiled at her anyway and watched as she disappeared into the crowd. To prevent myself from ever giving in and calling her on a lonely night, I pulled out my phone and deleted her number.

Then I scrolled through the rest of my contacts, deleting everyone who wasn’t a teammate, coach, or close associate. I opened my email inbox to do the same thing and noticed a new email from Charlotte.

Subject: Peer Assignment Tutor (Change)

Dear Grayson,

I hope your weekend is going well.

I’m emailing you because I just met up with a friend of mine who recently took all three of the Lit classes you’re taking this semester. He is more than willing to tutor you on Tuesdays and I think he would be a much better fit for you.

Let me know what you think,

—Charlotte

I smiled and typed a response.

Subject: Re: Peer Assignment (Change)

Dear Charlotte,

I have no interest in being tutored by your friend (I don’t give a damn when he took the courses). I’m more than willing to act like this email didn’t happen instead of forwarding it to your advisor, and I’ll see you alone, on Tuesday.

PS—I think you’ll “fit me” just fine.

—Grayson

Her response was immediate.

Subject: Re: Re: Peer Assignment (Change)

There’s no need to bring my advisor into this. Since you want to deal with someone who may be less “hostile,” I was only trying to help.

PS—Is this your attempt at a sexual innuendo?

—Charlotte

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Peer Assignment (Change)

You were trying to get out of seeing me. For whatever reason that is, it’s not going to work. Ever.

PS—Depends. Is it working?

—Grayson

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Peer Assignment (Change)

This sounds like a threat.

PS—NO.

—Charlotte

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Peer Assignment (Change)

It’s a guarantee.

PS—I personally think this conversation would be better over the phone. You should give me your number.

—Grayson

She didn’t respond.

Half an hour passed and she never sent me another email.

Before I could email her about something else, I felt someone tapping on my shoulder.

“Yeah?” I turned around to see one of the girls who had been dancing with Kyle. “What’s up?”

“Um, Kyle just passed out in one of the hot tubs. Should we call 911, get your coach, or just let him lay there until tomorrow?”

Jesus Christ.

CHARLOTTE: NOW

Present Day

Pittsburgh

“WHERE ARE YOU HEADED again?” The police officer shone a light on my license. “Try to keep your story straight this time.”

“The University of Pittsburgh,” I said, forcing a smile, as he narrowed his eyes at me.

“Are you aware that the speed limit on this stretch of highway is only sixty-five miles an hour?”

No shit. “Yes, officer.”

“Really?” He crossed his arms. “So, can you explain to me why you were going ninety? And not only were you going ninety, can you explain to me why you were driving in the emergency lane?”

I didn’t really have a good reason for driving in the emergency lane. Well, minus the fact that the emergency lane was freshly salted, and the regular lanes were still coated in a light layer of snow and ice.

“Miss?” He handed me my license. “I need you to answer me. Now.”