The Friend Game (Games for Two #1)

Chapter 24

IT’S 9:45 AND LUKE still hasn’t called me. I’ve picked up my phone approximately one million times to call him, but each time I chicken out, terrified he won’t answer.

Or worse that he will answer–then promptly tell me that our date is off.

I just need to see him. Talking in person would be so much better than trying to have this conversation on the phone. You can’t read people’s expressions or body language over the phone.

Anyway, he might still call. That first time he texted me it was after 10 o’clock. Of course, almost every night since it’s been earlier in the evening. Except when he’s had other commitments.

Which maybe he does.

Or maybe he went back to the Lambda’s house to ask for her niece’s number after all .

I groan, toss the book I’ve been very much not reading to the side, throw off my covers, and pad out to my kitchen.

I know I shouldn’t stress eat. Stuffing my face with Cheetos isn’t going to make anything better. But I didn’t eat much of a dinner because I was busy helping Carrie Johnson drive her kids to their sports activities. I saw her at church yesterday and found out about her husband’s unexpected shoulder surgery. And since, as previously discussed, I have no life, I offered to help her this week if needed.

I grab the bag out of my pantry and tear it open, stuffing a handful in my mouth. Then I lick the cheese dust off my finger and go back for seconds.

Don’t judge me. I live alone. Not like anyone else is going to eat out of this bag.

And anyway, I probably no longer have a date with a pastor, so who even cares if I indulge my gluttonous side?

Well, God probably still cares.

With a regretful sigh I clip the bag shut and turn to the bowl of fruit on my counter. A banana is probably a better choice than half a bag of Cheetos. I’m about to break one off the bunch when my doorbell rings.

I sigh. Five bucks says it’s Jill coming to tell me she heard all about what happened today. The only question is: Will she go with the “I told you so” angle or the “Yay! Let’s run my original campaign for you! I’ve still got the buttons!” angle?

For once, I’m actually hoping for the buttons.

I swing the door open without checking to see who it is, greeting Jill around the finger of cheese dust I’m currently licking.

“Jill, if this is—” The words die on my lips as I take in the person standing on my doorstep. Because it’s not Jill.

It’s Luke.

“Luke!” I squeak in horror and drop my finger from my mouth, very upset that I still have four other orange fingers and may very well be wearing lipstick in a matching shade.

Cheese dust on the corners of your mouth is never attractive.

But miraculously Luke doesn’t notice my Cheeto-fied state or if he does he doesn’t comment.

“Were you really planning on telling me about your lack of certification this morning?” he demands, his voice urgent.

I’m so surprised by the question, by his very presence on my doorstep, that I don’t answer right away.

“Well?” he presses.

“Um,” I finally find my voice, “yes, I was.”

Some of the tension eases from his body. “And you were serious about telling the board? ”

I nod, an unexpected lump has formed in my throat. I should be attempting to plead my case to him. I didn’t prepare a speech for nothing. But instead, I can only stand here, overcome by the sorrow I feel for having lied to this wonderful man in front of me.

“And,” he swallows, “it was my dad’s idea not to tell me?”

“Yes,” I whisper, then shut my eyes. “But I went along with it. I’m so sorry, Luke,” I whisper fervently. “I never should’ve lied to you. And yes, at first I didn’t know that it was you specifically that I was going to be lying to, but regardless, agreeing to lie in the first place was wrong. Inexcusable,” I add for emphasis. “You have every right to be angry with me. And I understand completely if this changes things between us, if,” I stutter over the painful words, “this means you no longer want to take me out in March.”

My eyes are still shut, but I sense him step closer to me, then feel his finger on my chin, tilting it upward.

“Hannah,” he murmurs, “please look at me.”

I open my eyes to find him staring down at me, the intensity of emotions in his cerulean eyes making my heart race.

“I was never angry at you,” Luke says.

“You weren’t? ”

He shakes his head. “Not angry,” he repeats, then drops his hand from chin to rake it through his hair, leaving it tousled and tempting. “I was more hurt than anything.” He lets out a long breath. Maybe I should feel relieved he’s not mad at me, but instead I feel worse. Anger would be better than this. Than knowing that I hurt him.

“Luke, I’m so sorry,” I repeat desperately. “The last thing I ever want to do is hurt you. Please believe that.” I put a hand to my heart to bring my point home, realizing belatedly that I’ve probably now added orange fingerprints to my white t-shirt—completing my look.

I’m never eating Cheetos again.

Luke searches my eyes. “I do believe that,” he says. “To be honest, Hannah, it wasn’t so much that you lied to me that hurt, it was the realization that you didn’t feel safe enough with me to share the truth.”

Ouch. Ouch, ouch, ouch.

“Luke—” I start to protest, but he holds up a hand, silently asking me to let him finish.

“But then, the more I thought about it the more I realized that it was unfair to expect you to share something so potentially devastating to your career, to your very livelihood, when we’ve only been friends for about two months. And while I do want that type of open and honest and vulnerable relationship with you, I’m the one who’s been setting limits on us getting to that place. Not you. So I am going to put down my hurt and continue to be your friend. And I hope, in turn, you’ll consider continuing to wait for me to be able to offer more than that to you.”

Wow. My heart stutters in my chest. He is so good with words. I’m left standing here wanting to cry, forget your contract and kiss me already !

But I don’t, because I also want us to eventually have the type of relationship he described.

Even if it means telling him about everything that happened with Marshall. I have to trust that he won’t judge or condemn me and that he’ll be able to love me regardless of my past mistakes.

Well, maybe not love. That might be a stretch considering our first official date is months from now. But I do hope he’ll still be interested in dating me when he finds out the truth.

“What do you say, Hannah?” Luke asks, a little smile playing across his lips. “Can I keep March 1 penciled in on my calendar?”

I smile too. “Of course you can, Luke. Same time, same place.” I gesture to my front step, but then add, “Well, same place anyway. I’d prefer that you pick me up a bit earlier.”

“My contract expires at midnight on February 28,” he says. “So what do you think—is 12:01 in the morning too early?” he asks, making me laugh .

“Maybe just a tad. Give me at least until 12:15.”

Luke grins, for a second his gaze seems to hitch on my mouth, but then he shakes his head and takes two deliberate steps back.

“Well, okay then, Hannah. I’ll talk to you again soon.”

I nod. “Great.”

He turns to go, but then hesitates, turning back. “Oh, and Hannah?”

“Yes?” I say, my voice entirely too hopeful. Silly imagination. There will not be a good night kiss! Kill the romantic fantasies!

“I think your idea about getting your certification is great and I’m happy to support you with the board.”

“Thank you, Luke.” Fresh emotion makes my voice raspy. With one final nod and smile, he takes off. I watch him go with a warm and fuzzy feeling growing inside me.

But my last coherent thought as I settle in my bed not too long after is an image of Marshall standing in my classroom with dangerous fire in his eyes.