5. HOPE
CHAPTER 5
HOPE
M aybe I should stop scheduling dates during rush hour or in the downtown area. Or both.
The Orlando Wild training facilities are nearby, so it’s convenient to me and I’m always the first to arrive. Unfortunately, I’ve been waiting long enough that I’m beginning to suspect that the wait might not be due to traffic.
Today’s guy has been the worst so far. Allegedly he works at the University of Central Florida, all the way on the east side. I know there’s no practical way of getting here without experiencing the worst of traffic, but couldn’t he at least give me an ETA? Or even text an OMW?
I tap my fingers on the table hard enough to cause ripples in the third water glass. I’m starting to feel the need for a bio break after so much water.
At least the weather is amazing today.
It’s still a bit on the chilly side, so I’m wearing my Orlando Wild jacket for winter, unzipped because I’m worked up after an entire day of running around the field and training grounds, catering to the needs—small and large—of overgrown, muscular babies. I turn my face up to the sun, closing my eyes behind my sunglasses like I’m at the beach and not sitting in a terrace patio, surrounded by tall buildings and with cars blowing invisible plumes of smoke nearby.
Even then, this is the most relaxed I’ve been in weeks. Maybe it’s best if this guy doesn’t show up after all.
“Excuse me, are you still waiting for someone?” a woman asks beside me.
I pop an eye open and barely manage to stifle a sigh at the impatience of the waitress. She glances over her shoulder and I follow her line of sight to the big group of banker looking dudes waiting at the door to be seated. The fact that they look like carbon copies of Mitch makes me grind my molars, a reminder of last year’s disastrous Thanksgiving and how I basically lost my entire group of friends in one fell swoop.
The waitress is still waiting for an answer, though. I lift my phone off the table and notice that I’ve been waiting just over an hour like a fool. There’s no way that freaking jerk is showing up at this point.
“I guess not,” I mutter, stuffing my phone in the pocket of my jacket and pushing the chair back to stand. I look around me and other than the glass of water she kept filling up, there are barely any vestiges that I was there at all. “Sorry that I didn’t end up ordering anything.”
As her expression softens with understanding and sudden sympathy, I decide that it’s exactly how I’m going to treat this. As if I was never here.
Leaving her to tidy up, I weave through the narrow space between tables occupied by people using this café as an office, or those who have already left their workplaces for a little happy hour. I approach the door where the money bros stand, and one of them smacks his buddy’s arm and points at me with minus one hundred percent discretion.
“Pfff, I bet she’s not even a real fan. Women just don’t understand baseball.”
Luckily for him, I’m too tired of men to deign him with an answer. However, I’m not above bumping against him with my shoulder, hard enough that it makes him stumble. I assume that his buddy’s chuckles means that they know he deserved it.
My loose hair blows in the wind while I make my way around the block to the far too expensive parking lot where my Jeep’s at. That’s the most annoying part about this whole deal, the sheer amount of money I’m wasting on bad dates with guys who don’t even want to feign interest. Because I’ve had to foot my half of the bill every single time, and the entire bill on the two other occasions where my dates excused themselves to use the restroom and never returned. Except for that one time when a good samaritan saved my derriere at a fancy restaurant.
I catch a glimpse of my face in the rearview mirror as I twist to fasten my seatbelt. The top looks like I’m pissed off, complete with wrinkles between my tight eyebrows and narrow eyes that promise murder. But my lips are twisted in an exaggerated pout like I’m a kid about to throw a tantrum.
I punch the steering wheel once—that’s as far as I allow myself. Otherwise I start wallowing in how much of a failure I am at romance, having only had one boyfriend ever who dumped me because I was boring, and who then decided to start dating my former best friend.
“This needs some angry hard rock.” I find a playlist on my phone and jam to it the entire way home.
*
Some half hour later, I survive the traffic and pull into the gated community of townhomes in Winter Park, which is its own city smack inside Orlando, and is one of the nicest areas to live in. The only reason I can afford this place is because I room with Rosalina Mena, the team’s social media girl, and Audrey Winters, who works in the public relations department. The latter knows the owner and got us a massive discount.
I park by the curb and while unplugging my phone, notice that I have a message from whatshisface. Swiping the screen to unlock the phone, I read the message once. Twice.
“Hijo de su madre!” I scream in the quiet of the cabin.
I saw you sitting outside and you’re not really my type. GL.
And of course I can’t message him back with anything colorful for wasting my time, because he already unmatched me.
“Argh.” With that neanderthal war cry, I throw myself out of my car and stomp my way up the yard to the house. I fling the door open with so much strength that it slams against the wall, and I snarl again.
Audrey startles from the kitchen but her shoulders relax when she sees it’s just me. From the living room, all Rose does is glance up from her phone for a moment before turning her attention back to scrolling.
“What’s got your thong in a twist?” Audrey cocks an eyebrow as I stomp my way to take one of the barstools.
“I don’t wear thongs, they’re too uncomfortable,” I say as if that was what mattered here. Groaning, I run my hands down my hair, messing it in the process, and drop my head on the counter. “Why are men?”
“That’s a really good question.”
“Ugh. I know, right?”
I need to say no more for both of them to surround me in a second.
“Is this grounds for an HR complaint?” Rose asks from the barstool on my left. “Because I have them on speed dial.”
From my right, Audrey snaps her fingers. “I bet it’s Rivera. That guy flirts with anything that smells good.”
“That’s true.” I snort, because Lucky Rivera has even flirted with me , and I’m clearly a defective sample of the female species. “But no, this isn’t work related.”
“Oh.”
“Hmm.”
They sound almost disappointed, the gossips.
This is why I didn’t want to tell them—not because I fear that the whole team will find out. My roommates are a lot more discreet than I figured Starr would be, and I was wrong about that too.
I just don’t want to deal with the pity that no doubt will reflect on their faces. And yet, I’m so out of my depth that I clearly need help.
With a deep breath, I plunge into the waters of honesty. “My ex boyfriend is dating my now ex best friend and I’ve been trying all the dating apps to find someone I can show off to them for the next Friendsgiving, but my success rate so far is minus one hundred.” I say all of this with my face smushed against the counter marble, like the grown adult I am.
There’s only silence right after, which is no bueno.
Lifting my head up by a fraction, I peek first at Rose who strokes her chin, deep in thought. Then at Audrey, whose arms are folded, her eyes glaring at the distance.
“Yeah, okay.” The latter is the first one who breaks. “You’re not gonna get any advice from me. All men suck, no exceptions.”
“My dad doesn’t suck,” I mumble and at the last second add, “but my brother does, yeah.”
“I think your plan is flawless.” Both Audrey and I fully turn to face Rose and she shrugs. “I mean, you’re not actively hurting them by smearing them online or anything. You just want to show that you’ve moved on and are happier than ever with a new beau. There’s nothing wrong in that.”
“Ew, don’t say Beau.” I scrunch up my face at the thought of me dating Rob Beau, the manager of the team. Last I checked he was still married to his wife of thirty years.
Rose rolls her dark eyes. “You know exactly what I mean.”
“But her plan can’t be quite as flawless as you imply if she looks this miserable,” Audrey whispers every word carefully, as if I couldn’t hear her because she’s literally at arm’s length.
With a great huff, I lean back on my seat. “Yeah, the flaw is men.”
“Word.”
“Totally.”
“Or…” I cringe so hard that I my own shoulders rise to my ears. “The flaw is me.”
“Absolutely not!” Rose smacks the counter hard enough that she hisses and cradles her hand close to her chest.
Audrey nods. “I agree. You’re smart, driven, with a little accent that no doubt drives them wild, and super hot.”
“Sure, I work out,” I retort in a deadpan. “But I don’t have the lithe body of a ballerina. I look like a weightlifter because that’s what I am.”
“Listen, I wish I had your tiny waist and huge butt without sweating half as much.” She nudges me with her elbow.
“I’m partial to your arms,” Rose says, wrapping her hand around my bicep through my jacket. “They have zero jiggle. I really envy that.”
“I think men like some jiggle,” I say, shrugging. “At least on account of how little they like me. Or maybe the issue isn’t my body but me. After all, according to my ex I’m really boring to talk to.”
“Where’s all this negative self talk coming from, girlie?”
Another pathetic sound expels from my chest, but I respond to Audrey’s question with the truth and nothing but the truth—abridged version. I touch on how Dawson was the only guy at college who looked past my muscles to the feminine side of me, up until it suddenly wasn’t enough.
Aside from that, I include highlights from the dating apps like what just happened tonight—they also release cavewoman sounds once I show them the last message I got from tonight’s would-be-date—to the one time a guy straight up ended the date after saying I could probably benchpress him, and the jerks who left me to pick up the whole tabs.
I’m so incensed that I keep running my mouth and say, “And the worst part is that Cade freaking Starr saw one of those go down. The humiliation was so strong, I even acted like a douche later and now I can’t possibly face him ever again.” I throw my hands in the air. “I’m sick and tired of men. I should quit my job and go work at a woman’s college basketball team.”
Rose grabs both of my shoulders, making my barstool swivel so I can face her. She’s the more touchy feely of them two, which might be due to the familiarity of both of us being Venezuelan, even though we’re not related. “I have an idea but I need you to really listen to it before you react.”
“Go for it, at this point I’m desperate,” I whine.
“Clearly both Audrey and I think you’re amazing and short of giving you a little makeover, I don’t think we can show you how to do much better at dating.”
“Especially when neither of us are experts in the matter,” Audrey says behind me.
Rose wrinkles her nose. She’s the only one in this house who has game. Men flock to her gorgeous smile wherever she goes, and she dates enough of them to keep herself entertained. The problem is that she only has two kinds of stories to tell from this: horror ones, or tear-inducing ones. It puts her firmly on the same camp of what-is-wrong-with-men that Audrey and I belong to.
“Right. So I think you can benefit from an expert.” Rose interrupts herself to press her lips in a clear sign of discomfort. “And by that I mean, someone who can really give you insights from the male perspective.”
I scrunch up my face. “So, a guy?”
“And not just any guy—one with such sex appeal that one little interview has gone viral and is resulting in thousands of marriage proposals from women on the internet.”
“What?”
Behind me, Audrey starts chuckling. “Oh, that’s genius.”
“I’m gonna need you to spell it out for me,” I say instead.
All that gets me is Rosalina’s cellphone in my face, showing a quick little TikTok where Cade Starr talks about his ideal woman being someone who keeps it real or whatever. That sounds like a load of bull manure to me, because he’s basically describing the half of the population who aren’t like my former friends.
And then it hits me.
I jump from my barstool. “No way. I’m not asking Cade Starr for help.”
“Think about it,” Rose continues calmly. “You’re probably going about this too tense because you have a deadline and all. Maybe what you really need is to know what to say to guys to get them to go on dates with you, and then what to say during said dates.”
“Let’s say you’re right about that,” I start, folding my arms and jutting my lower lip out. “But Starr is still the wrong guy for this. He doesn’t have to go on dating apps to find an Annie for the night.”
“Which is what makes him perfect because…” Her lips curl into an evil smile that paralyzes me. “He’s the right person to turn you into the female version of him. No more apps. Just men flocking to you. You taking your pick. Doesn’t that sound amazing?”
Audrey hums from her throat. “That does sound ideal.”
I hug myself even tighter and say nothing. I don’t have to.
We all know I agree with that. I’ve been making this monumental effort to put myself out there with randos from the internet for three months. Nine more of this would finish snuffing the spark of life from me.
But seriously, Cade Starr? The guy whose eyes I can’t even meet because I’m so embarrassed?
Why couldn’t Logan Kim be the one who went viral? He’s a pretty decent guy who wouldn’t tease the shit out of me.
Except… Starr didn’t really mock me after the incident, did he? He seemed set on taking it to the grave until I made a big deal about it. In that regard, he’s way better than most of the other guys in the team.
And it’s also true that he turns heads wherever he goes. I’ve literally seen him stroll into some bar along with a flock of other fit men from the team, and be the only one swarmed by local women. It used to make Ben Williams, our former starter pitcher, gnash his teeth with open jealousy.
I picture myself being surrounded by men interested in me and—whew, it sounds terrifying. But at least I wouldn’t be working so damn hard to find a decent one.
“Fine,” I spit out as if the prospect of accomplishing my mission didn’t make me want to barf. “Let’s see if he even agrees to this little scheme.”