Chapter Seven
Wade
Scarlett’s going on a date with someone again. Tonight. And this time she wouldn’t tell me who. Or where. I don’t like that. She’s starting to catch on. She pedaled that bike like she was scared I wouldn’t let her go until she told me everything.
The thought did cross my mind.
When she asked me at the tea shop to leave it alone, I was distracted by her constant touching. She doesn’t even know how distracting it is for me when she holds my hand. I’d agree to just about anything if she were holding my hand.
But she’s not. Instead she’s probably holding a stranger’s hand right now. Smiling at him from across the table with those big, chocolate eyes, a twinkle gleaming in them…
Shaking my head, I focus on my next set of chest presses. I needed to blow off some steam, so I came to the gym early before racquetball night.
She’ll be fine. She’s an adult. She can go on a date; a lot of people have survived these things over the years. I don’t know why I can’t get my brain to focus on anything else. I can practically picture her with her hair curled, falling around her face, wearing a cute dress with heels. It’s a little annoying how I can picture it clear as day.
I concentrate on my reps. I need to focus on something other thanScarlett. This is getting to be a problem. We’re not even close to the six-month mark, when Phoenix will be back from Boston. I don’t know how I’m going to survive being Scarlett’s glorified babysitter.
I don’t know what Phoenix expects me to do when she’s telling me to give her space.
When I showed up at Serendipi-Tea, I didn’t expect her to tell me to back off so soon. But I should’ve known. She knows what she wants, and she knows who she is. She doesn’t need somebody to tell her those things. So when I’m showing up at her dates—or at least being there to witness the embarrassing parts of them—it’s not exactly endearing to her.
I set down the dumbbell and stretch out my arms.
The thing is that I don’t know what Scarlett wants in a partner. My little crush on her is probably a lost cause. She keeps talking about me like I’m just like her brother. That means I need to get a grip.
I can’t give in to these feelings I have for her, this attraction I keep fighting. But I don’t know what the answer is—not when we’re forced to be around each other so frequently. Phoenix expects me to make sure she’s still breathing, at least.
I pick up individual weights and do some triceps work. After I finish my reps, I drop the weights to the ground. They clank loudly.
“What did that weight ever do to you?” Jack asks as he strolls into the gym. He’s wearing shorts and a tank top. He’s holding a racket and is ready for ball. He’s followed by Tim, who’s wearing his signature sweatband that’s holding back wispy white hair, and Enrique, a paramedic I work with, who’s wearing a practically sparkling white T-shirt .
“Are you guys ready to get your butts whooped?” I ask them.
Tim snorts. “Ha! I’ve yet to see you do it.”
“Of course we are,” Enrique pipes up. “Is that what happens when we win?”
He grins and tosses a ball at me. I catch it with my right hand and follow them down the hall toward the racquetball courts.
Tim is my grandpa’s best friend, and though Grandpa has slowed down over the years, Tim has continued with his racquetball obsession. I used to play with my grandpa and Tim when I was young, and it just kind of evolved into continuing to play with him into adulthood, even when my grandpa quit. Now, our racquetball nights have grown to include quite a group of people.
We usually get about ten regulars, but some nights we’ll have up to twenty if people bring their friends. It’s a great tradition—two nights a week—so that those who work at the fire station can hit at least one night based on how our schedules work out.
With it being a twice a week thing, the group is growing. It’s a good time—and a good way to get some cardio in without the pain of jogging down the road. It’s a mix of guys I’ve met at work, mutual friends, and random strangers we meet around town.
We meet the rest of the group in the hall, and we divvy up the teams. We like to switch it up regularly. Keeps things fair and fun. I started inviting the guys at the station to racquetball when I found out Linus had quit drinking. It’s a good outlet that doesn’t require alcohol. We’re probably all better off since Linus gave up drinking, now that I think about it.
I’m in the best cardio shape of my life. If only that were enough to get Scarlett’s attention.
Tonight, I’m on Enrique’s team, and we’re playing against Jack and Linus.
We’re about three points away from winning, and the score is tied. All bets are off at this point. We play a rather brutal version of racquetball—nothing is off-limits. Lots of shoving, possible black eyes, no one goes home without a bruise—the way racquetball should be played.
We take a break after Enrique and I win the game and grab our water bottles. We’ll play another game for best two out of three.
“I think I might be getting too old for this,” Linus says.
Enrique nudges him with his elbow. “Yeah, you’ve already crossed forty.”
“No one’s too old for racquetball. Not even Slow Tim.”
We call him ‘Slow Tim’ because he is anything but. The guy is unbeatable. He’s agile, quick, mean, and strategic. He’s also eighty-four years old. He’s the one who made racquetball such a cutthroat game. He’s not afraid to smack an opponent in the back of the head with a racquetball. It’s always good when you get to be on his team because you know you’ll win. In fact, you could just stand there and watch him play and still take home the win.
Linus sighs. “I don’t know how that guy does it. My knees creak every time I stand up anymore.”
“That might’ve been from the years of para jumping,” Jack reminds him.
“Something like that shouldn’t matter.” Linus shakes his head. “My wife always tells me I should slow down and rest a little bit, but I’m scared that if I do, I won’t be able to stand up and move anymore.”
Enrique just chuckles. “You know she just wants you to take her on vacation, right? It’s not like she’s asking you to sit down on the couch for the rest of your days. She’s just hoping you’ll take her somewhere.”
Linus looks at him like he never even thought of that. “Take my wife on vacation?”
“It’s what people do when they like each other. They go on trips together,” Enrique explains very slowly, as if Linus is going to have a hard time understanding. “Your wife probably just wants to relax on a beach somewhere and read a book without having to haul your kids back and forth like an Uber driver.”
I can’t help but laugh at Linus’s surprised face.
“Maybe I should give that some thought,” he says softly.
“You probably should,” Enrique tells him. “Your wife is a saint. I don’t know how you are still alive.”
“Seriously,” I agree. “How has she stayed with you for fifteen years?”
“Well, we all know there’s a reason you’re not married yet, Wade,” Linus shoots back.
“And why is that?” I ask him.
“No one would put up with you in the first place.”
“Speaking of putting up with people,” Jack butts in as he screws the lid back on his water bottle. “Do you suppose Scarlett would go out with me?”
I turn to look at him slowly as I wipe the sweat from my forehead.
Jack. My roommate. My coworker. Someone I thought was my friend. Wants to date my Scarlett.
A sharp pain hits my chest at the thought. She’s not my Scarlett. She wouldn’t even be remotely interested in being mine.
I’m just another nuisance in her life.
I take a slow breath as I remind myself that Jack doesn’t mean anything by this. I’d even thought the two of them would be a good idea the night we interrupted her date. But that thought left as quickly as it came. He doesn’t know the history I have with her. He doesn’t know I call her Scooter because it drives her crazy.
“So, what do you think? Would she go out with me?” Jack asks, eager. Way too eager.
“Well…” I drag out that word like it will explain everything for me.
I glance over at Jack. He’s looking at me expectantly. Even Linus and Enrique are invested in this question.
“What are you going to say, man?” Linus asks, laughing. “No?”
Jack’s eyes widen at that.
I laugh stiffly. “Of course not. Jack is a great guy. Phoenix asked me to keep an eye on his little sister, so I kind of blanked out there for a second. Sure. Worth an ask. I think she’s single after the last date. She can be…well, she can be ornery.” And it’s my favorite thing about her.
“She seemed really sweet—and the poor thing was so embarrassed, I felt bad for her,” Jack continues.
That poor thing was madder at me than she was at her date. Do I think I deserved her anger? No, obviously not, but Scooter and I have known each other for years. I’m comfortable with her annoyance. Her anger. And she’s comfortable giving it to me. Which is one of the highest compliments I could get from a person.
“Can I get her number from you?”
Now, that’s taking it a bit too far.
I clear my throat. “Why don’t you DM her and get her number that way?”
“You mean you won’t share?”
“Wait a second…I might be slow about a lot of things, but Wade, my man. Are you jealous?” Linus asks with a laugh.
“No,” I bark out .
“Wait—” Jack looks back and forth between Linus and me, confusion on his face. “Are you interested in her?”
“No, of course not.” Liar, liar, liar.
Jack’s face relaxes. “That’s okay. I don’t want to step in if I’m not welcome.”
“No problem.”
“Are we going to play the game or have a sleepover so we can talk about Jack’s new girlfriend some more?” Enrique asks dryly.
Five seconds later we’re playing the game. I work Jack into the front with a short shot, and when he hits it farther back, I launch it right into the back of his thigh. It makes a fantastic popping sound.
“Dang!” Jack grunts.
And it’s all-out war from there. We go limping home with a lot of circular bruises, but I feel better about life.