7. Lucy
CHAPTER 7
LUCY
M aybe I’m just delusional—it’s definitely on the table. I’m not coming in with a whole lot of experience. And I typically don’t try to read into the emotions of men because I’ve genuinely never cared. I have more important things to worry about. But dammit if Jordan hasn’t thrown me for a loop.
I wore the “going-out” look that I feel most confident in and took extra care to do my hair and makeup. I hate curling irons, but I braved it to make my hair look the most beachy. It feels so stupid when I’ve barely had a conversation with this guy, but I did it. For him–or at least to try to get his attention. I thought he might make some sort of move tonight.
Apparently, I grossly misread this whole situation.
I feel like a massive moron. It seemed like Jordan was looking at me across the bar the entire night, but he never tried to come talk to me. Maybe he was actually looking at someone else. There are more than enough girls on this campus who’d be happy to wear his jersey on the sidelines. To be fair, I was also glancing his way and never made a move, but I was waiting for him to take the lead. Call me old- fashioned, but I wanted this over-confident, model-looking man to pursue me.
Instead, I was left with the idiot freshman trying to put on the moves. He reeked of booze and misogyny–two truly disgusting scents. So now I’m walking home in the cold, alone, because my friends have more stamina than me. And because I misinterpreted–or straight-up imagined– the signals of a guy who’s probably a douchebag.
What a fantastic celebration of our first win of the season.
The worst part is, I really thought he was feeling the same connection, but I’m sure that’s what every girl feels. It’s the reason girls get played by a guy like this. I mean, he was willing to chat with quite a few girls tonight–just not with me. I saw Tyler introducing him around, and I kept praying they would come my way.
But they didn’t.
And he didn’t care enough to do it himself.
Ugh, jealousy is an ugly emotion. It’s also one I’m not super familiar with.
Just as I begin cursing everything from Nebraska cold weather to every male college athlete ever, I hear a voice behind me.
“Hey, Townes. Wait up!”
I don’t bother turning around because I know this voice. It’s familiar from our brief conversations, and even more so from the many postgame interview clips I’ve watched of him.
Plus, though I’d never admit it, I know it from my daydreams.
Jordan Mitchell appears beside me, slightly winded like he’d been running to catch up. Unfortunately for him, he waited just long enough for me to get riled up over his lack of initiative this evening.
The cute nervous little Lucy has gone home for the evening, replaced by the sassy and sarcastic Lucy, who’s far more difficult to deal with .
“Oh, hey, Jordan. Fancy seeing you here.”
Good start. Great work, Lucy.
“Yeah, sorry to chase you down like that. Just thought you might want a walking buddy. These streets are notoriously dangerous.”
I chuckle dryly. “No more dangerous than standing in close proximity to your pal Henry for another minute. Believe me, I’ve got this covered. Why don’t you head back in to your adoring fans?”
His eyebrows go up, and there’s a mischievous gleam in his eye when he responds. “Aww, are you jealous? That’s so sweet.”
It’s a small blessing that my cheeks are already rosy from the cold or he’d see me blush.
Yes, I’m definitely jealous. But he has no right to know that. I try to give a convincing laugh. “Ha, yes, very jealous of the groupies. For sure.”
He coughs, like maybe he just choked on his spit. Good. But sadly, I have a few drinks in me, so I’m not done.
“Here’s the thing: I already have a jersey to wear–my own. I certainly wouldn’t trade it for yours. So why don’t you just let me go home in peace? I can take care of myself.”
As if on cue, a carload of guys slows down on the road beside us. One of them leans out the window and wolf whistles. I ignore them and continue walking without breaking stride. They catcall for half a block and then one yells something from the back seat.
“Hey, Lucy! Why not let me score tonight? Come on, cutie. I promise I don’t miss.”
Jordan freezes. I hear them all roar with laughter as my cheeks burn red. I feel tears prick the backs of my eyes, but I refuse to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. Guys like this will take any sort of engagement as flirtation.
I just don’t want to cry. Not here. I maintain my best stone face and stare straight ahead. The only time I break is to give a sideways glance at Jordan.
It’s a good thing I notice him. His fists are in balls. His jaw is clenched. It makes him look even more like a Greek god–I can’t believe that popped into my head at a moment like this. He has stopped walking, and when he starts to take a step toward the car, I realize he’s planning to respond–yeah, I need to put a stop to this. I always forget guys aren’t used to this kind of thing.
I grab his arm and practically drag him up the sidewalk. Thankfully, the car roars away–not without a few more comments flung my way first, of course. But still, they’re gone, and I can finally exhale. My heart is racing. I bet Jordan can hear it. It sounds like the bass thumping at a club to me.
Neither of us speak for a few minutes. I start to feel like I need to break the tension.
“Sorry you had to witness that.”
I’m aiming for a light tone, like I’m viewing the whole thing as a joke. But I don’t quite achieve it. My voice cracks right at the end. I bite my tongue. I won’t cry.
He looks over at me, and the next words out of his mouth are not at all what I was expecting.
“Can I put my arm around you?”
I nod silently, not trusting myself to talk again.
His arm pulls me close to him as we walk, and the heat of his body eases the tension in mine. Now my heart starts to race for a different reason. There’s that woodsy-smelling cologne again. Ugh—I want to wrap myself in it. I close my eyes and inhale.
What am I becoming?
My eyes snap back open, and I pray he didn’t notice what I just did. I look up at him. Thankfully, his mind is elsewhere. The silence isn’t awkward, but it’s also not comfortable. Not after what just transpired.
The streets are quiet, with everyone still partying at various houses and bars. In a few hours, these streets and sidewalks will be full of tipsy twenty-somethings stumbling home.
But right now, it’s just me and Jordan. Walking in step, like this is the most normal occurrence in the world. A part of me wishes it was. I look up at him again, and this time he meets my eyes with his. The way he’s staring at me is intense. It’s not an expression of pity–more like empathy. It’s disarming, and I don’t know what to do with it.
He speaks to me gently. “Lucy, are you okay?”
Again, I try to play it down. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry for the overreaction there.”
He stops walking and turns to face me. Putting his hands on my shoulders, he stares me square in the eyes. “You don’t have to say that. You don't. You didn’t overreact at all. If anyone was about to overreact, it was me. If you hadn’t pulled me away, at least three of those guys would’ve left with some black-and-blue souvenirs.”
I’m not sure why the thought of him beating people up makes me smile, but it does. “Thanks. I just…” I don’t know how to thank him for whatever this is. “Just thanks.”
To my absolute delight, he puts his arm back around me, and we keep walking.
“So, does that happen to you a lot?”
“Drunk catcalling? Yeah. But to be fair, it happens to basically every woman.”
“Oh, great. That makes me feel so much better.”
I laugh because the alternative is crying again.
“Seriously though, Lucy…”
Man, I love the way he says my name.
“Do you often have guys call you out specifically? Like, know exactly who you are and still yell things? Stuff like that?”
I get a sick feeling in my stomach as I answer. “Oh…yeah. Mo st times, I’m in a group so I can hide, but if I’m by myself…let’s just say I have my guard up.”
He’s shaking his head with his eyes closed, like all this information is too much for him to bear. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, really. I mean, it’s not okay… but like, I’m okay, I guess.” I nudge him with my shoulder, an excuse to get even closer. “And if you hadn’t noticed, I’m very strong and intimidating.” I flex my bicep, and he rolls his eyes with a laugh so beautiful it could earn an angel its wings.
“I know you said you can take care of yourself, and I believe wholeheartedly that you can. But…”
Where is he going with this?
“What?”
“I just don’t think you should have to.”
This knocks the wind out of my lungs.
I can’t speak. We turn up the walk to our little house, and I’m mute. Jordan’s arm is still holding my body against his until we stop at the front door. I use the only words I can find.
“Hey, umm… thank you.”
Again, I turn my head up to look at him, and I hope he can tell how much I mean it. In response, he pulls me into his chest, engulfing me in a hug. I close my eyes and wrap my arms around his waist. I breathe in his cologne and listen to his heartbeat and feel his breath against my forehead. I’m holding on to him way longer than what would be considered normal, but I can’t bring myself to let go.
I feel safe.
At long last, I drop my arms and step toward the door. Glancing back, I see a small smile playing on the edge of his lips. He’s just watching me, patiently waiting until I’m safely inside my house.
As I come to a realization of the night’s events, I feel a little frazzled. Or maybe exposed. He just saw me in a super vulnerable state, and he barely knows me .
As I step inside, he calls out through the closing door, “See you Monday, Lucy! Or hopefully sooner.”
I shut and lock the door. Then I proceed to sink to the floor with my back against it like a swooning debutante. So much to unpack and no one to do it with , I think as I look around the empty house.
He doesn’t think I should have to take care of myself?
Does that mean he might be the one who wants to do it?