Chapter 10
It’s been a few weeks since I’ve seen Jamie, but we text often.
At first, our conversations were solely about the event.
Picking out the centerpieces, table linens, and other small details.
Jamie is surprisingly involved in every aspect of the event.
He never excuses himself, or tells me to just pick something.
He’s present and alert for every decision.
As if I needed another reason to find him attractive.
Over the past week, though, our texts have become less about the event, and more about ourselves.
QB
Where did you go to college?
Me
CSU.
QB
I would have thought you’d go somewhere far away.
Me
CSU has one of the best veterinary medicine programs in the country. I couldn’t turn it down. Plus I really like having a mountain view, and state tuition is an added bonus.
QB
Your family didn’t pay for it?
Me
There were addendums to paying for my tuition. I feared they’d suddenly stop paying, and I wanted to ensure it was as low as possible if I needed to take over the payments.
QB
I really kinda hate your parents.
Me
I hate them sometimes too. But I’ve had years to come to terms with the fact that I’ll never be the daughter they expected, and they’ll never love me the way I need.
I have friends and animals that fill any void left by my family, and I refuse to spend even one more minute feeling bad for a shitty relationship with them.
QB
You’re a better person than me. I’d want to be petty.
Me
A few months ago, pictures were posted at a society event. It was an incredibly bad angle of my mom. She was roasted online. I don’t know if I’ve ever been happier.
QB
I’d like to think my pettiness would involve me taking the photo, then sending it to the news source for publication. THAT would be perfectly petty.
Me
If a situation arises where I need to be petty, I’ll definitely come to you.
QB
I’m great with ideas. But actions? Nope.
Me
What do you mean?
QB
I have to be perfect. Set a good example for the younger guys on the team. Be a leader. A role model. Have to say all the right things and have no weaknesses, because the press can smell it. They’ll pounce, and they take no prisoners.
Me
That sounds awful. I’m so sorry you have to go through that, Jamie.
QB
I’ve been a quarterback for twenty years. It’s become second nature, unfortunately. It’s fine. Just another mask I put on.
Me
I hate that. You should have the opportunity to be YOU, and everyone should accept that.
QB
Thanks. I appreciate that.
Me
Can I ask you a personal question?
QB
Sure.
Me
Do you wear a mask when you’re talking to me?
QB
Yes, because puking in your house was the best mask I have in my arsenal.
Or assuming you were a dude.
Or buying you a massive guinea pig enclosure, but not thinking about how you’d have to put the damn thing together.
Honestly, no. I don’t have any masks with you. You’re a rare exception to my everyday life, Audrey. You’ve become a genuine friend.
Me
Thank you. That makes me happy.
And I didn’t mind putting together the enclosure. Which they still love, by the way.
But I’m cool if we do away with the puking mask. That was kinda gross.
QB
Dammit. There goes my plans for our next outing.
“Aud, if you don’t get some actual booze here, I’m never coming over again,” Chelsea calls from the kitchen.
“There are two bottles of wine in the back of the fridge,” I respond. Squeaks ensue as I continue to clean out the pig enclosure. “Frank, you need to stop kicking your poo everywhere. It’s disgusting, and Flash keeps eating it.”
I finally named the pigs when I realized I wouldn’t give them up for adoption.
Frank is mostly white with brown and black splotches.
Norm is all white. Jax was right, he’s feral for strawberries and looks like a murderer after finishing one.
Desmond is fluffier, and mostly brown, while Burt is almost completely black.
Finally, Bill is light brown with black ears.
Five boy guinea pigs. Honestly, I lucked out. A mixture would have made me separate them to ensure they weren’t constantly making little piggies. As cute as that would be, I don’t have the time or the desire to add to the guinea pig population.
I’ll admit, I set up a camera to figure out which one was kicking the poop out. Frank legitimately looked directly at the camera, turned around, and started kicking. I fear he’s the ringleader. He may also be my favorite.
“Oh, it’s the good Chardonnay! I forgot you had them. You sure you’re okay if we drink these?” Chelsea asks.
“Yeah. I’m not entirely sure why I’ve saved them this long.
” I bought one bottle after opening my clinic, with the thought that I’d celebrate when I’d accrued one hundred clients.
But when I flew past that number, I couldn’t seem to open the bottle.
The second one was a gift from a client, after her beloved dog passed away.
I’d gone to her house to be with her family as the dog was euthanized.
Her two children have special needs, and saying goodbye in a stark veterinary clinic would have been incredibly difficult for them to comprehend.
I didn’t mind the change in procedure, and may offer it in the future if needed.
After handing me a glass of wine, Chelsea plops down on the couch, giving me an expectant look. “So. Tell me about the quarterback.”
Without maintaining eye contact, I say, “There’s nothing to tell. We’re planning an event together. He’s a nice guy. That’s all.”
Chelsea is silent for a minute, before she bursts into laughter. “You are so full of shit.”
“What? I am not. Nothing is happening with him.”
“But you want something to happen, don’t you? He’s a cutie.”
“You’re not much help, you know. You’re attracted to everyone.”
“No, I’m not. Just because I comment that someone is cute doesn’t mean that I’m automatically attracted to them.
I can look at someone and recognize societal standards of beauty.
Your quarterback is hot. And I’ll have you know I’ve only ever really felt attraction to a man a couple of times.
Then when the dick gets involved …” she shudders. “Hard pass. I prefer the V.”
I can’t help but giggle. “I know you aren’t attracted to everyone. And I know Jamie is quite handsome. But he’s shown absolutely no interest in me whatsoever. I’m sure he can have his pick of any woman in the world, so it’s hardly likely he’d choose me.”
Chelsea sits up straight as I take a sip of wine, her face defiant and angry.
“And why the hell not? Why wouldn’t an NFL quarterback want to be with my amazing best friend?
You’re gorgeous. And smart. You’re insanely talented, and you have such a big heart.
You’re a fucking catch, Aud. I really wish you could see that. ”
I sigh. “It’s not that I think I’m unworthy of him.
I like to say I’m realistic, but I can see how that could be perceived as pessimistic.
But look at every NFL quarterback out there.
Not one of them has a curvy woman. I bet a good chunk of them are models and influencers.
Comparatively speaking, I’m quite different. ”
I’m a fairly confident woman. No, I’m not a sample size.
Far from it, in fact. But I like my curves.
And while there may be a pudgy layer between my skin and muscular system, I’m actually in fairly good shape.
And I refuse to starve myself to please someone else, so a man better take it or leave it.
“Okay,” Chelsea says. “I’m going to word this differently. Are you attracted to him?”
“Well, I mean, attraction is such a broad term, and we’re essentially colleagues —” I stammer, until Chelsea holds up a hand.
“Nope. I don’t need to know all the reasons you’ve convinced yourself that you can’t find him hot. Answer the question, Aud. Are you attracted to him?”
“I, well, I’m not …” I trail off, frustrated. Sighing, I give the answer she already knows. “Yes.”
She claps her hands gleefully. “I knew it!”
I roll my eyes. “It still doesn’t matter. He’s not attracted to me, and we have to plan this event. Can’t start something with him now.”
“You don’t know if he’s attracted to you. That’s an assumption you’re making. And we both know your ability to recognize social cues isn’t the best. Do you think you’d understand if he flirted with you?”
“Define flirting.”
Chelsea exhales, a sound so resigned and flat that I giggle.
I know I frustrate her, but she takes it all in stride.
“If he compliments you. If he seems giddy around you. If he touches you in any way that doesn’t seem needed, like pushing your hair behind your ear.
If he teases you, and if he texts back right away.
Obviously not when he’s at something football related, but if he answers you immediately, he’s interested. ”
“I don’t think I’ve seen any of that —”
Chelsea interrupts me again. “Now, if a guy isn’t interested at all, it’s a little more nuanced.
If he ever calls you ‘bro’, he’s not into you.
If he’s constantly trolling you or trying to one-up you, it’s a no.
If he’s really short with you, and doesn’t care about your opinion of him, he’s not interested. ”
“Well, I don’t think Jamie has done anything on either one of those lists. Now what?” I ask exasperatedly. I don’t have any desire to try and discern what possible sign a man may or may not be throwing my way.
“Now, we set a trap.” Chelsea’s smile is wicked.
“I don’t want to trap him.”
“Trap may not be the best word. We’re going to tease him a little bit, and see how he reacts. We’ll know if he’s interested or not.”
“Or he won’t react to anything, and I won’t have an answer.”
She shrugs. “I doubt it. Men typically think with their dicks. If he’s into you, we’ll know.”
“We?”