SEVENTEEN
Finn
I follow Maeve into the Chargers box, and my pulse immediately skyrockets, I start sweating from every pore, and my mouth goes dry. Because this box is clearly set up for a romantic evening for two.
After the episode, Graham reached out to let us know that he and Tif were better than ever, and he insisted on giving us box seats for the game this weekend. I persuaded Maeve to accept, even though she couldn’t care less about football, but now that we’re here it’s clear these aren’t just box seats … I speed walk over to the bucket of champagne and rose petals and snatch the note that’s in front of it. At the gala I had confided to Graham that I’d fucked things up with Maeve too. I didn’t want him thinking he was the only guy who makes huge mistakes! But I do not want Maeve reading this note.
I open it. Thank you both. Now it’s your turn to work things out.
I shove it in my pocket and glance over my shoulder. Maeve is ex ploring the rest of the suite, which has been laid out with romance in mind at every turn. Instead of burgers and fries, there’s oysters and chocolate-covered strawberries, several arrangements of red roses, and matching jerseys with our names on them. She pulls the jersey over her head, and when she pokes her face out, her hair is sticking in every direction, spiky with static. “I think he got the wrong idea about us. I can’t exactly blame him after the gala.” She tosses me a jersey. “Don’t make it awkward.”
I pull mine on. “When have I ever made things awkward?”
Maeve ignores me and picks up the entire tray of strawberries, bringing them down to the seats and balancing them on an armrest next to her. I pick up the oysters and follow suit, then place the bucket of champagne in the row in front of us. “What are we drinking to? Not actively hating each other’s guts?”
Maeve pops the bottle, and the cork flies forward into the stands. “Should I admit I still have dreams about punching you in the face before or after we drink this?”
I grab the bottle from her and take a long swig. “I’m ready. Now, in this dream, do you break my nose and ruin my perfect Sutton bone structure? Or break your own hand?”
“Your face kind of folds in. You know, like a jack-o’-lantern after it has sat outside until November tenth, and it’s starting to rot from the inside out?” Maeve snatches the champagne from me and drinks. “It’s honestly graphic.”
I’ve had a few graphic dreams about Maeve, especially since she fell asleep in my lap at that after-party. I suck down an oyster, then offer her one and try not to watch her lips as she daintily slurps it from its shell. Her auburn hair falls forward around her face as she leans to eat it, and I want to push it behind her ear. I miss being able to reach out and hold her. Nothing has ever felt as good as her warm weight leaning against me, or the feel of her hand in mine. When I’m next to her, I feel like I actually know my place in the world, because there could be no more important place than by her side. The game is just starting, and although I should be watching avidly, it’s hard to tear my eyes away from Maeve. We pass the champagne back and forth, and snack as we try to guess the careers of everyone in the boxes around us, until eventually I realize that not only are we having fun, but I’m pretty buzzed.
“Episode idea,” I blurt out. “We have people write in the wildest places they’ve had sex and then tier rank them based on scandal level and logistics.”
Maeve arches an eyebrow. “Are you thinking about fucking me in this box?”
The thought had crossed my mind, but instead of admitting it, I roll my eyes dramatically and pass the bottle to her. I can tell by the flush in her cheeks that she’s tipsy too, although we’re not quite done with the bottle. “Come on, this entire room is like a neon sign that says GET IT ON .”
“Maybe I requested oysters, strawberries, and champagne for my sport-side meal, ever think of that? Maybe I eat these every time I watch the Steelers at home.” Maeve is half turned to face me, and the spot on the shared armrest where our elbows are touching feels like the most sensitive part of my body.
“Maeve, if you call your parents right now and they can name one time you watched a football game start to finish, I’ll go on the podcast and talk about when I couldn’t get it up for Stacey Maloney back in college.”
Maeve’s eyes light up. “I knew something went down that night. You couldn’t look her in the eyes, like, ever again.”
“I’ll have you know that Stacey told me that it happens to every one. And when I saw her in New York on the subway … I got off before my stop to avoid confronting my trauma.” I press my elbow toward Maeve’s slightly, and she doesn’t move away. In fact, I think she presses back into me, just the tiniest bit. Maybe touching without recoiling is the next step in our friendship reformation.
“I wouldn’t want to force you to open up about anything you’re not comfortable with,” Maeve remarks primly. “Unless you make a different wager, then I will absolutely yank the full story out of you.”
Before I can jab back at her, I tune in to the cheering around us. Because they’re not shouting, “Go Chargers!” or anything like that anymore. And they’re not fading away like they typically would after a touchdown. In fact, when I listen more closely, the cheers near us are incredibly loud, and it sounds like they’re yelling … Kiss .
Suddenly Maeve grabs my arm. “Oh my god, Finn, look.” She points directly ahead of us. “We’re on the kiss cam.” She looks at me with pure horror in her eyes, as though kissing me will make her turn into a toad, or I have a highly communicable disease.
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” the crowd is roaring around us, now that it’s clear we realize what’s happening.
I’m going to kill Graham. I would bet a million dollars he set this up. I turn toward her, then even farther, so that my mouth is hidden from the jumbotron camera. “What do you want to do?”
But Maeve doesn’t answer me. Instead, she takes my jaw in her hand and turns me toward her. We make eye contact for the briefest of moments before I reciprocate and pull her face to mine, and when I kiss her, I know with every fiber of my being that what was in her dark eyes wasn’t disgust or apprehension. It was anticipation.
I crush her face toward me and cradle the back of her head, while she wraps her arms around my neck. We don’t settle for a peck. We meld together, falling into exactly where we left off the last time this happened, and instead of feeling strange or awkward or tense, I feel at home. There’s no fumbling, and after a moment the sound of the crowd blurs away, and when Maeve’s mouth parts, I press deeper. By the time she breaks away I’ve forgotten this was for the kiss cam at all, and am left blinking into the sunlight. Maeve leans her head on my shoulder, and I remember we’re being filmed and wrap my arm around her, both of us grinning.
Once the cameras are off us, I turn to Maeve, hoping that maybe now we can finally talk about us. How can we ignore this conversation when we just had our tongues down each other’s throat, right? But she’s moving the strawberry tray and grabbing her purse.
“Maeve, come on. Where are you going? Are you okay?”
I follow her out of the seats and back into the safety of the booth, where no one can hear us or film us. She sits down on the couch and pulls out her phone, opens the Uber app.
“Maeve!” I’m raising my voice in a panic, and I hate that. She flinches at the escalated tone, and I immediately soften. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But please! Don’t leave right now. It’s just a kiss, right?”
Maeve pauses, her phone in hand, the ride not yet confirmed. “I just need some space, Finn. I know that wasn’t confusing for you since you can hook up with me and have it mean nothing, but it’s hard for me.”
Her words are choked with emotion, and I hesitate, not sure if I should say something or obey our agreement not to talk about us. It’s way easier to give other people advice than to know what to do in the heat of the moment. Her eyes flick down to the phone, and I start talking, desperate to say anything that will get her to stay here with me. “It’s not meaningless to me, Maeve. I know why you think that after everything, but it’s not just a show. I really—”
“Stop!” There’s fire in her eyes, and pain. “I don’t want to hear this song and dance again. I know not getting what you want is a new feeling for you. The challenge must be fun. But I don’t want to hear about it. This isn’t even a real kiss. I’ll tell Shazia this is our monthly contracted appearance together.” She hits Confirm on her app and stands. “I’ll see you in the studio.”
I can’t believe her. Why is she constantly assuming the worst of me? Do I not get any credit for the past few weeks of playing by her rules?
“Maeve, I’m sorry, but you’re being a fucking child. I thought you were supposed to be the mature one.”
Her eyes flash as she shoves her phone into her bag. “And I thought you were supposed to be my person . You know, I wish things had worked out for you and Cassidy. Because now I have to stand here knowing you threw us away for absolutely nothing. I’m tired of being mature.”
We’re absolutely screaming at this point, in our matching jerseys, in the romantic suite that was supposed to make us remember when we liked each other. More than liked. But I can’t stop . “If you care so much, then engage with me!”
Maeve walks toward me until we’re standing face-to-face. Or rather, her face is at my chest and I’m staring down at her while she cranes her neck up. “Finn, not being in love with you is an awful lot of work,” she whispers.
“Then don’t do it anymore,” I counter. “ Please .” My voice cracks, and I don’t care. If I thought it would help I would get on my knees and beg her.
Maeve’s eyes are dry and hard. She tucks her hair behind her ear needlessly. “Finn, I want you to listen to me. And actually hear me, please. I want to say we can get back to what we were. That we can try again. I wish we could, desperately. But we can’t. Because you didn’t make a mistake. You made a choice, and it’s not the same thing. I am not disposable. When I said I would always be there for you, you know, I guess I lied. In this world, the world where I had to learn that you never valued me like I valued you, I can’t do that. So we are coworkers. And that’s it .”
And then she leaves. I slump to the ground. I don’t know how she can give everyone else the grace of forgiveness, but when I make a mistake, I’m persona non grata. We’ve had this same fight over and over, and not once has she believed a word that’s come out of my mouth. So you know what? If she wants me to act like the guy I am in her head, the one who doesn’t give a shit about her, who acts like she’s a coworker? I can do that.
I pop another bottle of champagne, chug half of it, burping between gulps from the carbonation, then grab my phone and stalk out of the suite. I walk out of the private area and into the stands, and then I wait. It takes about thirty seconds for someone to recognize me, and suddenly girls are walking over, asking for selfies and to take videos together.
“Want to come up to the booth?”
I don’t even know who I’m addressing the request to, but suddenly I’m walking upstairs, with at least ten women behind me. And when they get to the booth and see all the champagne and strawberries, the party really gets started. I’m wavering, on the line between drunk and totally fucked up, and the next hour (or two hours? three?) are a blur of dancing and kissing and videos. I have a sneaking suspicion any time I start to sober up that I will regret this. But I take care of that worry with another shot.
Maybe now she’ll see there is a difference between who I’ve been the past few months and who she’s been making me out to be. Because now, now I’m acting like someone who doesn’t give a shit. Because she’s not the only one getting over someone. It’s time for me to get over her.