11. Lizzy
Will wonders never cease…
The squirrel is gone.
By the time I returned home this morning—skipping breakfast of any kind at Brodie’s house in favor of a quick run to a coffee shop—the little squirrely bastard had seemingly found his way out of the house. Even better, our landlord followed through on his promise by sending out a pest control guy, who thoroughly searched my bedroom to determine that he had indeed gone out the window.
As we speak, the plaster from the drywall patch job in my closet is drying, the attic is being set for traps, escape and entry points are being discovered by the pest control dude, and I no longer have anything to fear, as irrational as my fears may have been.
“I still cannot believe you’re going out with Sully Brewer.”
“Why?” I ask Jill, who’s back from her parents’ lake house and holding up the kitchen counter, leaning one hip against it while she flips through a new magazine.
“Because. He’s not your type.”
Oh? “How is he not my type?”
Seriously, tell me because I didn’t realize I had a type.
“First of all, have you ever spoken to him for more than five minutes?” she asks.
I shake my head.
“’Cause it’s mind-numbing, and you like smart people—not saying he’s not smart because obviously he got accepted to college, but he’s not appearing on the Dean’s List anytime soon.”
“Can I get an amen?!” Bethany—finally back from Jon’s—shouts out from the bathroom; she’s using the toilet with the door wide open, as per usual.
“No, you cannot.” I laugh, dipping a carrot into a container of ranch dressing. “Keep going. You don’t think he’s my type because he’s not a Rhodes Scholar?”
“Correct.” She nods, flipping yet another page. I’m amazed she’s able to have a conversation and read simultaneously. “I also think he’s too pretty for you.” She shrugs. “He’s too pretty for me.”
“He’s a guy. How can he be too pretty?”
“I’m pretty sure he waxes his eyebrows.”
“So?”
“So. You don’t wax your eyebrows.”
No, but I wax my upper lip and sometimes my side-burns. Is waxing a crime?
I keep this bit to myself for self-preservation.
“Look. Go out, have fun, maybe have sex.” She has the magazine in one hand when she points a finger in my direction. “Do not bring him back here. I don’t want to wake up and have him standing in the kitchen while I’m wearing my hair bonnet and have bags under my eyes.”
“I’m not having sex with him. He invited me for food, and I like to eat. It’s a win-win.”
“Please.” Bethany snorts from the bathroom, still on the toilet. “No guy invites you out for food without an ulterior motive.”
“Where on earth are you getting this from? That is so false. SO false.”
“Sorry. Let me rephrase that. A guy like Sully wouldn’t invite you out for food unless he had an ulterior motive,” Bethany says. “Just saying.”
A guy like Sully…
“You barely know him.”
That makes Jill laugh. “Know him? I was banging his roommate for a hot minute, remember?” She puts her hands up in mock surrender. “It’s fine. Don’t listen to us—see for yourself.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not marrying the guy. We’re having dinner. And who’s to say a hot jock won’t turn out to be my type in the long run?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Jill steals one of my carrots and takes a bite off the end. “Keep us posted, though. We want to hear every detail.”
Every detail.
Ha.
“There will be no details, but I will spill the tea when I get home.” Which will probably be sooner than they expect, I think to myself as I check my watch. “Got to get ready.”
“Whatcha wearing?”
I look down at my sweatpants and hoodie. “I don’t know. Leggings and a crewneck?”
“Wow. Really going the extra mile to impress him.”
“He’ll definitely want to get inside your pants.” Bethany laughs.
My eyes get wide, and my mouth falls open. “Maybe he’s my type, maybe he’s not. Or maybe I’m only going out with him for the free food!”
That’s mostly a lie.The truth is, I’m going on a date with him because he asked me and I had no reason to say no. Simple as that. He seems like a fun dude to spend a night with, and there’s nothing wrong with a guy wanting to get inside one’s pants.
Why not go on a date? Why not eat food and laugh a little?
“You don’t know it’s going to be free. What if he’s one of those guys who wants to split the check ’cause of women’s lib?”
True. Good point.
But doubtful.
“You can’t have it both ways, Jill. You can’t want men to look at us as equals if you’re not willing to pick up half the check.”
Her chin tilts up defiantly. “You bet I can.”
“You’re such a brat.” Bethany laughs.
“You bet I am.”
I sigh. “That’s my cue to get dressed.”
Once I’m in my bedroom, I do that thing girls do when they’re standing in front of their open closet, not knowing what to wear, pulling clothes out—throwing them on the bed behind me.
Too dressy.
Too sloppy.
Dirty, why is this even in here?
Too basic.
Not basic enough.
Tank top. Long sleeves. Skirt. Pants.
“Ugh! Just pick an outfit. This is for fun, not your engagement dinner,” I grumble, finally narrowing down the selection, choosing the very thing I said I would wear—or close to it.
A cute, dressy jogger (yes, there is such a thing). A cropped sweatshirt with a zipper running quarter way down the front. Crisp white sneakers.
I pull my hair back in a low pony and add hoops.
Casual. Cute.
My ass looks fabulous in these pants, and he can’t stare at my cleavage because there is none.
Perfect.
I spritz myself with a bit of the fancy perfume Mom gave me for Christmas and turn halfway in the mirror to give myself another once-over.
My eyes stray to that spot in my closet where the squirrel had come through, any remnants of his existence gone. Wiped clean literally by Windex and a rag. He’d shit in a few spots, though luckily not on any bedding—and gnawed on some papers but not on the wooden furniture.
All in all, he was an exemplary houseguest, considering.
Sully is outside when I enter the yard, waiting on the front sidewalk. I glance around, looking for a car or a truck or some type of vehicle that we’re going to climb into so that I don’t have to walk. Not that it’s a huge issue because I’m wearing sneakers, but it’s a little cold outside, and I’m not wearing a jacket, so it would be nice to hitch a ride.
“Are we walking?” I ask with a bit of hesitation as I approach him. Please say no, please say no, please say no.
“I was planning on it?”
My shoulders fall, and I start hugging myself in the way that you hug yourself when you’re already a bit chilly and want to get warm. There’s no way I’ll make it downtown if that is where we’re going, if I have to walk to get there.
“I don’t have a car,” he confesses. “I used to have a crotch rocket, but I sold it. I don’t think we’re allowed to drive that shit, too dangerous.”
A crotch rocket? Do people still actually drive those death traps?
The wind kicks up and from the corner of my eye, I see a squirrel watching us so intently, I can almost see its little nose twitching.
Is that him? Is that the squirrel that lived in my bedroom for a whole night?
“I can drive.” I’ll do whatever it takes not to have to walk. Ha ha.
“Cool.”
Sully traipses along after me, and the wind kicks up again, sending a powerful shot of his cologne straight up my nostrils, and I wrinkle my nose. Too strong.
“Where are we going?” I ask when we’re in my car, then pulling out of the short driveway because I have to know if I’m turning left or right when I pull onto the road.
“I don’t know. Somewhere downtown?”
He doesn’t know.
Ugh.
Why does that not surprise me?
On the other hand, I don’t know this dude from Adam, but he doesn’t strike me as the planning type—he doesn’t even strike me as being organized. I steal glances at him as I drive, hoping he doesn”t notice my fidgeting. It”s our first date, and my stomach is in a bit of a knot, but it’s lessening the more he speaks.
He really is not my type…
I knew that last night when he asked me on a date, I knew it when my roommates and I were discussing it, and I’m sure of it now. So the tension in my shoulders relaxes, the pressure and anticipation slowly fading as I steer my car toward the downtown.
Mind made up, I take control of the situation and turn my car in the direction of the one place I can tolerate for a meal that’s not a complete dump, has decent food, and clean tables. After all, I got myself dolled up and have no desire to waste the pants that make my ass look bangin”.
We park.
Walk in, seat ourselves, order drinks.
“So,” I begin once the server walks to the bar to get my mojito and his beer, crossing my hands on the tabletop and shooting Sully the most adorable smile. “We managed to rid ourselves of the squirrel.”
“What squirrel?”
I laugh because he cannot already have forgotten the reason I was in his house last night?
“The squirrel that gnawed his way through my bedroom wall? The reason I was at your house, sleeping in Brodie’s room…”
Which was a great night’s rest, in case you were wondering. I slept like a baby, although I suspect he didn’t? When I woke up, he was balled up on that short couch at the foot of his bed. He must have moved there in the middle of the night while I was passed out…
“Oh yeah—that’s right, the squirrel.” My date smiles up at the server when she returns with our drinks, also setting down two glasses of water before waltzing away.
Sashay is more like it, if that’s even a thing.
Hips and rear.
Sully watches her go, and I watch him watch her.
“Is he still bothering you? ’Cause I can take care of him.”
I shake my head. “Naw. Landlord finally took care of it. The hole in my closet is patched up. I’m good to go.”
“There was a hole in your closet? How’d it get there?”
Wow.
He really does not pay attention…
Like. At all.
“How did the hole get in my closet? Uh. The squirrel.” I hesitate, already exhausted from this conversation. “Ask Brodie, he can tell you the backstory.”
Suddenly, Sully snaps his fingers, a dismayed expression crossing his face as if he’s just remembered something tragic.
“Dude. Do you know what we should have done?”
“Hmm?”
“Gone skating.”
Gone skating? “Like, ice skating?”
“Yeah—haven’t you ever been ice skating?” Sully”s question pulls me back to the present, and I quickly nod, trying to hide my distraction.
”Uh, yeah. I’ve been a few times. It”s…fun,” I lie, hoping my response sounds convincing enough to satisfy a hockey player because the truth is, I hate ice skating. I’m terrible at it—not that I’m going to admit that to a guy who spends most of his time on ice.
My parents used to force us to go ice skating in the winter, around the holidays, on the occasions we went up to my grandma’s lake house. We’d go to the town’s little rinky-dink rink, and my cousin Simon used to skate past me fast and shove me into the snowbanks.
Asshole.
Still is, by the way…
I nod along as Sully drones on about skating, how he started skating, how he can actually figure skate, and how his mom used to make him take gymnastics so he’d be more flexible on the ice.
That’s how hardcore his parents were? Damn.
“…think I’m the only one of my roommates who has figure skated.” He laughs. “You should see me do a double lutz.”
Is he bragging? Hard to tell.
For the most part, Sully has been a polite, normal date.
No pressure.
He’s ordered us appetizers, and I grab a mozzarella stick as he talks, biting into it and going cross-eyed when the long string of cheese pulls out the back end of it.
I don’t even care that he stops speaking so he can stare.
So yum.
“So you’ve literally had a conversation about figure skating with your roommates?”
He nods. “Roommates and teammates, yeah.”
Roommates.
Brodie.
He pops into my brain despite how hard I’m trying to pay attention to the things my date is saying.
It’s totally unfair that my mind is wandering.
But still…
What is Brodie actually like? Like, when there isn’t a strange girl in his room, hogging up all the space? What’s he doing right now, knowing I’m on a date with his roommate?
Does he care?
As Sully continues to talk, I find myself stealing glances toward the door, half expecting Brodie to walk through it at any given moment.
Of course, he doesn’t.
Why would he?
He’s probably holed up in his room right now, lost in his own world of hockey and solitude. Or scrubbing it clean from my presence.
”So tell me more about Brodie,” I blurt out before I can stop myself, the words tumbling out in a rush.
Sully raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised by my sudden interest in his roommate. ”Brodie? Well, he”s... he”s a bit of a mystery, to be honest. He”s a talented hockey player. A team player for sure - the Minnesota State Lumberjacks need him. Most of the time when we’re hanging out at home he just stays in his room, you know? Doesn”t really come out much.”
I nod, trying to appear casual as I probe for more information. ”Does he have any hobbies or interests? Besides hockey, I mean.”
Oh my god, why did I blurt that out? I sound like I’m interviewing him.
Sully shrugs, his impressively bushy upper brow furrowing in thought. ”Not really sure, to be honest. Sometimes he golfs? I don’t know—he”s pretty private. I hear him listening to music sometimes without headphones—old-school rock bands and stuff like that.”
Old-school rock bands? Like who?
As Sully speaks, a picture of Brodie begins forming in my mind—a solitary figure, hidden away from the world, lost in the rhythm of his own thoughts. Big. Broody.
Broody Brodie.
Bearded, now that I’m on a kick with words that begin with B.
I chuckle to myself.
”Sounds... interesting,” I murmur, my mind already drifting toward the possibilities. “An old soul.”
“Sure. An old soul,” he deadpans.
“Really?”
“No—just because he likes old rock bands doesn’t make him an old soul, you goofball.” He takes a chicken wing and sinks his teeth into it. “I listen to the Grateful Dead, and that doesn’t make me a hippie.”
“Good point.” But… “How did you all meet? From just hockey?”
“Yeah, hockey. I transferred from State last year and knew Charlie ’cause we’d been on a club team together in high school so”—he shrugs again—“blah blah blah.”
That makes me laugh. “You’re the only guy I’ve ever heard say blah blah blah in a sentence.”
Sully grins, barbecue sauce stuck to his front tooth.
”So, Lizzy, what do you think of this place?” Sully”s question snaps me out of my reverie, and I quickly force a smile, trying to focus on the present, aware that my mind keeps drifting.
As usual.
“What do I think of this place?” I repeat his question, wondering why he’s asking—considering I’m the one who chose it. “It’s a good go-to.” I still sound absent-minded, and my brain is still stuck on the enigmatic Brodie.
“Good place for a first date.” He winks at me.
First date, last date.
Same thing.
Ha!
“Do you and your roommates go out together a lot?” I take a napkin and hand it to him so he can wipe the sauce from the corner of his mouth. “To bars and stuff?”
He takes it but doesn’t.
“Not really. I mean, yeah—Charlie, Tyler, Paul, and I do, but Brodie? Eh. He doesn’t drink a lot.”
“What does he do when you go out without him?”
His shoulders lift up and down. “Don’know. Chills? He couldn’t care less.”
“Care less? Like how?”
“He”s a talented hockey player—aggressive on the ice and shit like we’re supposed to be. He’ll have you flat on your ass before you know what hit you, know what I mean? But he”s also pretty shy. Doesn”t really come out of his shell much.”
Pretty shy. Doesn”t really come out of his shell much…
I nod. “Yeah, I gathered. He didn’t say much last night unless I asked him a pointed question.”
Like an idiot, I soak in every word Sully says about his roommate, imagining the picture Sully paints of Brodie—who’s a stark contrast to the outgoing, charismatic personalities I’m used to. My best friends and roommates are so freaking loud. Extroverts. Not shy at all…
So, the idea of this quiet, introverted guy…one who is content to stay hidden away from the world, who would rather listen to his classic rock and do homework?
It’s a strangely romantic idea, and suddenly, I imagine that when it rains and pours outside, he gazes out his window, perhaps gazing into my yard…
Sigh.
”Is he always like that?” I asked, unable to contain my curiosity.
“Always like what?” He stops chewing.
“You know—introverted?”
Sully shrugs, his expression thoughtful. ”Sure, I guess.” The look he gives me says, “why do you keep asking me this shit,” but bless his heart, he answers anyway. “He”s not one for big social gatherings or anything like that, if that’s what you’re asking. He prefers to keep to himself, you know?”
”Sounds... intriguing,” I murmur, my mind already drifting toward the possibilities.
”Why so many questions about him? You interested?” He pushes out a laugh, setting the chicken bones in the bowl our server has placed in the center of the table, along with some Wet Wipes.
I shake my head nonchalantly, trying to play it cool. ”Pfft, no. Curious, I guess. We’ve lived next door to each other for almost a semester and just met yesterday. Then we spent the whole night together, and I still didn’t find out much, you know?” I pause.
“You’ve also lived next door to me for almost an entire semester, eh?”
True.
I pick at another mozzarella stick, dip it in the marinara sauce, and then the ranch, raising a brow at my date to make sure he’s cool with my contaminating the two dips.
“Is he single? Off the market?” Plop, plop. “What’s his deal.”
“His deal.” Sully leans back in his chair, tapping his chin thoughtfully. ”Hmm, good question. Can’t remember the last time he went out with anyone, but you never know with Brodie. He”s always been a bit elusive when it comes to his sex life. A mystery wrapped in a riddle.”
A mystery wrapped in a riddle…
“I wasn’t asking about his sex life. I was asking about his…”
Actually, what was I asking about? His single status?
I realize now how weird and nosy I sound, prying and poking about such personal questions about one guy while I’m on a date with someone else but I literally cannot stop myself.
The launch sequence has been activated.
I raise an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of my lips.
”So what I hear you saying is that after I left your house, he didn’t say anything about last night,” I finally say, filling the void because Sully has stopped talking and is focused on the appetizers—and his beer.
“What would he have said about last night?” He stops chewing to ask, “Did something happen?”
“No. We were sleeping.” And not in the same bed.
He leans back in his seat and crosses his arms, flexing his muscles as if he wants me to look down at them an stare.
“Do you like Brodie?”
“Like him? I don’t even know him.”
“Then what’s with the twenty questions?”
Shit.
I can’t decide if he’s jealous or annoyed or something else entirely; it’s on the tip of my tongue to apologize for being rude. And not in the moment. Because I am being rude and I’m not in the moment—but that doesn’t mean I’m interested in Brodie.
But then Sully does something surprising.
He relaxes.
Tilts his head to the side and offers me the last mozzarella stick—I shake my head to decline it so he bites off the end.
“Listen. Let me give you some advice.” Chew, chew.
Swallow.
“Brodie is complicated.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. It’s not like he’s anti-social or whatever. Or gay. I just don’t see him dating.”
I lean back, too, mimicking his pose. “What are you trying to say?”
“I’m just sayin. If you’ve developed some sort of crush on him you might be wasting your time.”
Have I developed some sort of crush on him? Overnight?
Maybe.
“I was just asking innocent questions, that’s all. I was curious.” Both statements are partly true.
Sully laughs, unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Sure.”
“It’s true.” I’m lying through my teeth.
Sully is nice and all, but he’s not making me wet downtown, and I doubt he would, even if he had his hands between my legs. Now I have a visual of hands between my legs, and it’s one with a sullen frown and a beard.
Ugh.
Sully laughs, a deep, sexy laugh and were I anyone else, the sound of it would send warm flutters through my chest.
“I should be jealous or something, shouldn’t I?” he wonders.
“Jealous of what?” I’m still feigning ignorance as he pretends to know what’s going through my mind.
His eye roll is almost as aggressive as one of mine. “You’re sitting here going on-and-on about my roommate—my teammate—while you’re on a date with me and you’re asking what I’m jealous of?” He’s grinning though and still relaxed on his side of the booth.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. This would be a first, and honestly.” He places a hand on his chest, over his heart. “Very humbling. Can’t wait to tell the guys about it.”
I nibble on my bottom lip.
“Um. Before you said you were going to give me advice?” I can’t help reminding him of his earlier statement, and he leans forward—conspiratorially—so I can hang on his every word.
“The only way you’ll get a dude like Brodie is to make the first move. And even then, that’s no guarantee.” He holds his hands up as if in surrender. “Not that I’m saying you want to make a move, but if you did…it would be on you. You’d literally have to march naked through his bedroom with a sign on your body that said DO ME to get him to notice.”
He stops talking and takes a drink of his beer. “I know that look.”
“What look?”
He wiggles a finger in my direction. “That look. The one that says ‘challenge accepted’ without actually saying ‘challenge accepted.’”