25. First Date Woes
25
FIRST DATE WOES
Beck
I don’t believe in signs. But if I did, a condom would be a good one. When I spot it under the entryway table, I pick it up, finger the foil wrapper, then tuck it into my wallet like a good luck charm.
Maybe it’ll give me the balls to ask Jason a big question.
If all goes well on our clandestine date this morning, I’ll ask to see him regularly on the down-low. A crazy thought, but it’s got a hold of me. After his surprise visit, I can’t let go of the idea.
Last night was unexpected and amazing. I didn’t open up to Rachel that quickly. But Jason’s so easy to talk to. He makes me feel... safe and understood.
It’s a warm and wonderful feeling. I don’t want it to end, and I don’t want to wait around for one of us to get jealous or horny and just show up at the other’s door. I want to find a way, any way , to keep having him. If that means sneaking around for the rest of the season, I’ll do it. If it means darting out before dawn, I’m on board.
I leave for the gym, heading down the stone path toward the sidewalk, plotting possibilities.
Portia is sauntering down the pavement toward me, swinging a paper bag in one hand and cradling her phone with the other. “I just picked up bagels at your favorite place,” she says into the phone. “You better come here for Thanksgiving because I know how much you like your Thanksgiving bagels.”
Thanksgiving, yes! That could happen too.
Buoyed by the prospect of turkey and mashed potatoes and sex, though not in that order, I wave to my landlady, then turn down the street.
“Wait, Beck!”
I turn around. “Hey, Portia.”
Covering her phone, she nods surreptitiously to the driveway. “If you ever have a guest, they can park in the driveway instead of the street. It’s a perk of renting.”
Shit.
Did she see him come over? Or spot us making out by the door? I slap on my game face, giving nothing away. “Good to know.”
As I head for the gym, I pick up the pace, needing distance from that uncomfortable moment. My brain crawls with new questions: Is a secret fling too risky? Is it even worth it? Do I need to worry about Portia?
Sliding open my texts, I tap out a message to Jason, asking Did my landlady see you leave ?
Once I write that, the question looks accusatory, so I erase it.
After getting off on the wrong foot a few times with Jason, I don’t want to misstep again. I definitely don’t want to step backward.
But I don’t entirely know how to move forward with him.
I picture my tattoo of the sun and the sky. Breathe .
I don’t need to rush. I’ll take my time. Analyze. See how our date goes this morning before I ask for more.
At the boba shop counter an hour later, we order drinks, then Jason swipes his phone across the reader before I can get mine out.
“I was going to pay,” I say quietly. I don’t want him to think he has to cover me just because he makes more money.
“I got it,” he says, then lifts his hand like he’s going to set it on my back. My breath catches in excitement, even though he stops himself, tucking his hand in his pocket.
But I saw his intention. He’s possessive. I log that as a good sign.
“I kinda pay for everyone when I go out. But I want to pay for you ,” he adds, his voice soft. He’s not showboating. He’s reassuring, and his quiet confidence is a booster shot to my own. Still, I’m not entirely sure how to behave with him in public. I’ll need to keep taking the temperature of this... date .
Once we have the drinks, we weave through the mostly empty shop. Pop music plays overhead, but otherwise, the place is quiet on a Friday at ten in the morning.
Jason slides into a booth in the far corner of the shop, and I grab the seat across from him. He’s wearing an ocean blue T-shirt that’s snug across his pecs. Even though I’m sure his wardrobe is blue shirt central, I still like this attention to detail.
I tighten my fingers around the cup. I’m not sure what to do. I’ve been on dates, but none like this. None with a guy I like so much my bones hum just being near him. I dart my gaze around, scanning for new customers, for anyone who might know us, who might be able to read me. I don’t entirely trust myself around people when I’m with him. If I smile, I might as well be giving away my soul.
I try to keep my expression neutral.
Jason studies me, then clears his throat quietly. “You okay?”
I suck on some tea. “Yeah. Definitely.”
Jason sighs doubtfully. “You sure about that? I can kinda read you and tell you’re not.”
That melts me too, the easy way he understands me. “Do you think everyone here can tell what I’m thinking?”
“You have a good poker face, Beck. I don’t think everyone else can tell, but I can tell you’re worried. I can see. That’s all. And I want to know what’s going on with you.”
Busted, but I like it. I don’t want to act around him. “I don’t know how to... do this ,” I say, gesturing subtly from him to me.
“From where I sit, you’re doing okay. But we can leave if you want. Or I can go,” he says.
I shake my head adamantly. “Don’t go.”
He smiles. “I won’t.”
Taking another drink, I try to untangle my thoughts. “My landlady said something this morning that made me feel... see-through. She mentioned I could use her driveway if I had guests over. Like maybe she knew I had a guest last night.”
Jason’s eyes flicker with guilt. “Does she have dark, curly hair?”
“Yes. Did you see her?”
“Pretty sure she saw me drive away, but I don’t think she knows I was at your house,” he says, wincing. “Shit. I’m sorry, Beck.”
His apology tugs on my heart. So does the way he says my name—like I matter to him.
I reach to take his hand but jerk back...
That’s the issue.
I thought Portia’s comment was what made me second-guess dating, but the real issue is, I can’t hold his hand, and that sucks. But that’s the shitty reality of our situation. “It’s not your fault. Portia’s cool. I trust her. She won’t say anything.”
“Good,” he says, then takes another drink.
“She’s a huge Renegades fan. She offered me a discount on rent the day I signed the lease. I think she’s a mom type.”
“That’s sweet. Not that I’d know personally, but it sounds nice,” he says.
He told me his mom left when he was eight, but that’s all I know. That kind of comment needs following up, but as I work through how to gently ask what happened, he asks me more about Portia, and before I know it, I’m telling him about the birdhouses, her son, the candle I bought her. Talking to Jason has always been easy, and being here feels like a nice, regular date, the kind we’d have if we were just two guys going out. We’d talk about our everyday, ordinary lives like I’m doing. The more I share, the calmer I feel—happier too. “Anyway, she’d consider it rude to reveal anything, so you don’t have to worry,” I say, and holy shit, I just reassured him.
That feels right too.
“Good,” he says, wearing a big grin now.
“But I do have an issue with everyone being a damn Renegades fan. Like Zena,” Jason gripes. I take my turn, listening as he shares his morning. He tells me about his realization that Halloween is next week, how it’s been his favorite holiday since he was a kid, and that he loves any candy with peanut butter in it, even though he tries to avoid candy since he aims to eat healthy most of the time.
I savor every single second of this secret date. When his stories wind down, I try to hide a smile, but I can’t. I lean in and give a dirty whisper, “I like the pic you sent. You looked good in that hat.”
“You want to see me in it again?” he asks, low and raspy.
“I do,” I say.
“Good. I’d like to keep it in rotation,” he adds.
His words spur me on. I’m this close to making plans with him for more stolen moments.
But the door to the shop swings open. “I’ve been wanting to try this place for so long,” a loud, boisterous blonde says to the bearded man by her side.
I hit pause on the be mine plans. Instead, I zero in on practical matters. I reach for my wallet, then slide him the ID. “So, Finley’s your middle name?”
“It’s my mom’s maiden name.” His voice is uncharacteristically cold, the edge of a knife as he tucks away the license.
“You’re not close to her at all?” I ask, thinking about his mom comment.
He shakes his head. “She took off when I was eight. Left my dad and my brother and me then. A few years later, she married a new dude. Barely saw us. I don’t really hear from her unless we make the playoffs, and it’s just to say congrats. The only good thing I can say is she doesn’t try to ride the gravy train.”
A pang of sadness lodges in my chest. “That’s why you don’t use the name anywhere,” I say, understanding him more.
He smiles sadly. “You figured me out.”
I’ve figured out a lot of things about Jason McKay. He doesn’t want that kind of life for himself—disconnected from his family. He doesn’t want to be like his mother at all. He wants to be like his dad and his brother. He likes to take care of people. He’s a giver. He’s a lover. He’s a protector.
After last night and thanks to this morning, I figured out something else too—I could fall hard for him.
Except, the second that awareness clobbers me, I know it’s a little late for that. Because... as we share more about ourselves, my whole body is warm, my brain is calm.
Being with him feels utterly right.
I’ve already fallen.
My heart jackhammers, beating too fast, too hard. But this wild rhythm isn’t panic. It’s possibility. This date is giving me courage.
I slide my foot under the table, braving a chance. I tap the toe of his sneaker with mine, and fireworks ignite in me.
The grin he sends my way lights me up.
Ask him to keep doing this crazy, risky, dangerous thing. Invite yourself over again. And again.
“So I was thinking,” I begin.
He nibbles on the corner of his lips. “Mmm. Me too.”
That’s promising as fuck. “What are you thinking?”
“I want to ask you something,” he says, nervous but excited too.
The tone is an electric charge through my body. It tells me I’ll like his question. It tells me he’ll probably like mine.
“Ask me?—”
Our pillow talk is broken by a high-pitched tone: “It’s the two-minute warning!”
Like Coach blew a whistle, I whip around, hunting for the voice and spotting the blonde who came in a few minutes ago standing nearby, a cup of tea in one hand, a grin on her face.
Jason’s my opposite, all cool and casual as he turns to the couple. The blonde clasps her mouth then drops her hand, going full announcer: “And now, team captain... Jason McKay!”
The bearded man beams at me. “And now, your new starting quarterback, Number Nine... Beck Cafferty.”
I affect a small grin, but the expression feels awkward. I wasn’t ready to shut the doors on that private moment. But the interruption reminds me that cooing over a café table isn’t very down-low.
Jason’s smile goes wide and welcoming. “How’s it going?”
“I’m such a Hawks fan,” the blonde says, clutching her chest with her free hand. “I’m Cheyenne, and I just love you so much.”
“I’m Mitch. And I’m a total Renegades man,” the guy says.
The woman bursts with energy. “And my hubs and I, we have this thing every weekend where whoever’s team wins, that person gets to pick the chore the other does. The other week, when the Hawks won, and the Renegades lost, he had to take out the garbage.”
“The next week, she cleaned the litter,” the man explains. “But if you both win, we do the chores by points.” He couldn’t be happier to share their to-do list system.
Meanwhile, I’m still trying to figure out what to say at all. “Cool,” is all I manage.
“That’s awesome, Mitch. Lean into the rivalry,” Jason says, so much smoother than my cool .
The bubbly blonde looks from Jason to me, then back. Can she tell I’m crazy for him? Does she know I’m sleeping with the enemy? I maintain a stony expression so no one can see into my heart.
“Can we get a picture?” the blonde asks. “Then we’ll let you get back to it.”
“Works for me, Cheyenne. We were planning Monday’s segment,” Jason says, then nods to me with a jovial grin. “Right, Beck?”
I’m keenly aware I haven’t opened my mouth to say a word, but cool . He’s done all the talking. “Yes, that’s right,” I say.
Jason stands, and I follow suit.
“You two in the middle,” the blonde says, directing us, and I’m shoulder-to-shoulder with the guy I want to see again and again in secret. I should love this moment, but it’s also a reminder that this is all we’ll ever have.
Moments where we pretend we’re not spending our nights together. When we pretend we’re simply two rivals who rib each other on-air.
The blonde sticks out her arm and snaps a picture. When she’s done, she says, “We’ll let you finish.”
Jason smiles. “Actually, I’ve got practice. But tag me because I was going to take a pic for social myself, but I’d rather repost a fan pic.”
She squeals.
He’s made her day. Probably her whole week.
I know the feeling, Cheyenne.
The couple heads for a booth, but even when they’re gone, the vibe has shifted. The shop is packed now, with customers who came in while we weren’t looking.
Our secret date is officially over.
“I have practice too,” I say, then I drop my cup in the recycling bin, and he does the same.
We make our way through the crowd and out to the street. I glance back, wishing the clock hadn’t run down. “Thanks for the boba,” I say and come to a stop, though that barely scratches the surface of what I want to say.
“I should go, and you have practice too,” he says, then his eyes drift to my lips. He stares a little longer than he should.
For a second, he sways closer, almost, almost , like he’d want to kiss me.
My pulse is beating too fast, and I’m sweating.
Is this what I want? An almost kiss? An almost touch?
Yes, and no.
My heart squeezes, but it hurts this time.
I’m dying to see him again, but how the hell is a guy like me—riddled with anxiety—going to handle the magnitude of a secret affair with my rival quarterback?
“Have a good practice,” I say, wishing I had the guts to speak my true mind.
But I can’t. And I won’t.
More customers pour out of the shop, and Jason’s expression shifts from soft and private to friendly and public. “I’m throwing a Halloween party on Thursday,” he tells me. “Want to come?”
I should be happy about the invite, but I’m disappointed in myself. I came into this date with a goal, and I failed to move the ball.
It’s time to punt and take what I can get.
The reality is simple. Jason can’t be my boyfriend. We can only hang out in public as friendly rivals . And if we keep doing that, sooner or later, someone will catch on.
But I refuse to be in a funk about a party. I might as well enjoy hanging out with friends in my new hometown.
I smile, hoping it looks like I mean it when I say, “Sounds fun.”
Then I go, missing him more than I ever wanted to.