31. See-Through Man
31
SEE-THROUGH MAN
Beck
Thursday morning, I set out for a run along the Golden Gate Bridge, counting the hours till my not-a-date tonight. As I reach the Sausalito side of the bridge, my phone pings with a text.
Mister Social: Hey! So, Nate just told me he’s going tonight too. He’s buddies with Hazel... ergo...
I heave a sigh of annoyance. Things will be weird if it’s the three of us. Or maybe it’ll make things easier since our not-a-date will look even less romantic. I have no idea. I don’t have a clue how dating a dude on the down-low works. But Jason’s great with social situations, and he never minds my questions.
Mister Anti-Social: Should I invite Carter or some of the guys? Hayden? Anyone? Will that be weirder?
My phone’s quiet as I pound the pavement along the Pacific Ocean. I’ve reached the edge of the bridge by Muir Woods and turned around before he replies.
Mister Social: Look, I want to go just with you, but at this point... strength in numbers?
I want to type: Can we just skip the signing and hang out at your house? but that would make it look like all I want from him is sex when that’s the furthest thing from the truth. I want a real date, and then another, and then still more. But tonight was never a real date, so what’s the point of getting worked up? I’m about to reply, It’s all good, when my phone buzzes again.
Mister Social: We’ll probably all grab a drink after. Okay? But you’re coming to my house later. You just fucking are.
My heart springs like Snoopy doing a dance. Why is he so easy to like?
Because he gets me. He fits with me. And his certainty unlocks my own.
Mister Anti-Social: I fucking am.
The sign looms above the shop on Van Ness. An Open Book.
It’s just a bookstore. It’s just a signing. It’s just my heart hurtling itself against my rib cage, thump after painful thump.
No one knows you’re falling for the other quarterback. You’ll be fine.
But even after several deep breaths, I still can’t make my feet move. I’m stuck outside the shop, staring into the window, past the sign advertising Hazel’s event.
The crowd stretches around the chairs set up in the back of the store, visible even from here. Jason stands next to Hazel, smiling, not stealing the pre-event limelight, just flanking his friend. Carter’s with them too, laughing because, of course. Carter gets along with everyone. Carter goes with the flow.
Just go in . Just do it.
But how am I supposed to act like I’m not crazy for Jason? Where is the playbook on that? I need to find it because my right arm is trembling. I throw touchdowns with this stupid arm, and I hate its shaking for giving me away.
My feet are like bricks, and my head is made of cotton, and I have to get the hell over this feeling that I’m trapped inside my body.
I push out a breath past the fear that’s strangling me.
“Hey, man.”
With a flinch, I jerk my gaze to the voice. It’s Nate. How long has he been standing there? Long enough to see me freaking the fuck out over Jason. Might as well have a neon sign flashing overhead: “ I’m involved with your quarterback! ”
“Hey,” I mutter.
His brow knits. “You doing okay?”
Yup. He can tell. I’m so screwed.
“Yeah, sure.” I flap a hand toward the signing. “I was inside, and now I’m just, um, getting some air.”
That excuse seems to track for him. “That place is balls hot,” Nate says, hooking his thumb at the store. “I went to a book event for Axel Huxley here a few months ago, and I swear I sweated off five pounds.”
The familiar name is a lifeline, and I hold tight to the common interest. “The thriller writer? He’s awesome.”
“I’m obsessed with his stories,” Nate agrees. We talk for a minute about the twist in Huxley’s last book, and the shaky feeling starts to wane.
Then Nate tips his head toward the store. “I’m gonna head in. See you in there, Caff.”
Once the door swings shut, the panic slams back into me like a gut punch.
If I step foot in that store, Nate will know how I feel about Jason. Carter will know. Everyone will be able to read me. I can’t hide my feelings for my rival. They’re so big and so consuming. They’re growing roots deep inside me.
The field is the only place where I don’t feel these nerves. Football soothes me. Football makes sense. On the gridiron, I’m aces at making my brain, heart, and body work in tandem. But conquering the pre-game nerves took years of practice. No way can I pull off a clandestine date.
I scan the block, peering around the steady trickle of evening crowds on the San Francisco street. There’s a coffee shop still open at the corner. Feels like a safe house. Must get there.
Gulping air, I wheel around and walk away from the bookstore, grabbing my phone from my pocket to text Jason.
Mister Anti-Social: I can’t go in there right now. Everyone will know. I’m going to the coffee shop. I’m sorry I ruined the night.
I walk up the block, knowing I’m the worst date ever. But thirty seconds later, I hear sneakers slapping the pavement behind me.
“Cafferty.”
The strong, confident voice should reassure me, but it doesn’t. He can’t cure me. I am the guy who couldn’t go through with a date.
Jason points to the café door. “Let’s go inside.”
On autopilot, I go in, nerves still thrumming. The shop is empty. Jason gestures to a quiet table in the corner, and we grab the chairs. Then he meets my eyes, and his are full of caring. “Are you freaking out?” he whispers gently.
I exhale hard, shakily. “Yes.” No point in lying. He can see it on me.
He reaches out and pats my knee—a bro gesture, but it settles me a bit. “Go to my house, okay? I’ll be there in an hour. Just watch TV, read a book, hang with the cat. I’m not going out with them after. I want to see you,” he says, so gentle, attentive. His voice is like a warm summer breeze.
I swallow past the stones in my throat. “You don’t have to skip the time with your friends. I’ll go home,” I say quietly.
“I want to, Beck.”
My pulse slows like a spinning top winding down. “What will you tell them?”
Jason’s grin says he’s got this. “Your landlady called. About something. Doesn’t matter what. No one’s gonna ask. You had to check on the house. You’re sorry you took off, and you asked me to have Hazel sign the book for you.”
God, I could kiss him. I have a million things I want to explain, but not as much as I want to get far, far away from these crowds.
“Can you do that?” he asks. “Wait for me at my home?”
I can’t believe he truly wants to put up with me. “You sure?”
“Positive. Now, I’m gonna text you a link for the garage door app I use. I’ll send you my login. Go. Chill with Taco. He likes you better, anyway. I’ll see you soon.”
I watch him walk away, feeling calmer. Feeling understood.