Thirty-One
Reece
All my thoughts for the past couple of weeks have been Stacy.
Stacy, Stacy, Stacy.
Stacy’s laugh. Stacy’s sarcasm. Stacy’s electric eyes, soft features, her blonde waves that I want to tangle my fingers in.
Stacy’s fucking body. The way she kisses, the way she tastes.
We’ve been slammed with games, practices, classes, gearing up for Thanksgiving break and Nationals. We’ve been so swamped that we’ve barely had any time together since Halloween. And I want alone time with Stacy more than I want to breathe right now.
It’s not just because I desperately want to have sex with her. No, it’s more than that. I simply want to be with Stacy, be around her, do my favorite things with her, talk to her.
And that’s so much more dangerous than sex. That’s something I promised myself I wouldn’t feel again after Tashia, which is why I’ve always kept women at arms length ever since.
But Stacy seems impossible to keep at arms length. She’s an enigma, something I have got to decode, and maybe that’s why I keep making terrible decisions when it comes to her.
Like right now as I head over to Stacy’s apartment with a passenger seat full of her favorite Vietnamese food and a blanket in the backseat for a surprise picnic.
It’s an unseasonably warm November day, probably one of the last we’ll get before the chill of winter cloaks the whole state of Ohio, and I want to take advantage of it.
I texted her an hour ago to ask if she was busy this afternoon, and as soon as she said no and that she was down to hang, I put the plan in motion.
I ordered pho, looked up the best parks near us, and planned the impromptu activity.
Stace and I have both been working our asses off, midterms and cheer practice all-consuming as of late, and I think we both deserve something nice.
And if she happens to fall desperately in love with me because of the kind gesture, then so be it.
I pull up in front of her building and head up to the second floor. Nerves are building in my stomach, nerves that I don’t typically feel regarding women, but my mind has convinced my heart that this is one hundred percent a date. And who am I to argue with one of my most vital organs?
It only takes a second for Stacy to answer the door after I knock and the sight of her causes my breath to catch in my throat.
She’s not dressed to the nines by any means, in a simple ensemble comprised of leggings and a Columbus Blue Jackets hoodie, but the casualty of it all makes her even more beautiful.
She doesn’t even have to try and yet she knocks the wind out of me.
“You look like you’re up to something,” she comments by way of greeting, stepping out of her apartment and locking her door.
I give her a crooked grin and lead her down to my car. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Last time you were up to something, you asked me to be your fake girlfriend, so you have to understand my reservations,” she jokes as I pull open the passenger side for her, moving the food to the back and ushering her into the car.
She cocks her head as I round the car to the driver’s side, putting it in reverse and pulling out of our complex. “What’s in the bags? Where are we going?”
I grin at her. “Figured we’d enjoy the pretty weather. Also figured you’d be hungry.”
As if on cue, her stomach rumbles and she giggles. “Pho Fusion?” she asks, glancing back at the plastic takeout bags in my backseat.
“Of course.” I glance over at her and smile at the way her blue eyes light up, her teeth gnawing at her lower lip. “Thought we could eat at the park? I brought some blankets and some wine.”
Stacy’s gaze snaps back to me, her eyes wide. “A picnic?”
I nod, nerves suddenly settling deep in my stomach. What if Stacy thinks this is a date too and she tells me I’ve gone too far? What if it’s too intimate and she starts to pull back again? What if today’s the day we finally discuss what in the everloving hell is going on with us?
We’ve shared kisses. We’ve shared a bed. We’ve shared secrets and traumas and sweet dances at karaoke bars. I’ve gotten her off twice .
But I still don’t have answers regarding the status of our relationship. Fake relationship? Where the hell is the little gray line and when did we fly right over it?
My anxiety is put to rest, however, when Stacy beams up at me before turning to look out the windshield. “I’m so excited.”
Relief washes over me as I pull into the public parking lot for a local city park.
Stacy helps me carry the food as I grab the blanket and bottle of red wine from the backseat.
We make our way through the afternoon sunshine, dodging families with small kids and college students with their dogs until we find a flat stretch of grass under a black willow tree.
I spread out the maroon and blue plaid blanket, taking a seat and patting the spot next to me for Stacy to sit.
She plops down and we start to distribute all of her favorite foods: pho, spring rolls, and banh mi among other things, as well as the red blend I picked up for us.
Well, for her. I’m more of a beer guy but Stacy’s huge on wine so I’ll choke down a glass for her.
“What brought this on?” she asks, taking a long sip out of the tumbler I hand her.
I shrug and put a spring roll on one of the paper plates I brought. “I feel like we’ve both been working so hard. Nationals routine is going well, our stunts are sticking, school’s been crazy. Thought we deserved a little break.”
Stacy smirks down at her food, twirling some flat rice noodles onto her chopsticks and taking a bite. “Midterms been kicking your ass too, huh?”
“I didn’t even know one person could write so many papers, Stace.”
She chuckles. “Honestly, if I learn one more thing about supply chain management, I might combust.”
I smile over at her but her laughter dies off, her face suddenly solemn as she stares at her lunch. I’m about to ask her what’s the matter but before I can, she asks, “How did you know you wanted to be a physical therapist?”
I consider her question, my gaze absent-mindedly following a young couple walking the trail around the park holding hands.
“You know, I think sports have always been such a big part of my life so I knew I wanted to do something with athletes. I looked into careers that would allow me to stay in the sports realm and physical therapy caught my eye. Science and math have always come pretty easy to me so it seemed like a good path.” I shrug.
“The thought of being able to help out other athletes is exciting to me.”
Stacy sighs, poking at her pho. “Lucky you,” she grumbles. “And Miles? Miles always knew he wanted to play hockey?”
“Since he could hold a stick.”
“And Drew always knew he’d go into political science?”
I snort. “Don’t know if he always knew or if having a senator for a father kind of made that choice for him.”
Stace sighs. “And Mae’s always known she wanted to do music,” she grumbles. “I’m so jealous of all of you.”
My eyebrows pull together at her disgruntled tone. “It’s not too late to change direction, you know.”
“It is, though,” she tells me. “I’m twelve credit hours away from graduating, it is one hundred percent too late for me to change direction. I don’t even know what I’d change it to .”
I chew on the inside of my cheek as I consider her dilemma.
“I just wish I had a passion,” she mumbles.
“You do,” I remind her, knocking my knee against hers. “Cheerleading.”
She blows out a noisy breath. “Yeah, and that part of my life ends in May. And then what? ”
“Not necessarily,” I argue. “We just have to find a way for you to combine your passion and your degree.”
She gives me a droll look, picking at her food. “How do you propose I do that?”
I think for a second while a chilly gust of wind blows through the trees. “Kids?” I finally say, pulling Stacy to me as she shivers.
She snorts against my chest. “Reece, please, we’re fake dating. I don’t think we need to discuss children yet,” she jokes, giving me a playful shove.
I shove back, laughing as she leans away from me to eat more of her soup.
“I’m not suggesting we have a child, babe.
” I grin at her. “What if you found a way to combine cheer and business through kids? Maybe open up some kind of studio? Start some type of training program for kids who want to do comp?”
She considers this, her eyes locked on something far away as she taps her chopsticks on her knee. “Maybe.” She finally turns to me. “You could be my on-site physical therapist?” she suggests.
My cheeks hurt as my grin widens, something I’ve noticed is a pattern whenever I’m with Stacy. “We’ll have to negotiate on pay and benefits but I think you’ve got yourself a deal.”
Stace rolls her eyes. “I’ll pay you a very competitive salary with a generous amount of vacation days.”
“401K match?” I joke.
“Of course. I’m not a monster.”
“How about paternity leave? You know, for all those kids we’re having?”
She chuckles, giving me another push. “Actually, I plan on this business being so successful that you can be a stay-at- home dad eventually.”
Something pulls at my heartstrings. I know we’re joking, I know our conversation is all in good fun, but warmth spreads throughout my body regardless.
Something flashes through my mind, a small version of the future that could exist for me and Stacy.
A future where this relationship isn’t so fake after all, where we move back to Cincinnati or Columbus and get a place together.
Where we settle down, adopt a dog from a shelter, spend holiday’s with our families and Friday nights on our couch streaming a new movie.
A future where maybe we have our own wedding, where Evan gets to be my best man and Stacy goes with her mom and sister to pick out a ridiculously overpriced white dress.
A future where maybe the jokes about kids and having a family aren’t jokes anymore and we build something beautiful together.
But then that version of the future is snuffed out immediately by the cold reminder of our situation. We’re not in a real relationship and furthermore, I can’t trust myself to fall in love. No matter how my stomach churns for Stacy, I can’t risk getting hurt again.
Because there was a time when I saw that version of the future with another woman, too. And while I was thinking about paint colors for our future home and names for our future daughter, she was picturing the same future with my older brother.
When Tashia walked away, it almost killed me. If I let myself really, truly fall in love with Stacy and she walks away, I have no doubt that I won’t survive. No almost about it.
“The future feels like it’s coming so fast,” Stacy mutters, almost like she’s reading my mind as she leans her head against my shoulder. “Aren’t you scared? ”
I swallow down the bitter truth. I am scared.
Not of physical therapy school or my future career, but of Stacy.
I’m scared of our situation and I’m scared of the very real feelings that are starting to bubble up underneath the surface because there’s another shoe.
I know there’s another shoe somewhere and it’s going to drop.
“Yeah.” My voice is barely a rough whisper as I wind my arm around Stacy’s shoulders and stroke her arm with my thumb. “Yeah, I am scared.”
I feel Stacy crane her neck to look up at me but I don’t dare meet her gaze. If I do, I’m afraid of the words that will come out. The confessions, the big questions, the stupid, bone-headed feelings that are building in my chest faster than I can muscle them down.
“But we’ve got each other, right?” she murmurs, turning to press her lips to my neck for a brief second.
What the hell does she mean by that? What does Stacy feel for me and is it as dangerous as what I feel for her?
Are we ever going to talk about it?
“Yeah,” I say, my throat thick as all the others words I want to say swirl around in my head. “We’ve got each other, angel.”
I can feel Stacy hesitating like she’s going to say something big and treacherous, but both of our phones ding before she can.
She pulls back, pulling her phone out of her hoodie pocket and staring down at the text on the screen.
I watch her eyebrows knit together before the blood drains from her face and something sour builds in my stomach.
“What’s wrong?”
Stacy glances up at me with wide eyes. “Um, Propst just texted us. She wants us to come to her office right now.”
I stare at her, my mind not quite computing the words that she’s saying. It takes a minute but it clicks, my stomach turning over. “Just the two of us?”
Stace nods, her face paling more by the second.
“It’s okay. If Propst knows, we can just explain the situation,” I tell her.
But even I don’t feel convinced as we stand to start gathering our picnic.
If anything, I feel like I just found the other shoe. And it’s dropping.