4. Jaymie
Jaymie
I stood in the elevator, still holding enough food to survive a natural disaster, and watched the doors close in front of Mallory Quince like I was in a damn rom-com.
She said next time.
Which meant—what? That she might come over? That she didn’t totally think I was a disaster in sneakers?
I leaned against the elevator wall, trying to look casual while my brain reeled.
Her smile still lingered in my memory, the way her eyes sparkled like she knew she had me on the hook and didn’t mind tugging.
God, she was quick. Confident. And funny in that way where it felt like every word she chose had teeth.
I let out a low whistle as the elevator climbed toward the tenth floor, pressing the back of my head against the cool metal wall.
“Smooth, Prescott,” I muttered. “Real smooth.”
I’d flirted before. Hell, I’d even had a few successful dates—mostly with women who liked the idea of dating a hockey player more than the actual reality of it. They liked the skates, the stats, the playoff tickets. They liked Logan, and Connor. They liked the team.
But no one ever really stuck around long enough to figure out the part of me that existed outside the rink.
The part that double-checked crossword clues.
Who wore glasses because my contacts dried out by the third period.
Who went home after games and watched weird documentaries about wildlife migration patterns.
Who got teased for being the “gentle one” on the line.
Women liked the image.
Not the guy underneath.
And Mallory? Mallory was different. She didn’t look at me like I was some local celebrity or a walking stat line.
She looked at me like she was deciding whether or not I was worth her time.
Like she saw right through the charm and the grin and the swagger to the guy underneath, unsure, a little awkward, probably sweating, and still flirted with me anyway.
Unless she wasn’t flirting.
What if she was just being nice? Polite? Laughing because it was easier than telling me to back off?
I rubbed my chest, suddenly aware of how fast my heart was thumping.
The elevator dinged. I scuffled down the hall, arms tightening around the grocery bags that now felt heavier than they should. I elbowed the front door open, my keys swinging from one finger, and finally made it inside.
The bags clinked together as I dropped them on the kitchen counter, like a tired, overfed orchestra hitting its final note.
I stared at the spread—meatballs, two kinds of pasta, a half roasted chicken, two loaves of bread, roasted vegetables, salad, a green bean casserole that probably could’ve fed a basketball team, and two pies. My mom’s version of “light” cooking.
I should’ve been excited. Comforted, even.
Instead, I was just thinking about Mallory.
The way she’d smiled at me in the elevator. Teased me like I was some charming nuisance she hadn’t quite decided what to do with. And how her voice had gone soft when she said, “next time.”
It felt like hope.
But maybe I was reading into it. Maybe she’d laughed and flirted because it was easier than shutting me down. Maybe she was just trying to keep things light between us since we had six weeks of awkward stretching and ice packs ahead.
I sighed, dropping onto the couch and letting my head fall back against the cushions.
What the hell was I doing?
She was smart. So smart. Confident in a way that didn’t try too hard. She moved like she knew exactly where she belonged, and I couldn’t help but feel like maybe I didn’t.
I’d spent most of my life being the good guy on the line. The assist. The comic relief. The guy who made things easier, not heavier. But none of that had ever made anyone stay. Not really.
Mallory was the kind of woman who knew how to walk away from things that didn’t serve her.
I stared at my phone for a solid thirty seconds before finally giving in, unlocking it, and opening the group chat.
Group Chat: The Core Four
Jaymie:
yo. I need help.
Logan
is this a real emergency or are you out of frozen pizzas again?
Connor
if this is about the thing with your toe I swear to god
Logan
Whats wrong with his toe?
jaymie
NOTHING. JESUS CHRIST * facepalms *
Its a girl… well woman…
Darren
you’re dating again?
is she real? do we need to check your blood sugar?
Jaymie:
she’s real. she’s amazing. she lives in my building, 2 floors under me to be exact.
she’s the new AT.
I am SPIRALING GUYS
I tried bribing her to come over with Mom's lasagna but she hit me with the 'rain check'
Connor
bro?
that's asking to play with fire
Logan
You should talk to Ava
Jaymie
YES. okay? But like. She’s funny. and hot. Very hot!! Literal FIRE!
Darren
so just a normal wednesday
Jaymie
I need date ideas. something good. something original. she’s not the “grab a beer and watch sports” type. she’s like... snowboarding in Vermont and reads books without covers. she has taste.
I DON'T HAVE TASTE OR CULTURE
Logan
you came to the wrong people for 'taste'
Connor
take her to a cooking class. you suck at cooking. instant humility. bam. romantic.
Logan
there’s that rooftop garden dinner thing Ava mentioned last week. kinda bougie. probably her vibe.
Darren:
ax throwing.
alpha move.
balance it out.
Jaymie
so I should woo her with bread baking, urban gardening, or violent weaponry.
Connor
sounds like a hell of a romcom.
I tossed my phone onto the couch, flopped down beside it, and stared at the ceiling.
She was downstairs. Right now. Probably putting on sweatpants and pouring herself a glass of wine and thinking I was a total dork.
Which, fair.
But maybe dorks had a shot if they were persistent.
I pulled my phone back into my lap and opened a new note:
Ways to win over Mallory Quince.
Don’t be a creep.
Be funny but not too funny.
Make her laugh over and over again.
Keep the glasses clean.
Ask her out. Be cool. (Not desperate)
The rest of the night, I couldn’t stop picturing her smiling as the elevator doors shut. Her voice on repeat in my head
'Next time'
'Next time'
'Next time'
Challenge accepted.