Chapter 20 Donovan #2
DONOVAN: I feel like this could bring me luck. I’m wearing it for the Maryland game.
You could wear my lucky boxers?
CARRIE: You are so triggering. Have a good game, I hope you lose!
DONOVAN: You could’ve kept the jersey, you know. Help cheer me on…
CARRIE: Dude—you just sent me a selfie of you wearing my bra. #TeamMaryland
I want to ask why she just ditched me this morning, but I don’t want to ruin things. At least this way, we’re actually talking—she usually hates messaging back and forth.
The conversation moves on, and we somehow end up talking about the book she’s reading. I don’t want this to end, but Lewis has knocked on my door three times now, telling me to move my sorry ass.
DONOVAN: I need to go, I’m gonna miss the bus to Maryland. See you next week?
CARRIE: Lemme get back to you on that one. That selfie may have scarred me for life… I need time to process the trauma.
Safe travels, Wolinski.
I’m just about to fire back a reply, when Lewis comes bursting into the room.
“Dude—the fuck?”
He stands at the foot of the bed staring at me in my new bra. He blinks once. Blinks twice.
“You wanna explain what the fuck is going on here?” He shakes his head from side to side. “Scratch that—I don’t wanna know. We’re going in ten. You might want to get your shit together.”
He shakes his head, before disappearing into the hall.
I had totally forgotten I was wearing it—but I’m pretty sure Lewis never will.
I slip the bra off and pack my bag, running through my own personal pep talk as I go. Every game is important. I need to focus and put everything else on hold, just for this weekend. Before I zip my bag, I reach for the bra. Is it stupid to think it could actually be lucky? I pause.
And then, before I can overthink it, I shove it deep into one of the pockets.
I need all the luck I can get.
CARRIE’S GOING TO BE PISSED. Not only did we beat the Maryland guys—we crushed them from start to finish in one of our finest moments ever.
I’m at the arena waiting for Lewis. Leaning against the wall like this, I can’t help but think of her.
“Hey!”
I look to my left.
“Hey. How’s it going?”
There’s a girl standing there smiling at me, fiddling with her bracelet.
“I just wanted to say congrats on the game. It was amazing.”
I glance down at her “Team Maryland” tee and smirk to myself. It’d look good on Carrie, and I’m pretty sure if she were here, this would be her vibe.
The girl winks as she smooths down her top. “Don’t tell the others I said so, though.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.”
She shifts her weight from foot to foot. “You guys heading back today, or are you crashing here?”
“We’ve got a bus leaving soon.”
She pouts. “That’s a shame.” She thinks for a moment. “Want my number? That way we can hang out next time you’re in town.”
I look at her. She’s hot, for sure. She’s exactly the type of girl I would’ve slept with, way back when. Way back when—what? When I didn’t know Carrie?
“That’s sweet of you, but I’ve got a girlfriend, so…”
I hate to lie, but it’s insane how easily it slips out of me.
“That’s too bad.”
I watch her walk away, hips swaying from side to side. I’m surprised to note I don’t feel a thing.
Lewis and I head for the bus and get settled in for the six-hour drive back to SHU. I’m itching to call Carrie—just to rub the win in her face and hear her voice. I hit call and immediately hang up before it goes through. Then my phone pings, like she read my mind.
CARRIE: I’ve been thinking. I actually do want my bra back. I heard a guy say you crushed the game, so maybe you’re right—maybe it *is* lucky.
Plus, it’s the only one where I actually have the matching panties. I owe it to myself to get it back, you know?
DONOVAN: What?! Why didn’t I hear about these matching panties earlier? Imagine the score if I’d worn those babies, too!
CARRIE: I take it back…
DONOVAN: I need to complete the set.
CARRIE: Nope.
I shift in my seat.
DONOVAN: What are you doing?
CARRIE: I’m at home in Cincy.
DONOVAN: Again? You’re a mommy’s girl, huh? So cute!
It takes her longer than usual to reply.
CARRIE: Something like that.
I frown. What does that mean? It feels like there’s something I’m missing, somehow.
DONOVAN: You back tomorrow morning?
CARRIE: No classes tomorrow. I’m back Tuesday.
DONOVAN: I would’ve picked you up from the bus station, but I’ve got a management quiz.
CARRIE: “Bus station pickup”… Now there’s a book title!
DONOVAN: Nah. Where’s the romance in that?
CARRIE: Sometimes you scare me, Wolinski. Anyway, gotta go. I’m making dinner.
DONOVAN: Wait! If you’re gonna ditch me like this, at least give me some book recs? It’s a looong drive to campus.
CARRIE: Craving anything in particular?
Oh, honey… Something about a basketball player and a girl who plays hard to get?
DONOVAN: Something about a basketball player who all the girls love?
CARRIE: Sorry, Donny. It’s all about the hockey players these days.
DONOVAN: Hockey players? They aren’t all that, trust me. They’re also super dumb because they keep getting hit in the face… What’s to like?
CARRIE: You’re not as convincing as you think, W!
DONOVAN: I tried!
It sucks that I’ll need to wait a whole two days before I see her. I try to focus on the book I just downloaded, but all I can think about is how hard it’s going to be to tell her I want her to be my girlfriend. I need to tap into everything she’s taught me—figure out the best way of doing this.
My phone buzzes. It’s Dad.
“So?” I start. “Amazing win, right?”
“You did an incredible job, son. The defense was a little patchy here and there, but you pulled together and made it happen. Conley looked good out there.”
“Yeah, Lewis is on fire lately.”
We run through the game together, the way we always do, picking each move apart, and I can’t wait for him to be back to his old self so he can watch us in person.
Every time, I find myself still glancing over at the bench mid-play, my eyes searching the crowd for a glimpse of him.
The guy replacing him is great, but the truth is, there’s nobody like Dad.
“By the way—your mom and sister are heading down for your birthday next week.”
Just like that, my mood plummets. My knee starts bouncing up and down, and when it hits the seat in front of me, one of the guys turns around and glares at me.
“How come?”
“You’ll be twenty-two, son. It’s a big deal for your mom. Plus, I’m guessing she’s coming to spy on me,” he adds. “Check I’m following the doc’s orders. If she asks, you make sure you tell her I’m the perfect patient.”
“Hey—your ex, your problem!”
“The girls wanted to watch the game on Wednesday, but it turns out they can only make it up on Friday morning because of Amelia’s classes.”
The girls? Sure. The truth is my sister would rather gnaw off her own arm than come celebrate my birthday.
I haven’t seen Amelia since July, and I’m already freaking out. What am I going to tell her? I suddenly feel exposed, like I’m not ready to show her who I’m becoming just yet. Have I changed? Really changed, I mean? And even if I have—so what? Why would she care? My heart flutters. Shit.
“Come for dinner on Friday,” my dad is saying.
“Sure.”
He clears his throat. “Anyway, go get some sleep. I’ll call you after our win on Wednesday.”
I stare back at my reflection in the window. There’s no getting out of this dinner, but it suddenly hits me—I could ask Carrie if she wants to come. I feel bigger when I’m with her. Better. I need the ego boost if I plan on confronting my sister.
“Can I bring someone to dinner?”
“Sure!” I can hear the smile in Dad’s voice. “I didn’t know you were seeing someone. I’m guessing it’s serious if you want us to meet her—your mom will be so excited!”
I don’t have the heart to set him straight.
“Speak later, Coach!”
“Speak soon, Captain!”
I hang up. I stare out the window, tapping my phone against my chin thoughtfully.
I need a rock-solid plan to get Carrie to come to dinner at Dad’s.
If I try to trap her into it, she’ll have zero hesitation about tearing me apart in front of witnesses.
But if I suggest she come eat with my parents, she’ll laugh in my face. A real dilemma.
I STILL HAVEN’T FIGURED OUT how to invite Carrie to dinner, and it’s pissing me off. I pack away my books and hit the road, heading straight for her dorm, her bra tucked safe and sound in my hoodie pocket.
I’m just about to knock on the door when I freeze. I press an ear to the varnished wood, straining to hear. Muffled sounds. Voices drifting through the keyhole—a guy’s voice. Moaning. My stomach churns. I can just about make out Carrie.
“Keep it down!”
“You love it—I know you do.” The guy’s voice, again. One I don’t recognize.
I bang my forehead against the door.
“Have you been working out?”
“Hey!” the guy yells. “Go easy on the nipple!”
“Like what you see?” Carrie says.
“What do you think?”
She laughs. “Put your T-shirt back on before I rip off the rest.”
Images go flashing through my mind, and I’m seeing red. I should get the hell out of here before I kick the door in, but there’s no way I’m letting this play out.
I bang my head against the door again, feeling it rattle on its hinges. The voices fall quiet. I take a step back, clenching my jaw as I hear the lock turn.
A topless dude is standing there sizing me up, narrowing his eyes. My hand still in my pocket, I tighten my fingers around Carrie’s bra. I could strangle this douche right here on the doorstep.
He beams at me. “Wolinski!”
He pulls his T-shirt on, and now I can place him.
“John.”
He opens his mouth, but before he can say a word, Carrie ducks under his arm, stepping between us and pushing him back inside, before pulling the door shut.
We stand there in the hall, and I’m still staring at the space John has left behind him.
She sticks her arm out and waves her hand in front of my eyes.
“Anyone home?”
Slowly, my gaze drifts down to her face. She knits her brows.
“What were you doing in there?” I ask coldly.
Her frown deepens. “Working?”
“With John?”
“I was waxing his chest…”
Suddenly, it all slots into place. I let out a sigh of relief. Jesus. I feel like such a loser right now. I totally forgot about her side hustle. I push back on my jealousy.
She cocks an eyebrow. “Are you okay? You look weird.”
I snort. “Okay? Of course I’m okay! Why wouldn’t I be?”
I just thought you were screwing Johnny Boy, that’s all.
“Can I help you?” she asks.
“I just wanted to make sure you got home safe.”
“There’s these things called phones, you know…”
“Would you have picked up?”
She smiles at me. “No?”
“You know that’s actually a thing! People generally do that, when their phone rings.”
“I’m getting help for it. I’ll be sure to keep you posted.”
We stare at each other for a moment. I have no clue how to start the “meet the family” conversation.
“We’ve got a home game Wednesday night,” I blurt out. “Wanna come? I can wear the bra; you wear the panties. Maybe together we can make a little magic happen.”
I slip a hand into my pocket and pull it out, dangling it from my index finger. Her eyes widen.
“Oh my God!”
She makes to snatch it away from me, but I’m so much taller than her—it isn’t hard to lift it up and away, leaving it twirling there in the air above her head. I rest a hand on her shoulder, pinning her down.
“Fuck, Don!”
I freeze. “Did you just call me Don?”
She shakes her head. “Nope. Never.”
“You did.”
“Did not.”
A smile spreads over my face. “That’s the first time you’ve called me that. Know what that means?”
“I need therapy?”
“Something like that.”
I fall silent. Now’s not the time to tell her what I’m really thinking—that this is a pretty big deal, that we just hit a milestone, that something has shifted between us. So I change tactics.
“Truth is I got you a front-row ticket for Wednesday. Adam will swing by to pick you up—you’ve got the seat next to him.”
What the fuck am I even saying? Note to self—call Adam and pull some strings for two front-row tickets.
“I’m not—”
I pull her into me, feeling her squirm against my chest. When I pat her on the head, she tries to bite me, and I snicker.
“Whoa, easy! I get it—you’re happy. But no biting. Although I hear you have a thing for nipples.”
I pull back, just enough for us to lock eyes. She’s beet red, her eyes shining, and I want so badly to kiss her. She doesn’t seem to get it. Every part of me is hungry for her, and I want her all the damn time.
I kiss her softly on the cheek, instead. Then I let go and I walk away.
“See you tomorrow night, Carrie!”
I’m expecting her to yell after me—to tell me there’s no way she’s cheering me on, the only reason she’s coming is to support the other team. But I weirdly make it to the exit in silence.
I’M WALKING DOWN THE STREET when my phone starts ringing. I look down. A wave of confusion washes over me, and it takes me a second or two to react.
“Who are you, and what have you done with Carrie?” I say as soon as I pick up.
“Don’t think this is ever happening again,” she warns. “Because it isn’t. Next time I see you, I actually plan on kicking your ass so hard, you won’t live to make another call.”
“Wow—sure is nice talking to you, Carrie. Thanks for finally calling!”
She snorts. “I wanted to make doubly sure you got the message loud and clear.”
“Oh, I’m getting it, all right.” I start striding across campus as we talk. “You were all worked up back there. I’m guessing you’re calling to say thanks for the invite?”
“That was an invite? Because it felt more like an order. Is that how you got Cheyenne to have dinner with you, by the way? Like, frog-marching her into the restaurant?”
I’m laughing so hard, people are staring.
“Okay, I get what you’re saying. Can I try again?”
“No second chances.”
“Carrie—I’d love for you to come see me play tomorrow evening. I have so many supporters, but not too many good friends. It would mean a lot to me.”
I clamp my lips shut to stop myself from laughing. It’s all true, though—there’s nothing like being cheered on by people who actually matter.
“You still there?” I ask.
“Fuck,” she sighs. “When you put in a little effort, you’re actually good at this.”
“So, is that a yes?”
“That’s an okay. But I’m telling you, Wolinski—you drag my ass out to watch your shitty game, you better win! Because if you lose, I’m waxing your balls. On the house.”
By the time I’ve thought of a reply to that, she’s hung up on me, and it’s probably for the best—I still don’t exactly know what to say, except—I guess I’ll have to win, then…