Chapter 8
ELIAS
Winning that match against Yale is a double-edged sword.
While getting the win is always good, now Ben has an excuse to put a stop to our additional practice sessions, complaining that he needs to sleep.
I suspect my awkward attempt at fake dating (and his diabolical inability to lie) also has something to do with him avoiding me.
But I can’t even argue with his excuse about drowning in coursework. I’m only taking freshman classes and I’m still overwhelmed by the workload.
At my next introduction to psychology class, I bring my laptop and type my notes, ignoring Joelle’s occasional scowls as she toughs it out with paper and pen beside me.
“On a scale of one to ten, how much did you want to bludgeon me with my laptop in there?” I ask as we’re leaving.
“Eleven,” she says.
As we say goodbye at the door to the life science building, something tugs me back. Since that first time I rejected her coffee invitation, she hasn’t asked me again. If I want to hang out with her, it’s up to me to make the first move.
“Want to study at the library or something?” I ask. “I’ll buy the coffee.”
A small smile appears along with the forced eyebrow raise.
She shrugs. “Sure. I guess I could use a second opinion on whatever she said in there.”
We grab coffees and set ourselves up at an empty table in the library.
After going through the textbook a few times, we try to make sense of our notes.
“Doesn’t help you writing half German, half English,” Joelle huffs, pushing my laptop back to me across the desk.
“Sometimes I get both words in my head and have to choose one.”
“The professor is literally only speaking one language.”
I smile. “You remind me of my sister.”
She squints at me. “I’ll take that as a compliment, I guess.” Closing the textbook, she sits back with a sigh.
“Take my mind off all this. Please tell me you hooked up with a frat boy over the weekend or something.”
Ben springs to mind. His flushed face during our last match. His chest pressed against mine during our celebration.
“No, but I did almost have a fake boyfriend for all of five seconds.”
Now I have her attention.
I grin. “My teammate is too nice to tell his best friend that his wingman skills are not wanted, so I offered to pretend to be his date so he’d back off.”
“So, what was the problem?”
“He’s too honest. He couldn’t pull it off.”
Joelle smiles. “You like him.”
“No, I was just trying to get him to focus on tennis. We suck at doubles.”
“But you beat Yale.”
“How do you know that?”
Joelle flashes me a sly smile. “I might have checked the scores online.”
“Fangirl.”
“You guys need to get a proper derogatory nickname for female fans. Like puck bunnies.”
“What are ‘puck bunnies?’”
“Girls who like to hook up with hockey players,” she says, curling her lip in distaste.
“So you, then?” I grin.
She slaps me on the chest. It sounds harder than it is and she grimaces. “Shit, sorry.”
I rub at the spot. “Ouch, careful. Not everyone is as indestructible as your hockey boyfriend.”
A sly smile spreads across her face. “He does let me beat him up a little.” She shrugs.
Urgh, I meant what I said about her reminding me of my sister. “TMI,” I groan.
We’re about to leave each other at the entrance to the library when Joelle calls me back. “If you like your teammate, you should just ask him out for real. He’d probably say yes, you know you’re not totally ugly.”
I snort. “Thanks. He’s cute, but I’m not interested.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yes. Anyway, I won’t be sticking around here for long.”
Her face drops. “Why not?”
“I’m going back out on the pro tour before the end of the year, hopefully. This is just a temporary thing for me.”
“Oh, well, that’s a shame. I was getting used to you, Elias Liebrenz.”
My heart sinks a little as I take a detour across the grass, soaking up the grand buildings and groups of students walking between classes and studying out on the lawn.
It’s nice to be around people who love what they do and appreciate where they are, but it will be even better when I’m around people who love tennis and appreciate getting to play as a job.
I text Ben to ask if we can meet up to discuss tactics for our next match. His reply stops me in my tracks.
Sorry, can’t. I’m going on this date thing tonight. Wish me luck!
Fuck.
I text back:
Good luck.
BEN
I swat Nate’s hand away after he starts fixing my hair for the twentieth time. It really doesn’t help that Evan is lying on his bed, reading a textbook and pretending not to listen to Nate fussing around me with an adoring smile on his face.
Maybe Tom will be my Evan? Maybe this date will be a funny story we tell our kids one day?
Whoa, too much.
“Ben, you okay? You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine.”
“You look great,” Nate says with a proud smile. “Ev, doesn’t he look great?”
Evan glances up from the textbook. He gives me the once over the way you might check out a car you’re thinking of buying. It’s methodical, almost clinical, but I appreciate it. It means he isn’t just going to placate me.
“You look great, Ben. If this Tom guy has any sense, he’ll snap you the fuck up.”
“Thanks.”
The doorbell chimes and my heart feels like it has leapt into my throat.
“That must be him,” Nate says.
“What a gentleman, ringing the doorbell,” Evan says.
Nate tuts. “Only hooligans honk.”
Evan laughs. God, I hope Tom turns out to be my soulmate. It’s killing me watching everyone else fall in love around me while I remain clueless and celibate.
Archer’s opened the door and is grinning as I make my way down the stairs.
I know they mean well, but I wish my brothers would all back off a little.
They’re making me feel like some loser the star quarterback asked to the prom out of pity.
Like it’s such a big occasion that I’m going on a date.
I’m just waiting for someone to pop out with a camera and start snapping pictures.
The guy waiting for me in the doorway is dressed in carefully-pressed chinos, white shirt, blazer. A tie.
“Shoot, do I need a tie?” I blurt.
Tom smiles, showing off his brilliant white teeth.
“Not at all,” he says. His accent is super refined. Sending me away to boarding school might have seemed like a good idea to my parents, but speaking Swiss French for years changed my accent a little. There’s something very ‘pure’ about Tom’s. My father would approve.
“You look great,” he says.
My heart pounds. Okay, good start.
“Um … you, too.”
He nods, like he knows he looks great.
“Shall we go? Our reservations are at eight.”
“Yeah, sure.”
I don’t look back. I don’t want to see my brothers all standing around like proud parents, grinning like idiots and dabbing at their eyes. I bet Archer has his phone out, documenting the moment for our socials.
My heart is still pounding as I climb into Tom’s car. Like mine, it’s low-key. Discreetly elegant.
The interior smells like he drove it straight from the showroom.
The music playing in the background is some kind of easy listening jazz.
Is that the radio? Nope, it’s a playlist. Okay, that’s fine.
I can live with easy listening jazz. It’s not Lana Del Rey, but only my brothers know how much I fangirl over her anyway.
Maybe my future husband never has to know?
I wait for him to ask me if I mind the music. If I want him to change it. He doesn’t.
A silence follows that I think only I’m uncomfortable with.
Tom drives with a serene expression on his face while I desperately wrack my brains for something to say. Anything.
Finally, he speaks.
“So, do you go on many dates, Ben?”
Why does that feel like an accusation? “Actually, not really. You?”
“No, but when Nathan told me about you, I knew we’d be a great fit.”
“Oh?” Is my collar getting suddenly tighter? I force myself not to tug at it. My dad always chastises me for playing with my collar or fiddling. Wait, why do I feel like I’m in the car with my dad?
“What did Nate tell you about me?”
Tom takes his time before replying. The easy listening jazz is strangling me, along with this too-tight collar.
“Just that you’re focused on your studies and your future.”
“Oh.” That’s what Tom looks for in a guy? A good student?
“Did he tell you about our business?”
“A little. It sounds like a good idea.”
Okay, cool, maybe we have something to talk about after all.
“Do you like tennis?”
“I’m not really interested in sports.”
“Oh.” That’s okay. Sometimes opposites attract, right? Like my mom and dad. God no, I don’t want to fashion my marriage off theirs.
“But you won’t be pursuing tennis after college, right?”
“Right. But our business is focused on pairing athletes with coaches and other sports professionals.”
“Yes, but aren’t you the co-CEO? Nathan told me you’re a financial whiz, so your role will be largely numbers-based.”
Has this guy just made me momentarily depressed about my life’s passion?
“Sure, but hopefully I’ll be involved in all the other aspects, too.
Like scoping out new talent, for instance.
Hopefully we’ll be going to a lot of pro tennis matches and checking out college players all over the world.
I’d even like to do a little coaching of my own someday, maybe … when we open our academies.”
Tom turns his blinker on. I’m unsure if he was listening until he answers. “Sure. But wouldn’t it be more time efficient to send scouts to those things?”
My heart sinks as he pulls up to the kind of stuffy restaurant my dad would take me to. The kind where I’ll have to remember the correct cutlery to use and sit ramrod straight all night while waiters fuss around me.
“Here we are,” Tom says, switching off the engine. “Ready?”
I take a deep breath and paint on my best fake smile.