Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
AVERY
When Ty excuses himself, I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am.
I give him a little wave as Dolly snuggles close to my thigh. Ty disappears down the hall, his weird sci-fi movie droning on in the background. I don’t know what’s happening on the screen, nor do I care. I only want Ty. He’s all I can think about.
I think this is the self-sabotage my mom was talking about.
Because what woman in her right mind sacrifices anything for a man she just met?
I let out a long sigh because the thing is, I haven’t known him as long as I’ve known some people, but I know what I need to.
I know that he’s patient with me, that he doesn’t lose his mind when I overlook some trivial thing like emptying the lint trap in the dryer.
I know that he wants me as bad as I want him, or he wouldn’t have kissed me the way he just did.
My heart bangs against its bony cage. If I could relive those kisses on loop for the rest of my life, I would.
But then a quiet voice inside speaks up.
It’s the one I’ve spent years running from.
Maybe it’s my own, but it sounds an awful lot like the words that have been whispered my way for quite some time.
The voice taunts me, questioning my motives.
Do you really like him, Avery? Or are you determined to wreck everything good like you always do?
The perpetual optimist in me wants to believe that I’m wrong. Maybe we could work, despite our obvious restraints. Maybe my self-sabotage is a hoax. A fictional thing my family throws in my face when I fall out of line or fall in love with some new, trivial thing. Like caring for plants.
I sigh, angry with myself for downplaying my plant passion, angry over this entire debacle.
It hurts to think that Ty and I will never have a fighting chance.
If I’m going to cling to my crumbling professional life—let's face it, both jobs are hanging by a thread—I can’t throw Ty into the mix.
I can’t be what I've always been told I am. The silly, bubbly, too-carefree girl. The one who guys can’t see a serious relationship with.
The one who changes her mind every five seconds and can’t hang onto anything, especially a man.
I squeeze my eyes shut, and Ty’s reserved gaze flashes across my mind.
I swear there was something between us. I should know the difference between love and lust by now, but I’m not sure I trust myself.
Wanting something badly enough doesn’t make it true.
He said it himself; he doesn’t want anything serious.
But he’s happy to have a friend. Still, I can’t help but wonder if maybe this time, it’s different, for both him and me.
This is exactly why you can’t trust yourself.
Ty and I can’t be together. The timing isn’t right. We’re not right. We may never be, and that’s the worst part.
When I close my eyes, I can still feel his lips on mine, and that will have to be good enough for now.
Pulling out my phone, I text Larissa. The only way to remove a temptation is to remove myself from the picture.
Me
Please tell me that place you told me about is still open
Larissa
I can ask her if she’s rented it out yet. Wanna check it out next week?
Me
Yes please
Ty and I haven’t had a full conversation since movie night. An entire week and a half has passed, and it’s been nothing more than:
Hey, Avery.
Hi, Ty.
Weather is nice, Avery.
It sure is, Ty.
Then he jogs up the stairs to his room, and silence ensues until another chance encounter that might go something like:
Thanks for dusting the built-ins, Avery.
No problem, Ty.
I’ll get them next time, Avery.
Thanks, Ty.
And things of that nature. Empty words that barely scratch the itch I have to blabber every tiny detail of my day to him.
Normally, I’d do some seemingly unintentional thing that would gain his attention: leaving the salt and pepper shakers somewhere that doesn’t make sense instead of on the stove where he likes them, watering the plants so carelessly that it creates a river on the windowsill and Ty has to remind me to clean up so as not to warp the wood, or tossing my clothes helter-skelter across the hallway on laundry day, which always garners an “Ever heard of a hamper?” from him.
Even if I give in and let myself do something silly so he’ll speak to me, Ty’s not here.
The Kings had an away game today. I hadn’t planned on watching, but after I got back from a string of clients' homes—no cancellations yet this week, hallelujah!—I couldn’t help myself.
I needed to see Ty. So I parked myself on the couch, flipped on ESPN, and caught the last quarter of our game against the Los Angeles Renegades.
I fully planned to scroll apartment ads and other rentals, but Ty’s intensity sucked me in.
Watching him in his element—hearing his name emitted from the speakers by the announcers—is sexy.
I don’t know what he’s so worried about with being new to the team.
It’s like they’ve been playing together for years.
Coach Mack knew what he was doing when he brought Ty on.
Every play was seamless, and Ty even intercepted the ball, changing the momentum of the game when he returned it for twenty-five yards before being tackled.
When my mom texted the group chat asking if I was watching them climb their way back toward a win, it was like I’d made the interception myself.
I was so proud of him. I don’t care what anyone else says; without Ty today, the Kings would have lost.
Scurrying around the kitchen, I tidy up.
Placing my dirty dinner dish in the sink, I stare out the dark window at the pristine pool deck lit by strands of lights draped across the pagoda, at the patch of grass next to the privacy fence I’m dying to dig up and turn into a garden.
At Ty’s shirt that’s tossed over a pool lounger where he left it to dry after last night’s workout.
I love living here. With him. A hollow opens up in my chest. Even if he’s been less than eager to speak to me lately, I’m happy being a fly on his wall.
Being friends is enough. Forget the kiss. Be grateful he hasn’t given you the boot.
I attempt to stuff the blank space with words, but it’s no use.
Having the attention of an attractive man is heady.
It’s intoxicating. Wanting it is something totally different.
I took it for granted when I had it, and now it’s all I can think about.
It’s all-consuming. Because I care about why he’s clammed up. I care about what he thinks of me.
Because I care about him.
I flip around, pressing my back into the apron of the sink as a war wages within me.
How can I trust that this feeling is real?
That it isn’t some desperate attempt by my finicky subconscious to undermine me again or that I’m simply pining after something I know I can’t have?
I was supposed to date Ryan. And Ryan and I were supposed to go to that masquerade tonight.
My eyes dart to the two tickets magnetized to the fridge, and I rip them off.
Disappointment consumes me. I’d been really excited to go. If I hadn’t forgotten about it, I might have waited longer to cut Ryan loose.
Do you hear yourself, Avery? Have some self-respect.
We only hung out twice, but both times he hardly acknowledged me.
I’m tired of being ignored. Suddenly, I feel incredibly lonely.
Maybe that’s why I find myself perched at the kitchen island, waiting for Ty to walk through the door.
Despite my better judgment, I’m desperate for more than some menial exchange.
Even if it means facing the awkward hey, we kissed conversation head-on.
The charter bus should have delivered the players to the Kings’ facility by now.
LA is only a couple hours away, and Ty doesn’t dawdle once he finishes his games.
I know his routine. And I know he’ll be walking in any minute, ready to dump his bag on a chair, chug a Gatorade he keeps in the door of his fridge, and chomp down a bag of pineapple and pepper jerky he stores in the basket beside the toaster.
So I wait, swinging my feet below my barstool, unused tickets clenched in my fist, disappointed I have to miss out on the masquerade after planning the most iconic costume because I don’t have a date.
But it’s fine. Staying at home in stretchy pants and hanging out in the kitchen was always the better option. Because Ryan isn’t Ty.