Page 13 of Save the Game

He smiles, putting a piece of egg into his mouth and chewing slowly. By the time he finishes eating, I’m going to be hungry again. Headlights flash across the front windows, and I turn to watch the door. For the first time since I started this job, I pray nobody comes inside. I don’t want to meet any new strangers, tonight; I want to talk to Max.

“They must have been using the parking lot to turn around,” he says, when I turn back to face him.

“Are you free Saturday morning?” I ask, and enjoy the very obvious play of emotions over his face at the random question. I’d bet money that he’s free, but trying to come up with plans on the fly.

“Why?” He asks noncommittally.

“I was going to go to the beach, take some pictures for an assignment. You should come with me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” My fingers tingle with the urge to pick up my camera and go now. Max on the beach, pants rolled up and feet bare. Maybe he’d take his giant ass shirt off. I’m practically salivating at the thought of all the photographic gold I might discover.

“Well…sure. Yeah. I’ll come,” he says, and then looks surprised at his own daring. “What are you going to be photographing?”

Standing, I reach in front of him and pile our dirty dishes together. He leans away, slightly, as though to give me room and avoid brushing against me. I wait until he looks up at me to answer.

“You.”

4

Max

I wake up feeling refreshed for once. Excited to start the day. It feels like experiencing the sun on my face after a month of rain. Sitting up, I wince at the pain in my legs; it was a rough game last night—my favorite kind—and I’m feeling it today. I love being physically sore, though. It’s an earned pain. I check my phone as I swing my legs over the side of the bed. It’s not yet 6 a.m. which means I’ve woken up before the alarm I’d set. No use trying to fall back asleep, though. It’ll never happen, and god knows it would ruin my good mood.

I shower and get dressed as silently as I can. Marcos is a light sleeper, prone to hearing noise from my room and coming to check on me. “You good?” he’ll call from the other side of my door when a nightmare wakes me up. He never comes in unless I invite him, though. I can picture him standing on the other side, hand hovering over the door handle, ready to come to my aid, but unsure of whether he’s welcome. Our friendship has suffered the most this past year—after the party and the subsequent hospital visit. He’s no longer my best friend, but a mother—eyes always watching, and wearing his worries on his sleeve. I hate him and love him in equal measure. I miss him even when he’s standing there, right in front of me.

I don’t go to the kitchen, knowing he’ll hear me if I make coffee or open the refrigerator. Checking my appearance once more in the mirror, I put on my shoes and slip out the front door. It’s a cooler morning, winter digging in and reminding everyone that February belongs to it. It’s a strange time to plan a beach excursion, but I suppose at least it won’t be busy. I hope Luke isn’t planning on swimming. Jogging down the stairs, I wonder if I should text him and confirm that we’re still on for today. I didn’t go to the diner last night, blessedly tired after my game and winning the fight against insomnia. We haven’t spoken since Thursday.

Starting my car, I sit immobile for a few minutes before deciding to just hope for the best. If he doesn’t show, at least getting stood up at the beach is less embarrassing than having it happen in a crowded restaurant. I’ll stop for coffee and something to eat; I’m starving, which is another win. I can’t believe there are people in the world who feel like this all the time: hungry and excited for the day, hopped up on a few hours of good sleep and the prospect of a date with a handsome man.

The beach parking is, as expected, empty except for a car that looks like it hasn’t moved in the last century. There is a baseball glove on the passenger seat and an empty water bottle in the cup holder. My stomach flips in nervous anticipation; this must surely be Luke’s car. Of course he didn’t stand me up. I don’t know him well, but I know him well enough to know he wouldn’t do that.

Leaving my shoes and socks on the floorboard of the driver’s seat, I grab the two coffee cups and the paper bag. The sand is cold and rough against my skin as I traverse the beach access. Stopping at the top, I take a couple deep breaths of salty, coastal air, as I look around for Luke. He’s not hard to find, being the only person here—a dark figure with his back to me, standing at the water’s edge as though watching the waves kiss the shore. I call out to him, but the wind whips my words away.

Walking carefully so as not to cut my feet on shells or rocks, I head his way. As if he can sense the presence of another person, he turns. I’m close enough now to see the smile as he deftly lifts a camera to his face and snaps a picture. I scowl, ducking my head slightly so that the brim of my hat obscures my face. I’d thought he was kidding about taking my picture.

“Hello, you,” he says, when I’m close enough to hear. My stomach flutters again. This has become his standard way of greeting me, a flirty little you tacked on to remind me of the night we met. I wish it didn’t make me feel as special as it does.

“Hey,” I hold out one of the coffees and he takes it, fingers brushing across mine unnecessarily, “I brought coffee.”

“Decaf?” He asks playfully, taking a sip. “Thank you. I came early to catch the sunrise, so I need this.”

He steps closer to me and wraps a hand around my elbow. It’s so gentle he’s barely touching me, but sweat pricks at my hairline anyway. I hold myself still, willing my nerves not to betray me as he leans in and kisses my cheek. Of course flirty Luke would be sweet; he steps back just far enough for me to get a clear view of milk-chocolate eyes, as warm and welcoming as the rest of him. He drops his hand and I feel a confusing mixture of relief and disappointment.

“What’s in the bag?” He asks.

“Breakfast.”

“A man after my own heart.”

I laugh, holding it out to him. He drops unceremoniously into the sand and opens it, peeking inside. His dark hair is fanned out around the edges of a backward-facing ball cap. I sit down next to him, careful to leave enough space so that I don’t bump him. The inclination annoys me, suddenly, so I scoot a little closer until our knees are touching. This is a date, Max, act like a normal fucking person.

“Colorado Avalanche?” I ask him.

“What?”

“Your hat.”

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