Page 38 of The Love You Win

“I know. You love me anyway.”

“I guess. So when are you going to ask Isla out?”

Isla’s beautiful face stares at me through the phone screen. God, she’s stunning. And she felt so good in my arms when I carried her out to the car that night at the bar. But I screwed it all up. She couldn’t possibly want anything to do with me, right? But we haven’t discussed the assembly, and the silent auction dinner for the team is coming up. Coach said they invited all the winners. I wonder if she’s planning to go.

Even if she doesn’t want to go out with me, we’ll need to talk. I’ll just try my hardest not to continue my streak of jamming my foot into my mouth. Because, even though I doubt I stand a chance in hell, I can’t stop thinking about her. And clearly, everyone in my life is going to ride my ass until I give it a shot.

The sooner Isla tells me she’s not interested, the sooner things can go back to normal.

“Isla won’t want to go out with me,” I tell my sister. “Even with groveling.”

“You never know until you try.”

“Sure, Mi-Mi. You just want to see me humiliated.”

She’s silent for a moment. I expect her to toss a joke back my way, but she doesn’t. Instead, her voice is serious when she says, “No, Maddy, I don’t. I think you’ve been humiliated enough, don’t you? I want to see you happy.”

Well, shit. What can I say to that? I suck in a deep breath, nodding even though my sister can’t see it, and make a decision. “I’ll shoot my shot. Just don’t hold your breath.”

My sister releases a little high-pitched squeal. “I believe in you.”

I’m glad someone does. Hopefully, for now, that’s enough.

seventeen

MADDOX

Isla’s Instagram profile is still on my screen when I hang up with Mira, and I stare at it. There’s a battle raging inside my head. Do I Instagram stalk Isla, or do I click out of the app and pretend I never saw her pics? Her profile’s public, so I wouldn’t be doing anything wrong by looking, but part of me hesitates. Though, maybe that’s more because I’m worried whatever I’ll see will make me like her more, and less because I think it’s crossing some invisible line.

Screw it. I’m curious about her.

There’s not much to see from the past year. She’s posted a few photos with two women I’m guessing are her best friends. They’re all smiling in the snaps, but Isla’s doesn’t quite meet her eyes. A few photos of sunsets and latte art span several months. Even a few memes get sprinkled in here and there.

As I get to her older posts, it becomes clear when I hit the pre-breakup photos, even though I don’t see any of her ex. The photos have more life to them. More color. Her smile is still tight, but there’s light in her eyes. A few months further, and the snapshots become brighter still. I grin when I come across a photo from a year and a half ago. Isla’s laughing with her friends. Her head’s thrown back, eyes sparkling, her mouth open with what had to have been unfettered laughter. She’s even more beautiful like this. Uninhibited and free.

I continue scrolling. She’s gorgeous. And fun. And maybe Mira and the guys are right. Maybe I need to figure out some kind of Lloyd Dobler-esque grand gesture if I want a chance to get to know this woman.

There are a few pictures of sunsets and artfully arranged photos of teaching supplies. A photo of an empty classroom filled with posters of book covers and quotes gives me a glimpse into the kind of teacher she is. The room is full of color. It’s vibrant and engaging, and I’d bet a lot of the kids in her grade would cite English as their favorite subject.

It makes me excited to speak at her school. I’m not sure what I’ll say—and I should probably start thinking about it—but her passion is contagious. There’s also a small part of me that hopes doing this will give me an in with Isla. Maybe it will help her see me differently. If she believed I was someone she could trust and rely on, someone who valued her passions and work, maybe it would allow her to open up to me. Even if that’s just as friends.

Residual anger bubbles in my chest when I think about that asswipe talking down to her about teaching. When I was a stressed-out, angry teenager, the only adults I had in my corner, besides my mom, were my teachers and coaches. And there were a couple along the way who made a genuine difference in my life and helped me believe I could achieve great things. The world needs more teachers like that. Like Isla.

My fingers move impulsively, swiping out of the Instagram app and into my text messages.

Me

Is there anything specific you’d like me to speak about at the assembly, or should I just plan something uplifting and encouraging?

I stare at my screen for a minute, but when she doesn’t text me back right away, I tap on the Instagram app and pull it back up. Resuming my light stalking, I grin at photos of a rosy-cheeked Isla in a sports bra and leggings. She’s looking back over her shoulder as she navigates a hiking trail, and it’s the first photo where she looks utterly vibrant and happy. She clutches a water bottle in her left hand, and my brain goes offline when I notice the modestly-sized circular solitaire diamond on her ring finger.

Isla was engaged?

Heart hammering, I flip through a few more photos and realize she must have looked so happy because the hike took place not long after her ex proposed. There are only one or two photos before that where I catch glimpses of her ring. She clearly went through and deleted all the photos with her ex in them, but I can see why she left these. She looks vibrant. Happy.

But now Isla’s discomfort with dating makes sense. And I can understand why her friends are worried about her. From the things Isla said, it sounded like they’d been together for years. She thought they were going to get married. Hell, she’s probably unsure how to put herself out there anymore because she never thought she’d need to.

An uncomfortable cocktail of shame and protectiveness fills me. I don’t know Isla Harding, but it doesn’t take a genius to see she’s the real deal. She’s smart, funny, sassy, and strong as hell. And I want to shield her from being hurt again.

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