Page 35 of The Longshot

I scoff in laughter.

Now that sounds like something I’d say.

“I think Kelsey, you said her name was?” She looks up in thought. “I’m not entirely sure, but all I do know is that you were deep in your feelings. Pining about how she rejected you.”

I’m left slightly embarrassed. Not only did I give her a night she’ll never forget, and not in a good way, she had to experience firsthand how much of an emotional drunk I am.

Great.

“So, was that her name? Kelsey?”

“Chelsie,” I correct her, rubbing along my face as I lean my head back into my headboard. Even saying her name out loud makes me feel even more like shit. “And she didn’t reject me, per se,” I object in an attempt to save my ego. “She just said that my quick charm wasn’t going to work on her, that’s all. ”

Felicity scrunches her lips with a strained look in her eyes. “Sounds like a rejection to me.”

Damn.

This girl does not show an ounce of mercy when it comes to spitting out the facts. First, she’s calling me out for my poor performance, and now this? Hell, maybe this is what I need? Maybe Felicity holds the answers to my internet search from earlier.

I sit up a bit straighter. “I just don’t get it though? Everyone likes my charm. It’s like the number one thing I have going for me. Why am I such an idiot?”

Felicity relaxes her shoulders, flashing me a friendly smile despite us being nothing but complete strangers. “You’re not an idiot,” she rebuts. “Trust me. I know an idiot when I see one, and you’re not one of them.”

“Thanks,” I murmur, but I’m hardly appeased.

“Maybe Chelsie’s just not a fan of all that charmer stuff you put on,” she tells me. “Maybe she just wants to see you, be, you.”

I furrow my brows at her remark. Me be me? What does that mean? I’m always authentic. I’m always myself. I couldn’t be any more myself even if I tried.

“I’m Wilks!” I tell her as if she doesn’t know. “How much more ‘myself’ can I be?”

“Maybe that’s just it.” Felicity shifts slightly, kicking around with what to say before she says it. “Maybe she doesn’t want to get to know ‘Wilks.’ Maybe Chelsie wants to get to know Gary.”

Gary.

I’m transported back to the earlier portion of mine and Chelsie’s conversation before things turned sour.

Talking to her felt so simple. Smooth. Easy.

Was I being me in those moments?

The thought is way too deep for this early in the morning as I sigh and scratch my forehead. Though I’ll admit, this conversation is helping.

Felicity is giving me some direction here, but now I need a road map. I need to know what to do next.

“So, Miss. Expert,” I joke. “What do you suggest I do now, then?”

“That…” Felicity smooths out her T-shirt as she stands back up. “I don’t know. But what I do know is that if you like her, don’t give up. Girls love a good grovel, especially if it’s you who's doing it.”

Her sense of humor in all of this is almost as relieving as the weight that momentarily lifts from my shoulders. The advice is simple. Give it another shot. I’m good at that, after all—taking shots.

“Thanks for the advice,” I tell Felicity as she slips out of my bedroom. “And sorry again, you know, about everything...”

“Hey, I got to spend a night with Gary Wilkinson. I should be thanking you. I’m going to be gloating about this to my friends non-stop. See you around, Wilks.”

I playfully roll my eyes as I watch her slip out of my bedroom before I reach over for my phone, this time with a newfound sense of optimism as I open my search engine and carefully type out my next question.

TEN

---