Page 18 of Courting Clemson

By the time I walked through my penthouse door that evening, I was so tired, I considered just sleeping on the sofa in my suit. Even ordering food felt like too much effort, so I threw two Pop-Tarts in the toaster and kicked off my shoes. When they were ready, I tossed the little rectangles onto a paper plate and flopped down in front of the TV.

The Food Network was my guilty pleasure, even though most of the time I watched the shows on mute. Guy Fieri’s voice had a special way of raising my blood pressure, but I did enjoy watching him visit little hole-in-the-wall diners all over the country.

The blond co-ed was still on the forefront of my non-work-related thoughts, so I pulled up her account on social media to see if she posted today. Immediately, when I saw the image, I set down my nutritious dinner and gave the little screen my undivided attention.

It was a close-up picture of her beautiful face, and she had clearly been crying. The tip of her graceful nose was red, and her deep-blue eyes glistened with unshed tears. The caption read, Some days are just hard.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I tapped on the little icon that opened a direct message thread with her. The desire to hold her and make whatever happened disappear was way stronger than any rational thought as to why this might be a bad idea.

I’m sorry you had a rough day. Here if you need to talk.

It was short and thoughtful—or at least, that was my intention. I didn’t want to come off as a creeper. I’m sure she had plenty of guys chasing her for attention. Seeing her upset really hit me, though. The contrast between that picture and the vibrant, stunning woman I spent time with at the shelter was painful.

I knew what it felt like to be lonely, especially on days you just wanted to come home and unload to someone who cared about you. My profile on this app hadn’t been touched in nearly a year, but my first and last names were listed, along with my photo. If I’d left any impression on her at all, she would recognize me.

After fifteen minutes of constantly checking my phone for a reply, I dragged myself to my room to shower and go to bed. I had an early meeting and needed a good night’s sleep. I plugged my phone in to charge and set it face down on my nightstand. I was such a light sleeper that a glowing screen from any type of notification could wake me from a deep sleep.

Surprisingly, I slept through the entire night. The sun was shining deep to the east as I enjoyed my first cup of coffee outside on the balcony off my kitchen. From this location, I could see the Coronado Bay Bridge, and I stood watching the early morning commuters make their way back and forth from Downtown to Coronado.

It wasn’t until after my second meeting later that morning that I saw that Clemson had responded to the message I’d sent last night. I’d thought of it randomly throughout the morning but hadn’t had a chance to look to see if she’d replied. As ridiculous as it was, I was physically excited as I launched the app to see what she’d said.

Do I know you?

My heart sank to my knees. But as I held the phone, rereading the sassy remark, a second message came through.

From the shelter?

A stupid grin spread across my lips, knowing I’d made enough of an impression that she placed my name or face—or both, I supposed—without me having to prompt her. Now the big question…

How long do I wait to respond?

Did people still play those dumb games allowing a prescribed amount of time to elapse between contact as to not appear too eager?

Yeah…fuck that. I was never into head games. If I was interested in a woman, I wanted her to know. And if she weren’t into me, I’d rather she just be upfront about it and not string me along. I spent the entire summer after grad school being toyed with by a heartless, manipulative woman, so I ran in the opposite direction at the first sign of that bullshit.

Hey there! I happened to see your post last night while scrolling and couldn’t believe it. I thought, Hey, I know her! What are the odds, right? Are you having a better day today?

Rather than saying I hope your day is better, I intentionally framed my message as a question in hopes of continuing the conversation. I wasn’t familiar enough with the app to know if she was currently viewing my message, so I anticipated spending another day tied to checking for notifications.

While I was staring at my device, Liam stuck his head in my door. “Want to grab lunch?”

Although I wasn’t very hungry, it would be nice to get out of the office for a bit.

“Yeah, sure. Where are you headed?”

He shrugged. “Haven’t decided yet. Anything sound good?”

I made a face. “Not really. You pick.”

We ended up at a sushi place a few miles from our office. The food was always great, and they had a generous lunch special, making the restaurant a popular choice for a lot of the businesses nearby. We ate there often enough that the waitresses recognized us when we sat down.

Liam leaned across the table to say, “Oh that chick is here. The one that eye-fucks you the whole time we’re eating.”

I stared blankly at him. “She does not.” And truthfully, I had caught the girl give me the once-over on a few different occasions, but I wasn’t interested. She wasn’t at all my type.

“You should ask her out.”

“Not interested. So what do you have going on this weekend?” Maybe changing the subject would get him to drop the nonsense about the waitress.

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