Page 15 of Missed Exit

“I thought your team was the Astros.”

“They are my team. But the leagues play each other, so you gotta keep up with everybody.”

“There’s more than one league?”

“The MLB has two leagues, and each league has three divisions. Did we negotiate game-time snacks?”

“I’ll provide chips. If you want anything else, you’re on your own.”

Oh, I definitely want something else. I already knew I was on my own, though.

Shower sex is undeniably a lot more fun with a partner, but that’s life. And until I get upset enough to do something about it, nothing’s going to change.

At least I get chips.

If she gets the good ones, I’m going to count it as flirting.

7

Greta

Take Me Out to the Ballgame

OfallthethingsI never saw myself doing, providing snacks for a man to sit in my living room and watch sports is near the top of the list. I never dated a sports guy, so I never saw this in my future.

I’ve always had a certain image of men who watch sports on TV. I know a large percentage of the population does it, but my dad doesn’t, so I didn’t grow up with it. Brick doesn’t follow any sports either—although in retrospect, it would’ve been a far less harmful use of his time.

Asshole.

I had Law categorized as a music guy. I do that, categorize people. Not in a mean way, but there are different types of people, and I assumed he was all about music. If you’d asked me to guess his hobby, I literally would’ve guessed music. But who wants their job to be their only interest?

It’s not like I tutored for fun on the weekends when I was teaching. People aren’t that one-dimensional. I know this, yet I’ve had this rigid system of categorizing them for as long as I can remember.

In my defense, my mom’s a realtor, and her hobby is antique fairs and anything to do with home décor. Those things all feel like one category to me. She’s into houses and decorating them. She’s a house person.

Brick is an architect who spent every moment he could working. Of course, I know now that he wasn’t always working. But I believed he was because I had him categorized as a workaholic engineer person. He was just that type.

In reality, I had no idea what type of person he was.

I’m not even sure I know what type of person I am anymore.

But I’m apparently the type who buys overpriced potato chips for her hot and helpful neighbor. He’s a music guy. And a sports guy. And he’s handy under a hood, so I guess that makes him a car guy, too?

He’s still a shitty driver, regardless.

“Knock, knock,” he says as he opens my front door. I unlocked it for him ten minutes ago, assuming he would let himself in since I’m expecting him.

I’ve poured the chips into a bowl. I doubt if he can even tell the difference between these and the store brand if he can’t see the bag. He goes straight for them after he puts his beer in the fridge. I bought him beer, too, but I see no reason to admit that since he brought his own.

I watch him crunch the first chip between his teeth. He smiles. “Good choice.”

“You got lucky. They were on sale.” It’s a lie, but I suddenly feel the need to downplay my acquiescence.

“You writing tonight or watching the game with me?”

“I have never seen a baseball game in my life.”

“Prepare to get hooked.”

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