Page 91 of Can't Help Falling

He stood practically in the middle of her hallway, three feet away from her, his hands loose at his sides and looking a little untethered from the bonds of gravity. She wouldn’t have been surprised to look down and see his shoes untied. They weren’t. Because this was Tyler, but still. The man looked a little off-kilter.

“Did you know that I talked my editor into letting me write more freely?” he asked without preamble.

“Oh. No. I didn’t know that. You mean that you won’t have to write the play-by-plays of the games anymore?” She squinted at him, trying to keep up with the unexpected beginning to an unexpected conversation.

“Right. I mean, I’ll still have to keep up with the team. But I get to write a lot more of what I want. Not exactly whatever I want. But pretty damn close. It’s probationary. Contingent on me actually having something to say.”

She cocked her head to one side, leaning in her own doorway, trying to figure out why the hell he was backing away from her. He was almost standing on the welcome mat of the door on the opposite side of the hall at this point. “Ty, you wanna come in?”

He barreled on as if he hadn’t heard her question. “And Kylie’s gone for two days, so I figured I’d have no interruptions. I’d bang this article out, knock my editor’s socks off and I’d be well on my way toward this new facet of my career. You know, a beat writer who waxes philosophical on the role of sports in our society.”

“Ty.”

“Do you know how meaty that subject is? Especially in this day and age? There’s so many angles. Athletes as celebrities, influencers. The role of an athlete in his or her community. Political movements. Whether or not professional athletes should be taking a stand when it comes to the exploitation of college athletes. Racial politics in sports. Gender inequality. God, there’s enough there for me to write novels!”

He dragged a hand through his hair and then put both hands on his hips. That curmudgeonly look was full force, and his eyes were narrowed as they finally zeroed in on her face. “You know how much I’ve written today, Fin?”

She knew a trick question when she heard one and wisely kept her button buttoned.

He answered the question for her. “Nada. Zero. No, that’s wrong. I wrote two words. I wrote my fucking name at the top of the Word doc like it’s my sophomore-year book report.”

“Tyler.”

“Did I kiss you or did you kiss me?”

Ah. And here they were, at the heart of the matter. Speaking of hearts, Fin’s had decided to flip upside down in her chest.

She let out a sound, a “who knows” sort of exhalation and watched the look on his face turn even more confused.

So, maybe she didn’t know what she wanted from Tyler, but she had a pretty good idea of what she didn’t want. And him standing in her hallway looking freaking bamboozled was what she didn’t want.

“Tyler, why don’t you come in out of my hallway, all right?”

To her surprise, he took another step backward. Any farther from her and he’d be ringing her neighbor’s doorbell with his tookus.

“No.” He shook his head. “Nuh-uh. I’m staying right here.”

Now he wasn’t the only one feeling bamboozled. She put her hands on her hips, drawing her brow. “Someone’s feeling particularly obstinate today.”

“No. This isn’t obstinance.” His voice, in order to reach her across the hall, was a touch louder than it should have been in her normally quiet hallway. “I—If I’m the one who kissed you then I’m sure as hell not barging into your house and demanding information from you. I’ll demand information from you out here in the hallway where you can slam the door in my face if you want.”

He...was giving her an out. He’d come all the way over to her house for answers but wasn’t going to push her for said answers. He was shouting to her across the hall so that he wouldn’t crowd her. How ridiculous. How Tyler. Her heart flipped back over, but somehow she didn’t think it had landed back in quite the right place.

“Let me get this straight,” she said slowly, still leaning in her doorway, her arms crossed and one foot balancing on the other. “You’re yelling about our personal business in my hallway, in front of my neighbor’s door, in order to make me more comfortable?”

He let out an adorably exasperated huff, tugging a hand through his floppy hair again and making it stand up straight for just a moment before it flopped right back down. “Well, when you put it that way.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. She’d never seen him so flustered and she kind of loved it.

“Tyler, come into my house. I promise I’ll have no problem kicking you out if I want you to leave, all right? You don’t have to worry about crowding me.”

A reluctant expression on his face, he seemed to weigh his options out there on her neighbor’s doormat. After a moment, he sighed and then walked into her apartment, sliding his shoes off and hanging up his coat. He wore a V-neck sweater and slacks, and even with that ornery expression on his face, looked like he’d just come from a shoot for some business-casual magazine. His picture would be featured over an article entitled: “From Boating to Business, 8 Pairs of Loafers That Can Do It All.”

She closed the door and when she turned back to him, he was looking at her, really looking, and the ornery expression had faded.

“What?” she asked, trying to decipher that helplessly pained look he was wearing.

“You have a ponytail.”

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