Page 6 of The Reality of Wanting Him

“Hello, I’m LM,” the mystery contestant introduces themself. The voice changer has everyone sounding like a robot.

“Hey, L. I’m BB,” I say.

Let’s see if I’m talking to the person of my dreams.

4

LIAM

Producer:“What scares you most about dating?”

Liam:“Being treated like my partner’s second choice.”

Iglance at BB’s vibe board in front of me, and at first, it looks promising.Fall?Great, who doesn’t love a crisp autumn day? It’s my favorite season, too.Dogs?Cute.Tacos?Yes, obviously. But then…football. My stomach twists.

Growing up, I was never a fan of sports. I played soccer and basketball because I felt like I was supposed to—all my friends did. But I quickly realized it wasn’t for me. I tried for a couple of years until I finally had the courage to sit my dad down and tell him I didn’t want to play. I gave it a shot, but I’ve always preferred to spend my time with my dad on the farm. He was, of course, incredibly understanding and happy to let me quit if I didn’t enjoy playing anymore.

Now, as an adult, the idea of spending my weekends glued to a TV watching grown men chase a ball?Absolutely not. It’s just so… pointless. I’d still prefer to spend mytime outside on the farm, digging in the garden, washing produce, and hanging out with the chickens in the quiet.

And beyond just a general dislike, football carries some baggage for me.

This is my tenth date out of seventeen. We only get ten minutes per date today, which is just enough time to decide if there’s a spark. I’ve already got a short list of people I’d like to talk to again, and the last date with JR was probably my easiest and most natural connection so far.

I promised myself I’d keep an open mind throughout this entire experience since it feels like my last real shot at intentionally trying to find love. So, unless someone is waving red flags all over the place, I’ll say yes to a second date—just like Andy requested.

“Hi, L, tell me about the farm vibes, is that a design thing?” BB leads with.

“Well, I live on a farm, so it’s pretty much my whole life. We have produce and chickens; I love it.”

“That’s so cool, I love animals, but I don’t have any experience with ones who live on a farm.”

I pause to see if they’ll say anything else, but it’s quiet so I guess it’s my turn for a question.

“Tell me about yourself, B. Why fall?” I ask, mirroring their question by picking something from their vibe board.

“It’s always been my favorite season,” BB replies. “I grew up in the city, but every fall, I’d tag along with my best friend’s family, and we’d all drive out to a farm to pick pumpkins. It’s one of my favorite memories. And, of course, it’s football season.” Their short laugh sounds distorted by the voice changer, but it’s obviously there.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes because I set myself up for this by asking about fall, but I manage to hold back becausecameras.

“I know it might sound silly, but football’s always been morethan a game to me,” B continues. “Most of my best memories with my dad and friends are because of football. Sundays I’m with my friends, watching football, strategizing fantasy leagues, and just being around people who feel like family. I love how it brings people together.”

It sounds like they chuckle again, but my mind is spinning over the fact this sounds all too familiar. The last time I dated someone who was into sports, specifically football, I got my heart broken. I didn’t even know I was “the other guy” until over a year in. When I confronted my ex about cheating on me, he claimed he’d been “figuring himself out” while never breaking up with his long-distance girlfriend. He’d said I helped him understand himself better and that I should be flattered he chose me to experiment with.

What a fucking asshole.

Right now, all I can think about with all this football talk is how I spent my weekends back then pretending to care about the game, because I thought that was what you did when you loved someone. I wanted to be what he needed, but when he finally got caught, he had no problem going back to his high-school sweetheart like I never existed.

Fuck that.That clearly wasn’t love. It took me a long time to even want to trust someone again, and as much as I know being attracted to men is nothing to be ashamed of or hide, the fear of another jock using me as some sort of experiment is one I can’t quite shake.

Truthfully, I don’t know if I could spend weekends on the couch watching a game I don’t care about again, even if it was with someone else.

“Uh, that’s a lot of football,” I say, forcing a polite laugh, which probably sounds robotic coming through the other side. “So, you’re a diehard fan then?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess so,” B answers. “Football’s always been important to me. I love the energy, the strategy, watching guysput everything on the line for a win. The games are so fun in person too. Have you ever been tailgating? I actually have season tickets for a few of the different sports teams in the city. Going to the games is, like, my favorite thing to do.”

“I can’t say that I have,” I respond feeling defeated and almost grateful they can’t hear my voice. Every word they’re saying is bringing back an all-too-familiar feeling like déjà vu.

It’s not fair, I know. B is not my ex, I’m positive of that because they have different initials, and last I saw, my ex was married to his then-girlfriend. B hasn’t done anything wrong, but sitting here, listening to them talk so passionately and enthusiastically about football brings back that buried ache of not being good enough, even though my therapist told me that situation had nothing to do with me. I’ve worked hard to get past that relationship, to stop seeing myself as someone who could be used like that.

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