Page 18 of The Import Slot
I pull clothes from my wardrobe, tossing them into the open suitcases I’ve put on the floor when my phone pings with a message from Becca. I flop down on my bed and call her instead of texting to fill her in, starting with my encounter with Ryan and what he said in the car.
“So, he actually said you were his type?” she asks.
I know she’s Googling his name as we speak.
“Yeah, well, he specifically said ‘brunettes excited about his car’, which was me moments before, so it was him saying that, wasn’t it?”
“This is exciting. He’s hot. Have you had a proper look at him online yet? I’m just browsing his Insta now. He’s got over 500,000 followers, and he’s only following four hundred people.”
“Don’t you think it’s a bit forward? I’ve only just met the guy,” I say.
“Not at all. Now look!” she says impatiently.
“Two secs, let me put you on speaker.” I tap the speakerphone button and navigate to Instagram, narrating my actions for Becca.
“FUCK. ME.” I almost surprise myself. I turned my notifications off weeks ago to avoid Nathan-related posts, so what stares back at me is unexpected.
“What?” Becca demands.
“He’s sent me a follower request,” I say.
“Oh, he does fancy you. Accept. Accept!” she says, excitement bubbling in her voice.
In a moment of madness, I accept, hit follow, and click on his profile. He’s not got much on there for someone with over 500,000 followers. The latest post is one from today. The image of him next to the car. It must be that one Vicky was on about. I give it a like. The one of him at the airport seems popular too. He looks fresh and handsome. Damn him. I scroll down a bit, Becca still on the line, narrating.
“Oh, this must be his brother,” I say, telling Becca roughly where to find the photo. “Wait—he’s a twin?!”
“He definitely is. Looks like his brother plays hockey, too. I’ll Google him later,” she says. “Got to say though Jen, you know they always say there’s a better looking twin? Liam is not it.”
I pause on the photo, then click on the tagged profile, bringing up his brother’s page. It’s full of girls, partying, and general debauchery, with not a lot of hockey-related content. This is a stark contrast to Ryan’s profile, and then I spot a familiar face amongst the snaps. I select the photo and examine it. Liam and Vicky look very comfortable together; they’re in a club, in front of one of those foliage wall coverings with a neon sign that reads ‘Club Tropicana’. Are they on holiday together? No, but they’re in Canada, according to the tagged location. It’s a post from last year, but Vicky’s profile hasn’t been tagged.
I click back to Ryan’s profile and carry on scrolling down. There are some general shots of him at promotion events, but the one that sticks out is a shot of him at the NHL Draft event. He’s wearing a Jets jersey and hat, surrounded by official-looking men. He looks so proud of himself. I’m proud of him too. Is it weird that I’m proud of someone who’s a stranger? I’m lost in this photo when Becca reminds me she’s still on the line.
“Go for it, Jen!” she says.
“Go for what?” I ask, already knowing what ‘it’ is.
“Just ask him out,” she says.
“I can’t do that. I hardly know the guy.” But it feels like I know him already. It’s weird.
“How do you expect to get to know him otherwise?” Becca asks. She has a point.
“Okay, fine. I want to, but I can’t,” I say.
“Why not?” she says.
“He can’t actually like me, can he?”
I’ve always had difficulty believing someone could like me like that. I think of that time in school when a boy approached me in the yard and told me that his friend fancied me. There was no friend, just a few boys who laughed as if it was the most hilarious thing ever.
“And Danny has advised me not to go there,” I say.
“Danny knows nothing. He can keep his nose out. He doesn’t know what he’s saying,” she says.
“Besides, he’s only here for this season. Let’s say he was genuinely interested; he’s returning to Canada at the end of the season, and I’ll never see him again. I don’t think I want a casual relationship,” I say, sounding like I’m trying to convince myself it’s a bad idea.
Becca is silent for a moment before giving me further encouragement. “Sounds like you’re self-sabotaging before anything has even started. I’m assuming you don’t know his plans after the season?” she asks.
