Page 44 of A Play For The Heart
Me:Yeah. See you then.
I send her the location of the shop where I got her chai tea when we went whale watching, and every ounce of confidence I had to send the text message fluttered away into the abyss. Now I’m standing in my kitchen, attempting not to shit my pants with nervousness. I rush back to my bedroom and start to go through my closet, picking out an outfit. Nothing in my closet screams 'confess feelings to your best friend'. I need something that knocks her boots off but is also comfortable enough to cry in, if necessary. Versatility is key. I decide on a cream, knitted sweater, a pair of navy chinos, and my Nike blazers with the Seattle Maverick blue and silver. No matter the outcome, at least I’ll look good. My chest tightens and my heart begins to pound as I run my fingers through my hair and attempt to manage the curls. Deciding it’s as good as it's going to get, I grab my keys and wallet and head out of the apartment toward the parking garage.
In an hour, I will either be elated with joy or overcome with sadness.
Only time will tell.
I enter the small café and scan the space for Sawyer. People chat amongst themselves and the smell of coffee and sugar floods the space. Plants are scattered around the space and the open ceiling gives the space an industrial vibe. Not spotting her, I locate a table by the entrance that allows for a quick getaway if things go south. I order a chai latte for her and a black coffee for myself, then sit down at the table. I feel just as nervous as I did eight months ago when I had planned on telling Sawyer how I felt at the draft. I feel queasy, sweat drips down my back, and my knee moves up and down fast enough to create a breeze. I am a nervous wreck.
A few moments later, a bell dings above the glass door signaling someone’s arrival. I look up from my phone, and my gaze lands on Sawyer. She spots me and beelines for the table, an enormous smile spreading across her face. She looks like a ray of sunshine. Hair up in a bun, baby hairs sticking out left and right. If the color yellow was a person, it would be my Sawyer. I watch her as she makes her way to the table, my heart skipping a couple of beats at her natural beauty.
She sits down at the table and doesn’t waste a second.
“Oh. My. God. You’ll never guess what I saw on the way here.” She’s already so caught up in her story that she doesn’t notice how ramrod straight I’m sitting or the slight sheen of nervous sweat on my skin. I’m confident I look like I’m about to throw up since that’s exactly how I feel.
“I was walking from the parking garage down the street and—” Before she can get any deeper into her story about her walk to the café, I do the one thing I didn’t want to do. I blurt out exactly what I’m thinking.
“I have feelings for you.”Oh god. Stop talking Henry. My mind tries desperately to shut my mouth, but I keep going, no longer in control. “Lots of them. Which may make our friendship weird, but I can’t sit around and not tell you. It’s been eating me alive,” I ramble out, not taking a breath. The moment the last word leaves my mouth, I feel like I’ve made one massive mistake.
I look at her, hoping to gauge her reaction to my untimely confession. Sawyer is staring at me, her lips parted in shock. She blinks once. Then twice. Another few seconds pass when she does something I never expected. She grabs her bag, stands up out of her seat, turns around, and walks out the café door. She doesn’t say a single word.
As she walks out the door, my stomach plummets, and tears threaten to bloom in my eyes. It feels like someone has taken a sledgehammer to my chest.
I’ve never been a big crier, not that men can’t cry or anything. Fuck the patriarchy. Men should embrace emotions. Tears just haven’t been my first reaction when I’m upset or overwhelmed. However, at this moment, the embarrassment is debilitating. I have no idea what I was thinking telling Sawyer how I felt. No matter the outcome of the confession, not in a million years did I expect her to get up and leave without a word, but the rejection cuts me to my core.
In a span of three sentences, I managed to destroy the most important relationship I have. Tears sting my eyes as I watch the steam rise from her drink, abandoned across from me. Utterly defeated, I collect my things and make my way to leave. If I’m going to cry over this embarrassing, soul-crushing interaction, it’s not going to happen in a coffee shop. It’s going to happen in my car, in a parking garage. Where I can play sad music in peace.
As I begin to rise from my seat, the bell on the door rings again. Subconsciously, I look up. My eyes begin to glance away when they dart back, unbelieving. Standing in the doorway is Sawyer, wide-eyed and panting. She frantically scans the room, eyes landing on me. Guilt flashes over her face as she takes in my appearance. The rejection and sadness must be etched into my features. I shift my eyes downwards, focusing on the pattern of the tile flooring, knowing I can’t stomach her rejecting me with both her actions and her words. A man's heart can only withstand so much, and this is where I reach the end of my rope. I keep my eyes locked on the table, hoping she will take the hint and leave me to wallow in my misery in peace.
Instead, she marches over to me, grabs my hand with a strength I didn’t know she possessed, and pulls me out the front door. My coffee forgotten on the table. I allow her to drag me out the door but as we turn the corner and into an alleyway, my brain catches up with me. If she tries to gently let me down, I won’t recover. So, I pull my hand back, directing my eyes towards my feet, unable to stand the pity in her gaze. Watching her leave was painful but having her come back to let me down is excruciating.
“Sawyer, I—” Before I can get another word out, Sawyer grabs my jaw, tilting my head so I’m looking her in the eyes, and crashes her lips into mine. I stand there in shock, frozen, my lips unmoving against hers. The whiplash of the morning has taken its toll, and I am shell-shocked.
Sawyer pulls back once she realizes I haven’t kissed her back, looking horrified. The same emotions I just felt flutter across her face. Rejection. Disappointment. Embarrassment.
“Oh my god,” Sawyer says, looking alarmed, “I’m so sorry. I just thought—When you said—” She isn't able to get a complete sentence out. Which seems to be a common trait between the two of us. “Henry, I’m so, so, so—”
I cut her off, crushing my lips against hers. She responds instantly, leaning into me and wrapping her arms around my neck, her bag thumping on the ground. The kiss is soft and hesitant at first. I want more. I'm desperate for more. I’m a man lost at sea and her lips are a sailor's song, calling me home. A sudden blast of confidence has me trailing my tongue over her lips, begging for an invitation. She opens for me almost instantly and I deepen the kiss. I nearly groan at the taste of her strawberry chapstick. The taste, sweet and sultry. I spin her around and back her into the wall of the alleyway, leaning my body into hers. Searching for more contact. She drags her nails through my hair, pulling at the ends on the back of my neck, eliciting a groan from my lips.
“Get a room!” someone yells, passing by. The comment breaks the moment and I pull away from Sawyer. We stand there, staring at each other. Sawyer touches her fingers to her lips, almost like she can’t believe what just happened. Her skin is flushed, and her chest moves up and down in time with mine.
She laughs at the passerby, filling the silence. She looks up at me, vulnerability in her eyes. “I like you too, Henry. A lot.” Her hand grazes my jaw and I lean into the touch.
I grin at her declaration, giddiness building in my chest. She likes me.
God, that doesn’t feel real. Sawyer is intome.
The last eight months of having to watch her date Declan and stand on the sidelines wash away with those simple words. The statement feels like a victory of some kind. Makes me feel like the luckiest son of a gun on the planet. Because Sawyer Jones is into me.
I kiss her again, unable to help myself. Now that I can, I plan on making up for the years I couldn’t kiss her or touch her. I should warn her that she accepted a Henry-sized tumor into her life, but I’m too caught up in the feeling of her. I sigh, leaning my forehead against hers, knowing that I have to head to the airport.
“I have to go,” I say, peppering kisses on her lips between words, “for the game against L.A. But when I get back, you and I are going to continue this.”
I give her one more lingering kiss before I grab her bag from the ground and hand it to her, heading to the parking garage where I left my car. I peer back to where I left Sawyer. She’s just standing there, hands on her lips, a grin taking over her face.
I continue towards my car, unable to shake the smile from my face.
CHAPTER 21
