Page 6 of A Play For The Heart
Snatching my bag and fleeing towards the exit as fast as humanly possible, Declan shoots me a saccharine smile. “I’ll tell Sawyer you said hello tonight when I see her.”
He knows exactly what he’s doing when he says shit like that, which only adds to my theory that he knew about my feelings for Sawyer and just chose to go and break the bro-code anyway. There is something sacred about the bro-code and he took it and drop-kicked it out the window.
Since they started dating, Declan has constantly made subtle comments about Sawyer in an attempt to get under my skin. The worst part is it works. He’s burrowed deep in there and as hard as I try, I can’t dig him out. Jack shoots me a questioning look as I beeline for the door, not dignifying Declan’s comment with a response.
I quickly walk out of the practice facility, into the parking lot, and flop into the driver’s seat of my black BMW. Leaning my head back against the leather headrest, I exhale a ragged breath, releasing all the built-up tension from having to interact with Declan.
I hate that asshole.
Unlocking the door and stepping into my apartment, I unceremoniously drop my gym bag by the threshold, kick off my shoes, and throw my keys on the entryway table. I’m halfway to the kitchen when my phone dings.
Sawyer:What are you doing
this weekend?
Me:We have a bye this week,
so nothing.
Unless you have an idea…
Sawyer:My new roomie told me
about a whale watching tour.
We should go.
I remember a promise being made…
Me:I’m not one to
break my promises.
Sawyer:Great, it’s a date :)
My stomach plummets as I read her text and I sigh, setting my phone down on the kitchen island. Disappointment rushes through me. It’s not a date in the way I want it to be. I hoped that six months of only speaking on the phone would dull the feelings I have for her. That the lack of proximity to her would rewire my brain and the feelings would magically disappear. If anything, they’ve gotten stronger. Distance. Heart. Fondness. Whatever the saying is. And to add fuel to the dumpster fire that is my love life, she has no idea that I even feel anything at all. This unrequited love thing is total bullshit.
I shuffle around the kitchen, grabbing what I need to make my post-practice smoothie. The kitchen has to be my favorite part of my apartment, but that’s because I know Sawyer would love it. I know how it looks. I’m sappy and so in love with someone, I bought an apartment based on what she would like in a kitchen. Not my finest moment, but I won't apologize for it.
A large granite island sits at the center, and it’s equipped with new, top-of-the-line, stainless steel appliances. It’s every baker’s dream kitchen. I even splurged on some fancy kitchen mixer in case she decided she wanted to make her famous chocolate chip cookies here. Hell will freeze over before I turn down one of those cookies and if an outrageously expensive mixer is what it costs to convince her to make them for me, it’s worth every single penny.
Now that I've thought about cookies, my smoothie feels like a disappointment. I toss all the ingredients into the blender and dig through the cupboard looking for my favorite smoothie cup. I pull the bright yellow cup from the shelf and grin at the smiley faces covering the outside.
Would things be different if I had admitted how I felt that night?
Pushing that painful thought away for what’s probably the thousandth time, I pour the smoothie into the cup, leaving the blender in the sink to clean later. I meander towards the couch where I plan on spending the next several hours trying to come up with a game plan so that I don’t fall further in love with my best friend.
Not likely to happen, but a guy can dream.
I grab the remote from the coffee table and turn on the TV. Scrolling for what seems like ages, I decide on an action movie. I don’t plan on paying attention and the last thing I need is to get confused halfway because I was daydreaming and missed most of the plot. Settling deeper into the couch, I pull a throw blanket off the back and wrap myself up like a burrito. About halfway through the movie, my phone dings again.
Hoping it's Sawyer, I fling myself out of my cocoon, press pause on the remote, and snatch the phone off the couch to read the text. As fast as elation floods me, disappointment follows.
Jack:Are we going to talk about what went
down in the locker room earlier?
Groaning, I respond.
