Page 59 of Lovely War
“You have nothing to be sorry for, but I have something I need to say.”
He winces. “If you don’t want an apology, I’d rather not relive that excruciating moment again, thanks.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “I meant what I said last night. I’m not going to make this awkward. I’m glad we’re friends.”
“I’mgoing to make this awkward,” I say. “I’m trying to tell you—I didn’t stop you because I didn’t want it to happen.” I bite my lip. “I want it to happen.”
Our eyes lock and a thrill charges screaming through mychest as I watch him reach a sonnet-worthy conclusion:It’s on.I give him an opening to respond. “Go on,” he says slowly.
“I stopped you because—I’m bad at this.”
“Kissing?”
I roll my eyes. “Normally I’m an impulsive person. But I overthought it. You caught me off-guard, and I panicked.”
“I don’t know whether to be relieved or insulted that how I’ve been feeling wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world.”
I swivel back and forth in my chair. “I’d be happy to critique your game later. But for now I just want to say that if you want to try again sometime, I promise I won’t run the other way.”
He laughs. “Oh, no. No. That’s not how this is going to work.” He puts a hand to his heart. “My pride is wounded. You’re going to have to be the one to make a move on me.”
“Wow. You’re going to milk it, are you?” I fold my arms. “Okay, that seems fair.”
“And not now. Not here. Unlike you, I like surprises.”
“You want me to surprise you?”
He grabs the door handle, his dark eyes hot and playful. “Sweep me off my feet, Radford. I deserve it.”
It’s not goingto happen this evening because it’s the last home game of the season. Senior Night, when JGE and Gallimore and a couple of the student managers are honored during halftime. There are no postseason home games, so it’s the last time they’ll ever play on this court.
There are flowers and a nice little speech from Coach Thomas. Proud families and friends stand courtside. We winby a large margin, and Thomas pulls both seniors out with five minutes to go so they can receive one last standing ovation from the crowd. I get great footage during the postgame press conference, where both seniors get teary-eyed talking about the end of their college careers. I can’t imagine the team without them, but in a few months JGE will start his fellowship and Gallimore will likely be playing in Europe.
It’s my lucky night. JJ Jones sidles up to me as everyone trickles out afterward. He’s wearing no socks but like, seven shirts, their varying necklines and collars arranged in elaborate layers around his neck like the plumage of a showy bird.
“Champion vibes,” he proclaims. “You guys seem unstoppable.”
“Still a long way to go.” I shrug and busy myself with my camera case. Eric walks toward me from the front of the room, but when he sees JJ he freezes.Rescue me,I plead with my eyes.
“And you. Everyone is talking about you. Even my boss’s boss wanted to know who’s making Ardwyn’s hype videos this season. And he’s big-time. He was like, ‘JJ, who’s making Ardwyn’s hype videos this season?’ And I told him, ‘Oh, it’s my buddy, this girl Annie Radford.’ And he was like, ‘Wow, next level.’ And he’s right.”
“Thanks, JJ.” I give him a guilty smile. It is a nice story, if you ignore the delivery and only pay attention to the content.
“Annie, I need to talk to you,” Eric finally cuts in. “I heard what he said.” He lowers his voice as we walk away. “He may be a doofus, but he knows what he’s talking about. You’ve impressed all of college basketball. I told you that you belong here.”
He did, about a million times. On multiple occasions overthe years. When he offered me the job. When I took it, when I got here, when I doubted my decision. He’s never stopped telling me. And for the first time, I’m starting to think he may be right.
I have thebarest sketch of a plan for the next day. After work, I’ll invite Ben out to dinner, and I’ll jump him on the walk to the employee parking lot. No need to overcomplicate things.
I spend more time trying to choose an outfit than anything. I want to wear something that doesn’t scream “I’m here to see a man about a kiss” but does kind of whisper it. It also has to be something that won’t draw attention at work. The last thing I need is anyone asking whether I have a date.
I end up in a maroon dress with a bow at the neck, black tights, and loafers, and the only thing Eric says about it is “Is that ribbon holding your head on?” which is the best I could’ve hoped for.
My mistake is not telling Ben the plan. I’m trying to be cool and mysterious, because he wants to be surprised, after all. But then he screws the whole thing up by leaving work at five o’clock.
“Do you know if he’s coming back?” I ask, leaning casually on the reception desk as Donna packs up for the night. “I need his help with something.”
Donna shoots my elbows a suspicious look. “Who? I’m not a mind reader.”
Smooth. Subtle. “Sorry! I meant Ben.”
