Page 42 of Play the Last Track
A smile tweaks at my lips, and I hate that I want to laugh. I hate that without even trying, he’s starting to understand me and read my moods. I don’t even know when I let him in, but he’s in, and he’s not leaving.
Me:It’s football season. The bar is busy.
I tap my fingers on the bartop before replying to him again.
Me:Have a safe flight, and good luck with the game.
Flynn:I know you’ll be watching, being the manager of a sports bar and all. I’ll make sure to give you a shout-out when I score.
I laugh, closing the text chain. The man is ridiculous.
I rest my cheek against my palm and look over the patrons in the bar. It’s a quiet night, a hockey game is on the TV screens, but it’s not a Boston team, so they’re barely watching. Before we started this fake dating charade, Flynn would be in here most nights. He’d order a burger and a beer. He’d sit in a booth with his phone propped up, watching game tapes. He’d also watch me.
I always felt his eyes on me, and now that they’re gone, I’m finding that I miss them. He's only come back to the bar after the fight. I’m not sure if it’s because of Hollie and her directive, or if he simply doesn’t want to. Or, maybe it’s because he sees me at home.
Who knows.
I miss him, though. I didn’t realize how … special it made me feel, wanted even, when he was here each night. I ignored him, I avoided eye contact, and I threw him nasty glares, but he kept coming back. He kept coming up with ways to talk to me. He kept staring at me. In the four months between Italy and the bar fight, Flynn became a constant in my life, and I didn’t even realize it.
I open the text thread with him, my fingers hovering over the screen as I think about what to say. What is there to say?
I miss you, but I hate that I miss you.
I want you to kiss me again, but I think I’ll have a meltdown if you do.
I swipe up and out of it, going for the YouTube app on my phone. When it loads, it almost crashes while loading all of the notifications. I swipe through some of them. My cover of ‘Better Man’ has blown up. Just over a million views and still counting. My other, older videos are creeping up as well. I smile a little and refresh the screen. More subscribe notifications pop up.
This channel started as my release for when I needed to play music. It is a safe space that is mine, and mine alone. Now, according to the comments, it’s others’ safe space too, and I think I’m okay with that.
***
Flynn:Did you see my celebration of the touchdown in the 4th quarter?
Me:You mean the incredibly cheesy wink and the kiss you blew toward the camera?
Flynn:That was all for you.
Me:And everyone else who was watching the game.
Flynn:But you watched, and that celebration was for you.
Me:*eye roll emoji*
Flynn:Are you home?
Me:No, at the bar working, why?
I watch the three dots appear and disappear twice before Flynn goes silent. I tap my nails against the bar and stare at my phone. Nothing.
Damn it.
Ever since he messaged and called me a liar on Friday night, we’ve been texting. One long, non-stop conversation. Sometimes, when I don’t know what to say and leave him on read for too long, he’ll just text me something random, likeWhat’s your favorite pasta?and change the subject. It’s been the longest conversation I’ve probably ever had over text, and I’ve been smiling at my damn phone all weekend. Every time I see his name on my phone, I jump for it.
On Sunday, I leaned on the bar for the entirety of the Broncos game against Texas. Ivy came by to watch it with me, both of us glued to the game. I caught the wink. I caught the kiss blown. Knowing it was for me like he’d said, my face turned the same color as a tomato, and I had to go sit in the walk-in fridge in the kitchen until it went down.
It is becoming very inconvenient because I’m always checking my phone and waiting for his reply. After Grant, I promised myself never again. After Italy, I promised myself never again with Flynn. He was a rebound. I was supposed to look back on my one-night stand with him with fondness, but I was supposed to be realistic.
Smiling at my phone and waiting for his text is so far from realistic.
