Page 126 of Plays Well With Others

I groan to the ends of the earth. No wonder she re-drew the friendship line in the sand on that call.

This is all my fault.

I laid down the friendship rules in the first place, and all she did today was follow them. But I’ve already broken them. I don’t want to be just friends with her. I want to be just everything.

But she won’t know that till I, spoiler alert: say it. And say it with all the feelings.

I grab my phone, duck into a hallway near the restrooms, and dial her. She doesn’t answer. I try again a few minutes later. It goes straight to voicemail.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

Maybe she thinks something is wrong, but Ididdo something wrong. And it’s not forgetting I had a whole damn dinner tonight and golf game tomorrow.

It’s that I waited for the perfect moment. I tried to set up a perfect date. I tried to execute a perfect play.

But sometimes you have to call an audible. There is no perfect timing in football, or in life. Sometimes you have to make your chances.

Maybe I can have it both ways. As I return to the guys, I google flights. Perhaps I can fly home late tonight after dinner, see her and explain, then get back out here in the morning for the golf game.

Yeah. That’s what a fucking awesome boyfriend would do.

And that’s who I am.

I check the flights. But then I groan. The earliest flight that could get back here would be landing at seven. And we have an eight a.m. tee time.

If the flight is late, I’m fucked.

It’s fine. It’s totally fine. I’ll just see her tomorrow. I put the phone away and deal with the here and now.

* * *

When I return to my room later that evening, I try her again. Voicemail. Fucking voicemail. I grip the phone, wanting to chuck it at the wall. I’m really going to have to fix this shit big time.

I move my afternoon flight tomorrow a couple hours earlier, then I order her flowers to arrive first thing tomorrow morning.

Her favorite—wildflowers.

Then I add chocolates too.

* * *

I wake up to an email from the flower company saying the vase was left in the foyer since no one was home.

Where the hell is Rachel?

I try her one more time. It’s the crack of dawn, and I hear it in her voice when she answers. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Where are you? I sent you flowers?”

She yawns. “There were some problems with the Los Angeles store. My manager quit, so I flew here late last night. I’m staying at Ellie’s house,” she says, barely awake. “But I should get up and head to the store. I have an interview with a possible new manager soon. I’ll be back tomorrow night.”

Jesus. Now I’ve woken her up. And she’s having business problems. She mentioned the trouble with the manager. My timing could not be any worse.

But tomorrow night is too long to wait. I say goodbye and I do the thing I didn’t do yesterday.

I’m done waiting.

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