Page 38 of Plays Well With Others

But man, that’s a tough lesson all right. I wish I’d sniffed out the jerk sooner. Sensed it at the wedding and objected before she said I do instead of clapping when the happy couple walked down the aisle together, hand in hand.

Then again, even astute outsiders don’t always see the signs. Monroe had thought Quinn wasgood people—those were his exact words after we all went to a baseball game together. Even Axel, who has the bullshit detector of a bloodhound, liked my ex when we all played poker on one of his visits. I loved her so much I thought I’d marry her. Then boom, see you later.

Still, an idea has sprouted in my mind, pushing determinedly up from the past. What if Rachel had never met Edward after we’d finished college? What if I hadn’t ventured down the serial monogamy path several years ago? What if something else had happened six or seven years ago, the morning she muttered about pancakes when she slept over?

Settle down, man.Settle the fuck down.

Rachel’s a friend and that’s that. She was in my life way back when I was fifteen, and she’ll be around when I’m thirty-five.

And Quinn is history. So is Edward.

There is nowhat if.

* * *

Soon we leave, thanking Elodie on the way out. We head over to Puzzle Nerds in Noe Valley to pick up theOne Mammal’s Trashpuzzle.

On the drive back, I say, “Puzzle club? Next week? I’m pretty busy with practice and then we travel this weekend.”

“Your game’s in New York.” she says, and I wonder if she knows my schedule by heart.

“It is. I can see you Tuesday though.”

“It’s a plan,” she says.

A plan, not a date.

Too bad. That’s just…a little too bad.

When I reach her home, I pull up to the curb, then cut the engine. For a split second, I debate my options—say goodbye here or hop out and walk her to the door.

It’d be easier for me if I stayed here in the car.

But it’s nighttime in the city and that’s douchey.

I get out and walk her to the steps. But I don’t go up them. I’d want to kiss her too much if we got to the front door.

Great first dates have that effect.

* * *

Later, when I’m home alone, I’m restless. More restless than I usually am at the end of the day.

I’m wanting things I can’t have.

Things I shouldn’t have.

Things that could ruin this long-standing friendship.

When I flop into bed, I check my phone once more, out of habit, reviewing my calendar for tomorrow.

But something else tugs at my brain. Something more interesting. A distant possibility.

It’s ridiculous, but I do it anyway, clicking over to Date Night.

When I open Rachel’s profile, I smile stupidly over the words she’s added.

Seeking pro baller who loves chocolate.

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