The Romantics(54)

“Here, man. Enjoy it,” the guy said sarcastically.

Gael smiled at the fresh bottle of hot sauce and threw an extra buck in the tip jar.

He grabbed the bottle and pushed his way to the back. “Sorry that took so long,” he said, as Cara sat up straight and brushed off the table with a napkin. “I had to ask them to get a fresh hot sauce out of the back.”

“Oh.” She tilted her head to the side, but she didn’t say anything, just looked at him. Finally: “You didn’t have to do that.”

Gael shrugged. “I know how you love your hot sauce. I didn’t want to disappoint.”

“Still,” she said. “I could have survived without it.”

Gael flipped the lid open and doused the chips with Valentina’s. “You could have, but you shouldn’t have to.”

She broke into a smile, one that was contagious. He smiled, too.

She didn’t touch the nachos, just looked at him. “You know,” she said. “It’s almost November. No real harm in . . . err . . . pretending it’s already here.”

Gael felt his heart beat faster, and he couldn’t tell if he was just nervous or what. Was it the shots? he wondered. Had she really had more than one after all? She was being so forward all of a sudden.

(Homegirl didn’t need alcohol to be forward. She was a Serial Monogamist. And her vow was almost up.) “Uhh,” he stalled.

“What?” she asked.

“Wouldn’t you rather say you made it the whole month?” He forced a smile.

Cara shrugged, popped a chip in her mouth. “Honestly, I don’t really care.”

He thought of what Sammy had said. A whole month without dating someone!

Wasn’t it just a tad ridiculous that she wasn’t even committed to going the whole month?

“I don’t want to be on your friends’ shitlist,” he stammered, trying to buy himself some time. “So how about we hang out on Friday?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to deduce what he really meant. But Cara wasn’t the type to let a little hesitation on someone’s part hold her back. Serial Monogamists don’t really roll that way.

“All right,” she said. “It’s a date.”





love and frisbee golf


The next day after school, Gael tossed his Frisbee toward the wire mesh basket of the fourth hole with avid precision. Just east of campus, Gael and Mason’s favorite Frisbee golf course was technically part of UNC, but no one had ever given them a hard time about being there.

Gael had managed to make it home from the Franklin Street Halloween celebration relatively unscathed (and without any more uncomfortable overtures from Cara). They’d finished up their nachos, walked back toward campus, and parted at the post office, Gael trying not to think too much about the last girl he’d parted ways with at that very spot.

When Gael got home, his mom had seemed a little miffed when he didn’t want to tell her anything about his night—she always stayed up late watching scary movies on Halloween and was waiting eagerly when he got in the door. But he knew if he so much as looked at her too long, he might lose it. And he’d promised his dad he wouldn’t tell.

With so much bouncing around in his head, he practically jumped at Mason’s invitation to play Frisbee golf. And as much as he was still not fully over what Mason had done, he had to admit that doing something normal with Mason, especially after all the drama yesterday with his dad, felt pretty damn good.

The Frisbee clanked against the metal pole and fell to the ground. Close, but no cigar.

“The hole in one evades you, my friend,” Mason said.

It was properly cold out today, and they both wore UNC sweatshirts they’d bought together at Student Stores the previous fall.

“Since when do you say ‘evades’?” Gael asked, laughing.

Mason shrugged, then tossed his Frisbee without much focus. It landed a good twenty feet from the basket. Frisbee golf was the one thing that Gael had always excelled at over Mason. Last fall, they probably played twice a week, but Mason never could get his wrist to stay straight when he threw it. It was a nerdy sport to be good at, but it was fun.

This fall, of course, they hadn’t played at all until now.

Gael traipsed across the grass, kicking and crunching the leaves in his wake, Mason at his heels. He grabbed his Frisbee from where it had landed right next to the goal and plunked it in the basket. “A hole in two,” he said. “Also not terrible.”

Mason proceeded to toss the Frisbee too short and too far, as he always did, inevitably losing count of his number of shots. Finally, he just grabbed it, walked it to the basket, and pushed it in forcefully.

“Everything okay?” Gael asked. It wasn’t like Mason to care about Frisbee golf.

Mason shrugged. “Anika’s being weird,” he said.

Gael raised his eyebrows. “Think she might be hooking up with your best friend? Oh, wait. I’m right here.”

I probably should have said former, Gael thought. But then again, maybe he shouldn’t have.

Mason rolled his eyes. “Very funny.” He grabbed his Frisbee out of the basket and began to twirl it in his hands. “I think she was pissed that I didn’t follow her stupid plan to get us all back together at lunch.”