This Is Falling(63)

“So what are you hoping to do when you’re done? Run a gallery or something?” I ask, doing my best to steer the conversation back to those moments before his forearms and my gawking.

“Me? Galleries? No, that’s not really my thing. It’s going to sound awful, but…I like the money behind art,” he says, wincing a little at his confession.

“Yeah, that does sound bad. Like, a thief? Or, what…you want to run auctions or a pawn shop?”

“No,” he chuckles. “More like appraisals and high-end art dealing. I like that fact that art is a commodity. And I think it would be a fun business to be a part of—that’s all.”

I take in everything he says, and when he puts it that way, it does make sense. The only reason art is something I could major in is because of the value it brings to the economy. It’s all well and good to think that we appreciate the arts for their intrinsic value, and I truly do. But I wouldn’t be able to if someone somewhere didn’t pay for it.

“Okay, I’m down with your career plan. As long as it funds mine,” I smile big and hold out my fist. Tucker just laughs and then gives me knuckles.

“Deal,” he says, holding the gate open for the tennis courts. “All right, so take it easy on me, okay? I’m more of the lift-heavy-things kind of athlete. I might not be too much competition right away, but I’m a quick study.”

“Sure. I’ll take it easy,” I say, winking at him as I pull my racket from its zipper bag. And damn…I’m flirting again.





Tucker wasn’t as bad as he said he was. I did win every set, but he took a few games to deuce, and they weren’t easy wins. An hour of playing had me exhausted, but my head was finally starting to clear up, and now all I could think about was getting back home so I could get ready to go to Nate’s game tonight. I needed to see him, and I needed to talk to him after his game—tell him how much he meant to me, whether or not he said it back.

“Right, so you kicked my ass,” Tucker says, pulling his shirt up to wipe the sweat from his brow. Instead of looking, I focus on my racket and my barely untied shoelace—anything but his bare stomach and abs.

“Nah, you held your own. You have nothing to be ashamed of with that performance out there,” I say, feeling my cheeks burn at how my words came out. I sound like I’m gushing.

“So, what’s on tap for the rest of Rowe’s day?” he asks.

“Oh, not much. Just heading over to the baseball game tonight with a few of my friends,” I say, instantly regretting it.

“Yeah? They play this early? I didn’t think the season started until spring.” All I want is for some great fix to land in my lap, but there isn’t one. And I’ve already established that I’m crap at lying.

“It’s a tournament. They have a few in the fall, just to keep the athletes prepped,” I say, trying to stand and signal that I’m ready to leave through my body language. I’m stuck somewhere between wanting to be polite and rude; I think this whole thing would be easier if Tucker weren’t so damned good looking, and if Nate were really my boyfriend—like the kind that says he loves me, and introduces me to his ex-girlfriend as his current girlfriend.

“Cool. Well, maybe I’ll see ya there later then,” he says, unrolling the cord on his iPod while he backs away. All I can do is nod, smile, and wave goodbye.





Cass thinks it’s hilarious when I tell her I may have accidentally invited "hottie-ab-man,” as she calls him, to Nate’s baseball game.

“Rowe, Nate’s literally going to shit himself. Like, I mean, he’s going to walk out there on that field, turn around and see you talking to Ab-man, and then shit his pants. And then he’s probably going to climb up into the stands and pummel this guy,” she says, and I know she’s sort of right. But I can’t really do anything now. I don’t even have Tucker’s number, and I don’t know his last name to look him up.

“What’s all the fussy fuss,” Ty says as he enters our room. That’s Ty’s new favorite term for my issues with Nate—fussy fuss. I’d feel offended if it weren’t an absolutely spot-on description of it all. Fussy fuss. I am sick of fussy fuss.

“Rowe invited that dude, that makes Nate crazy, to his baseball game,” Cass blurts out before I can stop her.

“Oh, damn. Rowe? Not cool. I mean you’re f*cking with baseball again. Not cool,” Ty says, turning his back to me, and shaking his head with his arms out. I look at Cass, hoping for backup on this one, but she’s quick to take Ty’s side, too.

“Yeah, Rowe. I’m with him on this one. Not cool,” she says, sticking out her tongue at me and laughing. She’s finding this whole thing terribly entertaining, but meanwhile, I want to dig a hole, a really deep hole, and push my head inside and cover it in dirt. I’d be content to hide there, eating dirt, for the next two hours.

“Well, let’s go get this over with. It should be interesting,” Ty says, waiting for me at the door.

“What if I don’t go? I’ll just hang out here. If I don’t go, Tucker won’t see me in the stands, and then he’ll just go home,” I say, starting to really like this idea.

“That’s a terrible idea. First of all…wait, did you say this guy’s name is Tucker?” Ty asks.