Misadventures of a College Girl (Misadventures #9)(58)

And so, I took the damned job.

And I’ve been on the road ever since.

The last time I saw Tyler was about a month ago in Boston. He came to see the show during his bye-week and stayed with me for two nights at the swankiest hotel I’ve ever been in. And, of course, our time together was amazing, as always. But when it was time to say goodbye that time, I sobbed harder than ever—so hard, my eyes swelled shut. I begged Tyler to let me move to Miami, but he said no. He’d seen me onstage three times in two days and said he’d never seen my face light up that way before. I protested, but Tyler firmly shot me down. “If you moved to Miami, you’d eventually hold it against me for keeping you from your soul’s destiny. And then we’d be doomed, regardless.”

And that was that. I didn’t fight him. Because, to my shame, a part of me knew he was right.

My phone buzzes on my makeup table, pulling me out of my thoughts. It’s a reply from Tyler to my “good luck in your game” text from earlier.

Can you talk for a minute, Zo?

I’m shocked. Tyler rarely replies to my “good luck” texts before games. He almost always waits until afterward. And he’s never once in two years asked to talk to me before a game. To the contrary, Tyler always prefers to shut out the world and retreat into his own mind before every game. I text him.

Everything okay?

Just want to hear your voice. Big game today.

I’ll call in 2 secs. Need to go somewhere quiet.

I bolt out of the dressing room, find a quiet spot, and place the call.

“Hey,” Tyler says when he picks up my call.

“Are you okay?”

“Just wanted to hear your voice.”

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Just wanted to talk to my good luck charm for a minute. It’s a big game.”

“Why is today such a big game?”

“Every game is do-or-die from here on out for us. But, you know, one game at a time.”

“Do-or-die is good. You thrive under pressure.”

“True. So where are you?”

“The epicenter of the western world, Appleton, Wisconsin.”

“Nice.” He chuckles. “You gonna be watching my game today?”

Wow. Yet another question Tyler has never asked me before a game. “Just the first quarter,” I admit. “Sundays we’ve got a matinee, remember? But don’t worry, I’ll watch whatever I missed on NFL streaming before my evening show. That’s what I always do when I miss one of your games—I stream it later.”

“You do? Do you watch the entire game or just the highlights?”

“The whole thing. Every play. I’ve never once missed a single minute of any of your games, Tyler. I might have to watch a game after the fact, but I always see every second of every game at some point.”

“I had no idea. I thought you just watched the highlights. Wow. Thanks.” He pauses. “So are they begging you to be Elphaba yet?”

I chuckle. “No, Tyler. Not even a little bit. Our Elphaba is phenomenal.”

“You’re way better than she is.”

“She’s not the Elphaba you saw in Boston. This one joined the show a couple weeks ago. She used to be Elphaba on Broadway before she had a baby, and now she’s back. She’s incredible. The best one I’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t need to see her perform to know you’re better than she is. Nobody is better than my beaver.”

“She’s better than me.”

“Not possible.”

“I’m learning, though. Getting to watch this woman perform every night has taught me so much. I feel like I’m going to be ready to kick some serious ass when I get my chance one day.”

“Of course you are. So why’d the Boston Elphaba leave? Was she tired of looking like a chump onstage next to Zooey Cartwright for three hours every night?”

“Yeah. That’s why she left. She was shown up by some anonymous curly-haired girl waaaaaaay in the back of the chorus. Either that or she landed the lead role in Waitress on Broadway. It was one or the other.”

“They should have made you Elphaba when the Boston Elphaba left. They’re idiots.”

“Patience, eager beaver,” I say. “I’m a wee little freshman in this world. I’m still learning and earning my stripes.”

“Good girl,” he says softly. “Keep earning those stripes, pretty baby.”

My heart pangs. God, I hate it when his voice sounds all wistful like that. It makes me want to drop everything and go to him, no matter what he says.

“I’ve got to go,” he declares. “Make sure you keep your eyes glued to the TV during the first quarter. Now that I know you’ll be watching, I’ll do everything in my power to get an interception for you while you’re watching live.”

“Ooooh, Tyler Caldwell’s calling his shot,” I say. “I tell you what. Get me that interception and I’ll send you a dirty video tonight.”

“Oooooh, now there’s a girl who knows how to motivate a guy.” He chuckles. “Will this dirty video involve my beaver’s beaver, hopefully?”

I smile into the phone. If this is how we do “we’ve both agreed we’re not in a committed relationship anymore,” then we truly suck at it. “It will. My beaver will be front and center and open wide.”