The Relationship Pact(17)

Not that I have told him that. But I think he knows.

He took pity on the kid in foster care from Indiana and offered him a football scholarship. He had hope in me when no one else did.

Now I don’t even have that. I’m not his charge anymore. The end of the season axed that.

Standing, I lift my chin. I fill my lungs with air and then shove it all out of my body just as quickly.

Focus on what you can control.

Right now, that’s dinner tonight.

The issue of showing up alone rears its head again, and I nibble on my bottom lip as I work through it.

I could show up alone or …

An idea percolates in the back of my mind as I take in the roof of Paddy’s through the window.

I could ask Larissa to go.

My lips twitch back and forth as I try to work the idea all the way through. I don’t really know her. Hell, I don’t know her at all. But asking her to accompany me isn’t any crazier than her asking me to be her fake date. She didn’t want to be alone when what’s-his-fuck came by the bar. I don’t really want to show up at Mr. Hall of Famer’s house by myself either.

If I go alone, all of their attention is on me. They’ll start asking questions—poking and prodding into shit I don’t want to discuss. Topics generally on the table for most people aren’t items I want to break down over bread.

I got none of that.

But wouldn’t it be just as awkward to sit next to a woman in that situation who I don’t know anything about? And who doesn’t know anything about me?

This isn’t some sorority chick I’m taking to a Kappa party or a football banquet—a girl who doesn’t care to know anything about me besides the size of my dick. I feel the conversations in the Landry house might be different from what I’m used to ... so I might need a different kind of date.

“Shit,” I say out loud, unsure what to do.

I pick up my phone.



Me: Need help.



Crew’s text comes immediately.



Crew: What kind of help?

Me: I’m not in jail or anything. Settle down, Hollywood.

Crew: When you ask for help, shit’s usually fucked up.

River: He’s not lying, Hollis.

Me: Well, you’re usually with me, River. So fuck off.

River: Eh, good point. Continue.



I exhale an aggravated breath and type out my next message.



Me: I was invited to Lincoln Landry’s for dinner.

Crew: That’s awesome.

River: Hell, yeah!

Me: Either of you fools want to come and go with me?



I tap my foot against the floor while I wait for their messages. It doesn’t take long.



River: What I wouldn’t give.

Crew: I’d be there if I wasn’t on the other side of the world.

River: You could just FaceTime me, and I’ll be your phone date.

Crew: What about the blonde?

River: Back off, Hollywood. I’m the date. I already accepted.

Crew: <eye roll emoji>



Laughing, I get to my feet and pace across the room. The more time that passes after Lincoln’s invitation, the more the anxiousness turns into excitement.



Me: About the blonde …

Crew: Yeah?

Me: Would it be weird to ask her?

River: It’d be weird to ask her lots of things, but not this.

Crew: Do you have her number?

River: Well, I take that back. It depends on how you ask her. You could make it super weird. You’ve made easier things weirder. Come to think of it, this might be a risk.

Me: Thanks, River. Fucker.

Crew: Can we focus here?



I stop moving and watch my friends banter back and forth while an ocean apart. It makes me feel good. Normal. Grounded.



Me: So yes or no to the blonde, Crew? Yes, I have her number.

River: I’ll just sit here and pout that you’re excluding me from this conversation.

Crew: Ask her. What do you have to lose?

River: HIS DIGNITY.

Crew: River—so help me God.

Me: LOL

Crew: I say go for it, Hollis. Just shoot her a text. If she says no, she says no. No harm, no foul. But if things went well, why not just toss it out there? You need to check in today with her anyway. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.

River: Reality check—Hollis is not a gentleman.

Me: Ok. I’ll think about it. Thanks, guys.

Crew: You’re welcome.

River: You’re welcome.



Chuckling, I close the screen and take another look out the window.

I know exactly what I need—a run. Something to calm down my nerves and clear my head before I do something that’s probably idiotic.

I slip my room key into my pocket and head for the door.





Six





Larissa





I pick up the plate I left sitting on the table after breakfast and shove it into the dishwasher. The piece of paper I was fiddling with as my bacon fried lays by the sink. I snatch it up.

The drawing is incomplete. It’s a solid start to a garden design I’ve been dreaming about. Nice straight lines. Lots of open space. Tiered planters that I’m obsessed with. It’s a beautiful, clean vision I can imagine filling with flowers of all shapes and colors.