Me: Sometimes. But every day is better.
He-Man: You just have to get your groove back. I dare you to go to the library and shout out that Princess Leia is a badass.
Me: What? No!
He-Man: I thought you couldn’t turn down a dare.
Me: How will you know if I go through with it?
He-Man: Oh, I’ll be there watching. What time should I show up?
Me: Dammit. Tomorrow at 8:00 PM. BTW, I hate you. ☺
I smile, feeling good as I think about today’s text convo with He-Man. We’ve been texting on and off for the past week, just little messages here and there. He now knows I can sing every word to “Baby Got Back”, and I know he can tie a cherry stem with his tongue. I admit, I spent a few hours picturing that in my head last night.
He hasn’t brought up the whole I dare you to dream about me comment, and neither have I.
It’s Sunday night as I park my Prius at the local Piggly Wiggly and head across the parking lot. I’ve come to the second grocery store past campus, mostly because I don’t want to run into anyone while wearing yoga pants and a sweatshirt with no makeup on. I’m just about to pat myself on the back for not seeing anyone, but that all goes to hell when I’m almost to the door and see Martha-Muffin with one of her sorority girlfriends at the self-checkout near the entrance.
Part of me considers just turning around and leaving. I can always come back later, but once Monday arrives, I tend to be overwhelmed with classes and my job at the library.
Don’t let her get the best of you, Delaney.
With my head down, reading the grocery list on my phone, I fortify myself with a mental pep talk and walk through the sliding glass doors.
Don’t make eye contact, I tell myself, but before I realize it, I’m glaring right at her. She looks up, catches my eye, and sends me a sly smile, lashes batting.
Our dislike of each other is palpable and always has been. Skye claims she’s intimidated and threatened by me because somehow I managed to land a football player as a boyfriend freshman year, and all she got was an STD.
She’s wearing her usual, something ridiculous and ill-suited for the cold weather: tall Uggs and a pair of denim shorts lined with lace. Of course, her face is expertly made up, all the way down to the arched eyebrows she probably watched some two-hour YouTube video on how to make.
She finishes checking out and pushes her cart straight over to me, her pert little nose practically twitching with excitement. “Well, well, if it isn’t Delaney Shaw.” Her gaze sweeps over me, lingering on my baggy Waylon hoodie. “Here to raid the ice cream freezer? Just be careful you don’t eat the whole gallon.”
I stiffen. As a matter of fact, I do have chocolate ice cream on my list, but it’ll be a cold day in hell before I tell her that.
“Don’t let me keep you from your Mensa meeting,” I say before moving to walk around her.
I’ve gotten a few feet away when she calls out after me, almost tauntingly. “I can’t believe you’re being so rude, especially since I haven’t seen you in weeks.” I cringe, knowing she’s referring to the night I caught her with Alex.
I turn back around, knowing I shouldn’t, but I just can’t stop myself.
She puts a hand on her hip. “Look, you don’t have to be so upset about Alex. He’s an athlete. They screw around—it’s what they do.”
My stomach churns at the imagery her words bring up, and I feel the blood draining from my face.
Her friend tugs on Martha-Muffin’s arm, ushering her out the door, and I stand here for a full five seconds just breathing, trying to get myself under control.
I make my way over to the produce aisle and walk around, not really seeing anything, my heart heavy as I think about Alex and everything we lost.
On an impulse, I pull my phone out of my bag and send a text to my mystery man.
Paging He-Man. I miss you. Where are you? Not that you care, but I’m staring at cherries at the Piggly Wiggly and thinking of you. It’s been a shit day. Shit week. Shit month. Just ran into the girl my ex cheated on me with. Need to vent. Need a cigarette…or I would if I smoked.
He replies immediately, and I want to shout with glee. Awkward. Want me to kick her ass?
Yes.
Done. I’ll be there in five.
A laugh comes out of me, and for some reason, seeing Martha-Muffin doesn’t have nearly the punch it did a minute ago.
No! I’m just kidding. Plus, she’s gone already. Hey, can I ask you a personal question?
Shoot, he replies.
Do YOU sleep with those groupies who hang all over athletes? You know the ones—they’ve had more loads than a washing machine but they’re hot so all the guys want a spin?
Uh…how many loads are we talking?
Of course he sleeps with them. He calls himself “Badass Athlete”, and what red-blooded male is going to turn down what’s offered?
He-Man, you’re disappointing me.
Truth: I haven’t been with a girl in months. I’m turning them down left and right.
You’re so full of yourself.
True, he says. But I am the best.
Best at what? Football? Volleyball? Baseball?
Why are you turning them down? I ask.
I’ve been waiting on you.
WHAT?
Is he kidding? Is it the truth? He never replies, even after I linger around the produce, waiting to see those three little dots that mean he’s responding.
They never appear, and once again I’m overcome with embarrassment at my neediness and lack of male attention. Screw it. I stick my phone in my purse and head to the magazine section to pick out a new Cosmo. I move on from there and hit up the meat department. Several minutes later, I’m lifting a large container of ground beef into my cart when I hear a deep male voice behind me.
“Didn’t know you liked that much meat, Delaney.”
I stop in my tracks.
I turn to see Maverick standing behind me, wearing low-slung jeans, a tight t-shirt, and a grin. We’ve been sitting together all week in class, and it’s been pure torture. We make small talk about the weather and football, but underneath is a current of electricity that I do my best to ignore. Maybe he’s ignoring it too.
His gaze brushes over me as if he’s undressing me, and a tingling sensation tickles my nose. I can’t stop it, sneezing once, twice, three times before I clench my hands together and calm myself.
I’m digging for a tissue in my bag when he says in his southern drawl, “You okay there?”
Sucking in a breath to stop the next one, I hold up a finger for him to give me a minute, and he seems to understand. It would be better if he just moved away.
He takes my packages from me and sets them down in my cart. It’s a thoughtful gesture, and I think he does it because he knows he makes me feel out of sorts.
He’s just standing there, patiently waiting for me to speak.
“You make me sneeze,” I finally say.
“I hope you can find the antidote or we won’t be able to hang out together.”
“It’s worse when I’m surprised by someone, and you’re always sneaking up on me.” Not exactly true, but I’m making up all kinds of excuses.
“Is it because you think I’m hot, Delaney?”
“Doesn’t everyone think you’re amazing and wonderful and hot? Been there, done that with a football player, and not doing it again because all it got me was a broken heart.”
He rubs at the scruff on his beautifully chiseled jawline. “We’re not all cheaters, Delaney.”