When I was in high school I wasn’t exactly popular. Sure, I had friends, and most of the kids in our graduating class had grown up together and had been in school and sports together since elementary school. The girls friend-zoned me pretty quickly and the guys thought I was cool but not enough to hang out with. I was a loner. Then I met Whitney Wheeler. She brought out something in me that had been missing. Confidence. When she was around, I had no problem being me and talking.
Eventually, that confidence carried into other relationships, which turned to true friendships. I have a small group of friends I keep in touch with these days thanks to social media, but the girls never removed me from the friend-zone. I didn’t mind because the one girl who caught my attention never faltered. Whitney was full of life and drive. She made me laugh and challenged me in ways she’ll never understand.
When she stopped talking to me, I was devastated. My mom was worried I was in some sort of depression, and I’d bet money she wrote in to one of those talk show doctors who hand out advice like a metermaid hands out parking tickets. Thankfully, she didn’t receive a call for us to appear. We would have. And then, I would’ve told the world I had my heart broken by a girl. A girl who was one of my best friends and my first love.
Now, as I park next to her little sedan, I’m hit with a sense of déjà vu. When I was in college, I dated casually. There was one girl I really liked. I thought she was the one who might replace the feelings I held on to since I was fifteen. And she did. We had a good run. Kyla was funny, smart, kind, and we had a lot of good times together. When she was accepted to grad school on the East Coast, she asked me to join her.
I didn’t even hesitate when I said no. That decision broke her heart and mine. Regardless of how heartless she told me I was and how much I hated myself for not loving her like she loved me, I knew it was the right decision.
I’m just as confident about my decision today. This is the right move. Spending time with Whitney as friends is the first step to whatever happens next. I’m going to show her that beneath everything, beneath the attraction we have for one another, is friendship. If there is one thing I take away from living with Jonah and Carmen, it’s that friendship in a relationship is important. The most important.
With renewed determination, I get out of the truck and jog up the stairs to Whitney’s door. Two quick raps and I wait. Another two quick knocks and I wait more. She wouldn’t stand me up, would she? There’s no way. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I tap the screen to see if I have a message or missed call from her. Nothing. Just as I tap the call button, the door flies open and Jessi is laughing with a drink in her hand.
“Luke! You’re here!”
“I am. And you’re drunk?” It’s a question not a statement.
“Nah, just a little tipsy. I’m a generous bartender, and your date was a little foggy this morning. You. Are. Welcome.”
I follow Jessi into the apartment cautiously, not sure what I’ll find when I enter. To my surprise there is no party. Whitney shouts to me from the end of the hallway, “I’ll be just a minute.” Tension melts from my shoulders and Jessi giggles as she takes a drink of what appears to be a Bloody Mary.
“Day drinking?”
“It is Sunday Funday, Luke. Want one?”
“I’m good,” I reply, taking the seat next to her on the couch.
“What grand plans do you have for our sweet Whit today, Luke?”
“Why do you keep saying my name?”
“Whitney told me she’s been testing it out, not calling you Lucas and what not. I figured if I keep saying it, she’ll catch on.”
“She’s not in the room, Jess.”
“Whatever. Anyway, what are you guys doing today?”
“Just hanging out.”
“I’m glad,” she says. I look her direction and smile when I see the big grin on her face. “Not that you’re hanging out, but that you’re back around. You’re good for each other. I’m happy you’re finding your way back.”
“Thanks, Jess.”
She’s about to say something else when our attention centers on the hallway where Whitney stands. Unlike her outfit from yesterday, she’s wearing another plaid shirt unbuttoned with a tight shirt underneath. Her fucking tits look amazing, and I allow my eyes to linger a second short of too long before following down to her tight fitted jeans. I know if she turns around, her ass is going to be high and tight, and my palms will itch to touch it. Maybe I need to change plans and take her bowling to fully appreciate those jeans.
“Am I dressed okay? I wasn’t sure what we were doing today.” Her voice knocks me from my appreciation of her, and when my eyes lift to hers, a huge smile takes over my face when I see she’s wearing her glasses again. Fuck, she’s perfect.
“You look perfect.”
“Mini golf?” Whitney asks as she slowly unbuckles her seat belt.
When I was planning our first date, or “hang out” as we’ve been calling it, I wasn’t sure what to do. Everything seemed boring or not a way for us to laugh and be in the moment. Carmen’s advice to woo her, court her, had me thinking about what I would have done when we were younger. This seemed ideal.
“Not just mini golf, girl. We’re also going to play in the arcade, and if you play your cards right, we’re going to drive the go-karts.”
Her eyes light up like a little kid in a toy store as soon as I say “go-kart.” Shaking my head and chuckling to myself, I hop from the truck and walk around to open her door. I extend my hand to offer her help out of her seat. The moment her smaller hand slides into mine, I feel an instant current through my body. Shyly, she looks up at me with a small smile. Timid isn’t something I’m used to seeing on Whitney but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it.
Taking a chance, I don’t release her hand when she steps down. Instead, I interlock our fingers and guide her to the front of the building. She doesn’t stop me, and that gives me a sliver, however small, of hope that this hanging-out thing is more like a date. Or at the very least, a prelude to a date.
As we step to the cashier, I eye the board of activities and prices. “You okay with golf and karts?” I ask.
“I’m game if you are. I should warn you, though, I’m pretty fierce with a club.”
“Noted.” Turning my attention to the cashier, I only let go of Whitney’s hand when I reach in my pocket for my wallet. As I slide my credit card for payment, I watch out of the corner of my eye as Whitney eyes each available club on the counter before choosing one with a pink handle. A purple ball follows her decision making. Instead of choosing my own club and ball, I motion for her to do the same as I place my card in my wallet.
“Blue,” she says teases.
“Are you saying I have blue balls?”
“Do you?”
“I think this is a conversation for later. With beer.”
Laughing, Whitney grabs my wrist and tugs me toward the first hole. She sets her ball down and lines herself up like she’s trying out for a spot on the professional golfers’ tour, and I snicker, which garners me a dirty look.
Rolling her eyes, Whitney turns her attention to the task at hand, and in thirty seconds I’m eating my words. Damn, she wasn’t kidding. Hole in one.
“Beat that, pretty boy,” she teases.
“Pretty boy? Someone’s a little feisty today.”
“Damn straight. Let’s do this. My hangover is almost gone, and I’m going to need a hot dog by the time we hit the fifth hole.”
My attempts at mini golf are just that. Attempts. I suck in the most epic way, but the joy it brings Whitney to beat me is worth the jab to my pride. She didn’t only need a hot dog by the fifth hole, but also a platter of nachos and a beer to wash it down. We’ve had a blast and as I pick up the mallet to smack a mole on this video game, I can finally see victory in at least one activity today.
“Finally,” I declare with a fist punch.
“Congrats. You won . . . yep, five tickets.”
“What do you say we pool our tickets?” I suggest, looking at the hundreds of tickets in her hands. Apparently, Whitney Wheeler is a master at not only mini golf but also arcade games. Specifically, anything with a ball. Whether she’s shooting, tossing, or hitting with a club, she’s winning.
“That works for me. After this I need to hit the ladies room but I’m ready to hit the go-karts. How about you, Luke?”
That’s the third time she’s called me Luke today. I know it’s hard for her to adjust, but she’s trying and that speaks volumes.
“I feel like I should ask for a head start with the karts,” I say as we step to the ticket redemption counter. The young clerk counts out our tickets while we peruse the display of options.
“You’ll be fine. I’m not the best driver,” Whitney says with a hand on my forearm. Rolling my eyes, I know she’s teasing. She’s probably certified in Indy racing or something.
“Three hundred eleven tickets,” the young clerk advises.
“I’d like one of these and that clapper,” I say, pointing to a ring pop.
“Oh, I’d like a pink crown and umm . . .” she says, biting at the end of her nail before continuing, “the rest, just give me all the candy. Thanks.”
“A crown?” I ask as the clerk bags up handfuls of candy and hands me my clapper and ring pop.
“Yes, silly. I’m the queen of the day, obviously. I swear, Luke, it’s like you haven’t been paying attention.”
She scrunches her nose at me and without a second thought, I grab her by the waist and pull her to me. Squealing, she wraps her hands around my waist and looks up at me. I want to kiss her. I want to stake my claim right here and now on date one, or hangout one, that this girl is mine. But I don’t. Instead, I place a kiss to the top of her head and hip check her while the clerk hands her the crown and a bag of candy.
I’d like to say go-kart racing was my chance to shine. It was not. Nope. It was absolutely Whitney’s crowning moment. Which is exactly what I did when we finished, and she completed her victory dance. A dance that included a weird hop and skip with a jump in place. Finally, something I’m better at. Dancing.
My plan was to grab some dinner after our competitive afternoon, but Whitney’s been yawning, and I think the high of the afternoon is wearing on her. Once we’re settled in my truck, I pause before shifting in reverse.
“I thought we could grab dinner, but it looks like you’re exhausted.”
“I am.”
Nodding, I turn slightly to look out the rear window before backing from the parking spot and she places her hand on my arm. Pausing, I look at her. I return the small smile she offers as she leans her head back on the seat and says, “But I don’t want to stop hanging out. Want to come back to my place and order a pizza?”
“Got any beer?” I ask.
“What do you take me for? A rookie?” Her tone is light and because I’m a man on a mission, and perhaps a glutton for punishment, I place my hand on her thigh and squeeze. A gasp from her has me worried I may have pushed too far, but she shifts herself so her hand is on top of mine, and I relax.
“Does this count as hanging out number two since it’s a different location?” I question.
“Date, Luke. Let’s call it what it is. And, I’d love to call it the second one. I’ll even change my clothes so it’s totally a different experience.”
Groaning, I pull my hand from her leg as her laughter fills the truck. Maybe we’re on the same page after all.