Chapter 30 – Wesley
I scan the bleachers at the University swimming pool for Chelsea, wondering if she’s going to make it today.
I’m already ten minutes late, and I don’t see her here so I doubt she’s coming. I look around one more time, and start to leave, only to see her bouncing in, breathless and in a hurry.
“There you are,” she says, practically running into me. “I thought that if you had been able to make it at all, you might have already left by now.”
Despite myself, I give her a huge hug.
I’ve missed her.
She smells like spring, but underneath that freshly showered scent is a slight whiff of the outdoors. I know that the scent is from her cheerleading practice, and then her walk over here. But there’s something mysterious— almost magical— mixed in with it too. I fucking love the way she smells.
“Lucky for you, your dad kept us late after practice,” I tell her. “So I just got here myself.”
I don’t mention all the other times I’ve come looking for her, hoping she’d show up, waiting too long and then feeling pathetic as I left.
It’s been a few weeks since our literal roller coaster ride, and things have seemed shaky between us. We’ve barely been able to see each other. We’d arranged to meet here in what has become our secret hiding place as often as we can— every evening after practice, if possible. But more often than not, it hasn’t been possible for one or both of us. Usually her, it seems.
There are plenty of explanations for why we haven’t gotten to see each other as much as we both would like. I’ve been busy with practice and games, since mid-season and the extra training is nearing its peak and the team is doing really well. We’ve been winning most of our games and it looks as though we’ll have a real shot in the postseason, for the first time in the school’s recent history.
And I know that Chelsea has been just as busy, preparing the cheerleading squad for its upcoming competitions. Not to mention all the exam prep we’ve both been doing.
But the fact that we have to sneak around— and not let Coach Thompson find out that we’re seeing each other— is one of the huge hindrances. It remains an elephant in the room most of the time, and Chelsea hasn’t brought it up since the first time she’d asked me to meet her here to essentially tell me that she wanted me to be her dirty little secret.
I was fine with that, of course— and I’d told her so, trying to psych myself up with the excitement of that arrangement— but I can’t help thinking I wanted more. Then, and now.
She pulls herself close into my hug and I lean down to give her a kiss. For a brief, passionate second, it’s just as if we’re picking back up the day after the amusement park, like we should have been able to do. If we were a real couple.
But I have an idea that I hope will fix that problem. Sure, it won’t make us be able to properly see each other, but at least we’ll see each other again.
“I’ve been thinking,” I tell her. “That it’s about time you watched me play something other than football.”
“Oh yeah?”
She glances up at me, her beautiful blue eyes shining with interest. I love how big and bright they are. Especially when she’s looking at me.
“Yeah. Did I ever tell you that I’m a member of the college Ultimate Frisbee team?”
“What?” she laughs. “No, you didn’t.”
“Well, that’s because it just started up a couple weeks ago, and it’s not an official sport.”
I wink at her.
“I see.”
She laughs, which was exactly my intention. I love the light guffaw she always gives me— goofy but natural, a contagious laugh that makes me want to laugh right along with her.
“Yeah, it’s actually just a bunch of guys getting together to run around the field like idiots, throwing a Frisbee to each other and chasing after it. Much like dogs do.”
There’s that laugh again.
“I’d love to see that spectacle,” she says. “When is it?”
“It’s this Friday night,” I tell her.
It’s perfectly timed, because it’s the team’s rest week so there’s no game for me to play in or for her to cheer at. And even though I know the cheerleaders have a big competition coming up, it’s on Sunday, so my stupid little Frisbee game won’t be interfering with that.
But her face drops.
I realize what the problem might be.
“The other guys on the team aren’t football players,” I hurry to add, to sweep aside any fears she might have in that department. “So your dad won’t find out we’re hanging out. Well, except for Christian, whom I’ve sworn to secrecy. These are mostly friends of his, and I’m trying to make some friends who aren’t in football.”
“Too much alpha male competition?” she guesses.
“Something like that. But anyway, a lot of these guys are soccer players, and it’s at the soccer field. Not the football field.”
“That’s good,” she says, but she still doesn’t sound too promising.
I assume she’s still worried about her dad finding out about us, no matter where we go or what we do. If it’s on campus, it’s probably a no-go for her. Guess I might have to endure another roller coaster ride at her beloved amusement park.
“We’ll probably grab some drinks after the Frisbee game, as that’s what we usually do,” I tell her. “And you’re welcome to come to that too.”
“I’ll try to make it, but that’s right before the conference competition…”
“I know,” I tell her. “I didn’t mean…”
Her phone vibrates, and she pulls away from me before I can explain that I hadn’t forgotten about her own weekend plans. She reaches into her bag to see who is contacting her on her phone.
“I’m so sorry to rush in and out,” she tells me, “but something’s come up. With the team.”
Uh huh.
So she’s giving me the blow-off, I suppose. And coming up with a lame excuse, at that.
This never fucking happens to me.
Never, that is, until I let little miss Chelsea Thompson creep into my head and my heart.
Most girls want to be my girlfriend, yet I never want commitment.
I’m usually the one telling a buddy to call me and make up some reason I can leave a girl in the dust.
“It was nice seeing you, though,” she says, with a smile that’s almost half convincing. “And I really will try to come watch you and the other doggies play fetch.”
“Ha,” I say, trying hard not to laugh at her joke, even though it’s funny.
As she quickly heads towards the door, I feel like an idiot for even inviting her. Clearly she doesn’t have the time. She’s already moved on. And I’m dumb for thinking we could be anything more than rushed, secret hook-up buddies.
“Don’t worry about it,” I tell her. “It’s really no big deal.”
As I head home, I try to tell myself the same thing, about everything— about us.
But it’s really hard to convince myself.