Beautiful Player

Finally, Sara laughed and said, “Yes.” She leaned forward to put her hand on my knee. “You’re just so clueless, Will. You’re like our adorable, derpy mascot.”

“That is awful,” I said, laughing. “Don’t ever repeat that.”

We all turned back to the basketball game. It wasn’t awkward. I didn’t feel defensive. I knew they were right; I just wasn’t sure what I could actually do about any of it, seeing as how Hanna was out with f**king Dylan. It was fantastic for me to be able to admit that I wanted more with her, and that I didn’t want her out with another guy, but it one hundred percent did not matter as long as Hanna and I were on different pages about it. And the truth was, I wanted her to f**k only me, but I didn’t really want things between us to change.

Did I?

I picked up my phone, checking to see if I’d somehow missed a text from her in the past two minutes.

“Jesus, Will. Just f**king text her!” Chloe said, throwing a napkin at me.

I stood abruptly, less to comply with Chloe’s bossy shit and more to just move. What was Hanna doing right now? Where were they? It was almost nine. Shouldn’t they be done with dinner by now?

Actually, given his track record, she was probably at home . . . unless they were at his place?

I felt my eyes go wide. Was it possible she was in his bed? Having sex with him? I closed them just as fast, jaw bulging as I remembered how she felt beneath me, her curves, the feeling of her knees pressed to my sides. And to think she might be with that weaselly kid? Naked?

Fuck that.

Turning, I walked down the hall toward my bedroom, stopping when my phone buzzed in my palm. I don’t think even my knee-jerk reflex was as fast as my reaction to the lit screen. But it was only Max.

Your girl is here at the restaurant with me and Ben. Nicely done on the Project Hanna, Will. She looks bloody hot.

I groaned, leaning against the wall in my hallway as I typed. Is she kissing the kid?

No, Max replied. She keeps checking her phone though. Stop texting her, you little shit. She’s “exploring life” right now, remember.

Ignoring his obvious attempt to rile me, I stared at the text, reading it again, and again. I knew I was the only person who regularly texted Hanna, and I hadn’t sent her anything all night. Was it possible she was checking her phone as obsessively as I’d been checking mine?

I moved down the hall, slipping into the bathroom under the ruse of actually using it for its intended purpose and instead sitting on the edge of my tub. It wasn’t a game with her. Sara was wrong there; I knew it wasn’t a game. It wasn’t even fun right now. My time away from Hanna oscillated wildly between exhilaration and obsessive anxiety. Is this what it was about? Taking this kind of risk, opening up and gambling on someone else’s ability to tread carefully with your feelings?

My thumbs hovered over the letters for several pounding heartbeats and then I typed a single line, reading it over, and over, checking it for diction, tone, and the overall no-big-deal-I’m-not-obsessing-about-your-night-or-anything vibe of it. Finally, I closed my eyes, and hit SEND.

Chapter Nine

I was not going to text Will.

“. . . and then maybe live abroad someday . . .”

I was not going to text Will.

“. . . maybe Germany. Or, maybe Turkey . . .”

I blinked back to the conversation and nodded to Dylan, who sat opposite me and who had basically trekked the entire globe during our conversation. “That sounds really exciting,” I said, smile stretched wide across my face.

He looked down to the linen tablecloth, cheeks slightly pink. Okay, so he was pretty cute. Like a puppy. “I used to think I’d want to live in Brazil,” he continued. “But I love visiting there so much, I don’t want it to ever feel familiar, you know?”

I nodded again, doing my best to pay attention and rein in my thoughts, to focus on my date and not the fact that my phone had been silent all night.

The restaurant Dylan had chosen was nice, not overly romantic but cozy. Soft lighting, wide windows, nothing heavy or too serious. Nothing that screamed date. I’d had the halibut; Dylan had ordered a steak. His plate was practically empty; I’d hardly touched mine.

What had he been saying? A summer in Brazil? “How many languages did you say you spoke again?” I asked, hoping I was close enough to the mark.

I must have been because he smiled, obviously pleased I’d remembered this detail. Or at least that such a detail existed.

“Three.”

I sat back a little, genuinely impressed. “Wow, that’s . . . that’s really amazing, Dylan.”

And that wasn’t even stretching the truth. He was amazing. Dylan was good-looking and smart and everything an intelligent girl would be looking for. But when the waiter stopped at our table to refill our drinks, none of those things kept me from glancing quickly down to my phone again, and frowning at the blank screen.

No messages, no missed calls—nothing. Damn.

I swiped a finger over Will’s name, and reread a few of his texts from earlier in the day. Random thought: I’d like to see you stoned. Pot amplifies personality traits so you’d probably talk so much your head would explode, though I don’t know how you could possibly say even crazier things than you do now.

And another: Just saw you on 81st and Amsterdam. I was in a cab with Max and watched you cross the street in front of us. Were you wearing panties under that skirt? I plan on filing that away in the old spankbank so whatever you do, just say no.

The time stamp on his last message was just after one this afternoon, almost six hours ago. I scrolled through a few more before pressing the box to type, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. What could he possibly be doing? The phrase or who crept into my thoughts and I felt my frown deepen.

I started typing out a message and deleted it just as quickly. I will not text Will, I reminded myself. I will not text Will. Ninja. Secret agent. Get the secrets, and get out unharmed.

“Hanna?”

I looked up again; Dylan was watching me.

“Hmm?”

His brows drew together for a moment before he laughed a small, uncertain sound. “Are you okay tonight? You seem a bit distracted.”

“Yeah,” I said, horrified to have been caught. I lifted the phone from my lap. “Just waiting for a text from my mom,” I lied. Horribly.

“But everything’s good?”

“Absolutely.”

With a small, relieved sigh, Dylan pushed his plate away and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “So what about you? I feel like I’ve done nothing but talk. Tell me about the research you’re doing.” For the first time all night, I felt the grip on my phone lessen. This I could do. Talk about my work and school and science? Hell yes.

We’d just finished dessert and my explanation of how I was collaborating with another lab in our department to engineer vaccines for Trypansoma cruzi when I felt a tap on my shoulder, and turned to see Max standing behind me.

“Hey!” I said, surprised to see him here.

He was about ten feet tall and yet when he bent to kiss my cheek, he didn’t look awkward at all. “Hanna, you look absolutely smashing tonight.”

Damn. That accent was going to kill me dead. I smiled. “Well, you can pass your compliments to Sara; she’s actually the one who picked out this dress.”

I wouldn’t have thought it possible for him to get even more attractive, but the proud grin that stretched across his face did just that. “I’ll do that. And who is this?” he said, turning to Dylan.

“Oh!” I said, turning back to my date. “Sorry, Max, this is Dylan Nakamura. Dylan, this is Max Stella, my friend Will’s business partner.” The two men shook hands and chatted for a moment, and I had to talk myself out of asking about Will. I was on a date, after all. I shouldn’t be thinking of him in the first place.

“Well, I’ll just leave you two to it, then,” Max said.

“Tell Sara I said hi.”

“Absolutely. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

I watched Max walk back to his table, where a group of men were waiting for him. I wondered if he was out for a business dinner, and if so, why hadn’t Will gone with him? I realized I didn’t know much about his job, but didn’t they do this kind of stuff together?

A few minutes later, just as the bill came, my phone vibrated in my lap.

How’s your night, Plum?

I closed my eyes, feeling that word vibrate through me like an electrical current. I thought back on the last time he’d called me that and felt my insides liquefy.

Fine. Max is here, did you send him to check on me?

Ha! As if he’d ever do that for me. And he just messaged. Said you look pretty hot tonight.

I’d never known I was much of a blusher before Will, but I felt the heat as it flashed through my cheeks. He looked pretty hot himself.

Not funny, Hanna.

You home? I hit SEND and then held my breath. What would I do if he said no?

Yes.

I was really going to have a talk with myself; knowing Will was home and texting me should not have made me quite so damn happy. Running tomorrow? I asked.

Of course.

Quickly wiping the smile from my face before Dylan noticed, I tucked my phone away. Will was home and I could rest easy and attempt to enjoy the rest of my night.“So how was your date?” he asked, stretching beside me.

“Good,” I said. “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged, unable to get it up for a more enthusiastic response. “Fine,” I said again. “Good.” I felt decidedly worse about my Will codependency this morning than I did last night. I would need to get my act together and remember: Secret agent. Like a Ninja. Learn from the best.

He shook his head. “What a glowing review.”

I didn’t respond, instead walking to retrieve the water bottle I’d stowed against a nearby tree. It was cold—so cold the water had turned to slush and sloshed around as I tried to force it open. We were at the post-workout stage of our run, where Will would give me a pep talk and say something inappropriate about my boobs, and I would complain about the cold or the lack of easily accessible bathrooms in Manhattan.

And I really wasn’t sure I wanted to have this conversation today, or admit that while I actually liked Dylan, I didn’t daydream about kissing him or sucking on his neck or watching him come on my hip, like I did a certain someone else. I didn’t want to tell him I was constantly distracted on our dates and having a hard time becoming invested. And I also refused to admit that I was failing at this whole dating thing, and might never learn how to keep things casual, enjoy life, be young, and experience things the way Will could.

He ducked to meet my eyes and I registered that he was repeating a question. “What time did you get back?”

“A little after nine, I think?”

“Nine?” he said, laughing. “Again?”

“Maybe a little later. Why is that so funny?”

“Two dates in a row end at nine o’clock? Is he your grandfather? Did he take you out for the early bird special?”

“For your information I had to run into lab early this morning. And what about your wild night, Player? Partake in any orgies? Maybe a rave or two?” I asked, intent on changing the subject.

“Kind of did the Fight Club thing,” he said, scratching his jaw. “Except without the guys or the punching.” At my confused stare, he clarified, “Basically, I had takeout with Chloe and Sara at my place. Hey, you sore today?”

I immediately remembered the delicious ache his fingers had left me with after Denny’s party, and the way my pelvic bone felt almost bruised from grinding against him on the floor of his apartment.

“Sore?” I repeated, blinking quickly back to him.

He smiled knowingly. “Sore from yesterday’s run. Jesus, Hanna. Get your mind out of the gutter. You were home by nine—what else could I possibly have been talking about?”

I took another pull from my water bottle, and winced at the cold on my teeth. “I’m good.”

“Another rule, Plum. You can only use the word good so many times in a conversation before it becomes disingenuous. Find better adjectives to describe your state of mind post-dates.”

I wasn’t exactly sure how to handle Will this morning. He seemed a little edgy. I’d thought I had him figured, but my thoughts, too, seemed to be all over the place, a growing problem when we were together. Or judging by last night, when we were apart, too. Did he care at all that I’d been out with Dylan?

Did I want him to care?

Ugh. This dating thing was way too complicated, and I wasn’t even sure whether Will and I were technically dating. It seemed to be one of the only questions I couldn’t ask him.

“Well,” he said, sliding his gaze to me with a teasing little smile. “Just so you’re clear on the meaning of the word ‘dating’, maybe you should go out with someone else. Just to see how it all works. What about another one of the guys at the party? Aaron? Or Hau?”

“Hau has a girlfriend. Aaron . . .”

He nodded encouragingly. “He seemed pretty fit.”

“He’s fit,” I agreed, hedging. “But, he’s sort of . . . SN2?”

Will’s brows pulled together in confusion. “?‘SN2’?”

“You know,” I said, waving my hands awkwardly. “Like when the C-X bond is broken, and the nucleophile attacks the carbon at one hundred-eighty degrees to the leaving group?” The words came out in a breathless rush.

“Oh, my God. Did you just use an O-chem reference to tell me Aaron looks better from the back than the front?”

I groaned and looked away. “I think I just broke some sort of nerd record.”

“No, that was amazing,” he said, sounding genuinely awed. “I wish I thought of that about ten years ago.” His mouth turned down at the corners when he considered this. “But honestly, it’s awesome when you say it. If I said it, I would just sound like a giant dick.”