by K. P. Haigh
"It was nice to meet you." That's all I've got. I toss it out and hope it sticks.
He stands up from the table and slips his hands back into his pockets. "You too, Monty. You too."
I turn around and start walking back to my apartment. I should feel relieved. I did what I came there to do.
So why do I feel like that stone in my stomach has turned into a boulder?
“And you just walked away?” Andie asks. She’s sitting in the middle of my bed with a bowl of ice cream. That’s how you know it’s true love: you’ll even let them eat sticky, drippy food on your bed—not that I won’t give her crap if she spills it.
“Yeah.” I’m still sort of shocked I said no to Baron. If you had flipped a coin while we were walking to the arcade, it would have had just as much of a shot at predicting my decision as I did. Running into those kids put everything into perspective, and I didn’t like what I saw in my viewfinder.
“But he’s Baron Richards,” Andie says with her mouth full and eyes wide.
“Exactly. He’s a football player.” I keep pacing back and forth, unable to sit still while we’re dissecting my decision to turn down what might have been one of the best dates of my life.
“That’s the point. He’s paid buckets of cash to get ripped and increase his stamina—which part of that offends you, exactly?”
“He’s a football player.” I can’t help but let a whine sneak into my tone.
Andie puts her spoon down, and I know I’m in for it. “I get that you want to avoid feeling the way you felt when we were in high school, but there comes a point when you have to stop avoiding the good things just because you’re scared of the bad.”
I walk over to the freezer and grab the rest of the half-empty quart of ice cream and a spoon. “Maybe I just think we’re different people.”
Andie looks at me as if she could smell my bullshit before it even left my mouth.
It only makes me want to double down. “Seriously, we’re opposites, and I don’t buy into that whole opposites attract business. That’s for magnets and Paula Abdul.”
“Whatever. I just think you’re writing him off before you’ve even dug deeper than his chosen profession. I’m more than a doctor, and you’re more than a photographer; why can’t he be more than a football player?”
God, I hate when she’s right. It still doesn’t change the fact that I turned him down. As good as the date might have been, the decision has been made.
I have the sudden urge to eat the rest of this tub of ice cream.
“Besides,” she says with a mischievous smile, “you’re always talking about being more adventurous. I bet you’d gladly take a detour down his street.”
I give her the stink eye.
“What? It’s not like either of us are in the habit of getting numbers from extremely eligible men. Remember the last time someone hit on me and it turned out he was a freshman? In undergrad. That is not in my definition of eligible, even in a broad sense.”
I can’t hold back a snort. It happened on her way to class a couple weeks ago, and it still makes me laugh when I think about it. She swears up and down she didn’t realize how young he was until she Facebooked him when she got home.
“Just because we’re low on prospects doesn’t mean I need to sell out when a hot one comes along.”
“Oh come on, sell out for me. Give me a life full of wild sex and lavish dates to live vicariously through. It’s your job as my best friend.”
“Can we just trade? You go on the dates, and I’ll sit at home on Friday nights and read books.”
Andie shakes her head just as she finishes the last of her dessert. “You’re such a weirdo.”
“And you love me,” I say with a smile.
She bounces off the bed and accidentally tips the bowl to the side, flinging the spoon onto the comforter before she pulls me into a hug. I just shake my head.
“I just want you to be happy.” Her voice is full of truth.
“Me too.”
I want happiness for the both of us. I don’t know what that looks like in the long run, but I know we have each other to help figure it out.
It's times like these that living a predictable life really sucks. Normally, I like ordinary, mundane life. Waking up and drinking coffee—not even particularly good coffee, just coffee with some cream. Going to work. Seeing my parents every week for Saturday dinner.
It's comfortable, familiar, like my old high school sweatshirt that’s been washed and worn so many times there are holes in the armpits. It doesn't matter if the holes get so big you can stick your hand through them, you're never going to throw it away.
Craving adventure feels like lusting after the floral romper. You want to try it on. It looks exciting, and you know it has the possibility to rock your world. But, what if it just doesn't fit? I mean, rompers are kind of tricky that way. It might look good in the dressing room, but take it for a spin and you find out it gives you a nonstop wedgie and you can never go to the bathroom—ever.
Right now, I'd take the risk of the most epic wedgie in the history of ever over the comfort of the sweatshirt I keep reaching for again and again. My life feels stagnant, like everyone else is moving forward and I'm standing still.
There are whispers dancing around the halls of the newspaper. Everyone has a different theory, but they all seem to signal massive layoffs.
I still haven't heard from Irene Collins. I don't even want to think about that. It makes me sick to my stomach every time I do. I want it so badly, and I have no idea what I can do to make it happen.
And then there's Baron. It's been a few weeks since I told him I couldn't date him, and I haven't heard from him since.
Which is exactly what I wanted. So, I have no idea why I've typed "Bear Richards" into the search box about ten dozen times and hovered over the I'm Feeling Lucky button. I don't want to see everything, just a glimpse…just a little piece to satisfy my need to know more about him.
I told him no, and like a decent human being, he respected that. And I hate it. I wish I could snap out of it and go back to enjoying my regularly scheduled life, but no; here I am wishing my life looked a little less ordinary.
Fortunately, it's the end of May, which means it's time to go be surrounded by ridiculously adorable fur-balls. At the end of every month, I go photograph the newest animals at the local shelter and post the images online. I've been doing it for a few years now after reading about a professional photographer in another state who tried it and saw a massive increase in adoption rates.
So, at least for the next few hours, I'll be distracted. I open the glass front door of the shelter and the little bell overhead dings.
One of the undergrads volunteering for the summer is sitting at the front desk with a huge smile on her face. I walk up and introduce myself, explaining that I'm the photographer coming in to take pictures of the new animals.
"Hi! I'm Ivy. Oh my goodness, are you just so excited?" She’s beaming as if we're involved in a mission that's about to end the suffering of every animal everywhere. Granted, I support that cause, but this afternoon's photo session is not that exciting.
"Totally." I don't want to rain on her parade. Besides, we are talking about cats and dogs here; there aren't many things in the world that are better than being surrounded by dozens of them, playing for a few hours, and not having to clean up the poop.
Ivy gets up from her desk and walks over to the locked double doors that lead to the back hallway where there are kennels, play areas, and various rooms for exams.
She pauses just as she flips the bolt to the unlocked position. "I mean, we're going to get so many more adoptions this month. I can't believe some of Detroit's football team is going to be here today. I hope Bear Richards shows up. He's so hot."
I can feel all the blood rushing out of my face. I have no idea where it's running off to, but it's attempting to make an escape.
"Umm, are you OK?" Ivy asks.
I look over at her a
nd nod. I have no idea if I will be, but it's not exactly like I can extract myself from this situation. Or maybe…
"Wait, are they going to have a photographer with them?" I ask. If there's someone else here taking photos, I could sneak out and come back later.
"No." Ivy looks confused, but something tells me I'm the one who's confused here. "You're the photographer."
"I'm the photographer?" Wait, am I the one who's supposed to be taking pictures of the team? What is going on here?
She points at my camera. "Yeah, that's your camera, right?"
I'm missing something here. I try going back to the basics. "Yeah, I come in to take pictures of the new pets up for adoption every month, but Kim didn't say anything about a special event today."
"Ohhhh," Ivy says slowly, recognition dawning on her face. She gets it. I still don't. "Kim must have forgotten to mention it. Apparently, someone from the team called this week and asked if they could come help with the photos. They figured more pets would get adopted if they posed with them. You know, it will generate more publicity, which will totally help, since we're almost full to capacity this month with new intakes."
Yeah, Kim must have forgotten to mention it. She's amazing with the animals, but as a manager of the shelter, some of her organizational skills are a little rough around the edges.
I guess I'll have some help wrangling the animals, and it will help adoption rates. No one can say no to a handsome football player holding an adorable animal.
"Okay, so when are the players showing up?" I ask.
Ivy glances at her watch. "Any minute!" This is probably the highlight of her summer.
I smile, trying to share her enthusiasm even though my nerves are fraying at the edges right now. Any minute, Baron could walk through that door, and I don't know whether I want to see him or run into a closet and hide.
I don't have any time to think about it before the main entrance bell jingles again. I turn around to see the familiar face of the football player I turned down, along with three of his teammates.
Baron stops and stares at me like a bear that just found honey after sleeping all winter long. "Hi, Monty."
My breath catches. "Hi."
I know every single person in the room is staring at the two of us, but all I see is Baron's face. I wonder why I ever said no in the first place.
The next hour is a flurry of activity. I don't know why I thought having four football players around would make my job easier: the end result is going to be amazing, but getting there is a tangle of trying to catch the right moments while there are fifty things happening at the same time all over the room.
If you ever want your ovaries to explode, just go watch some of the biggest men you've ever seen in your life cuddle with animals. It's like ultra-masculine sexiness doused in cuteness overload.
I can't even handle it.
I'm trying to focus on taking pictures of all four players, but I keep finding my lens drawn to one specific focal point.
Baron Richards.
I almost lose it when he picks up a young kitten and it curls into his neck, purring happily.
We're almost to the end. I've gotten pictures of all the new animals. Two of the guys are on their phones. One of them is flirting with Ivy, who is loving every single second of it.
And then there's Baron.
I don't think he's taken his eyes off of me for more than a minute. He's looking at me like I’m a ball he's determined to catch, and I can't figure out if I'm going to let him.
I do know that I am anxiously anticipating downloading these images later and having uninterrupted time to stare at his face—even though I know it'll never compare to the real thing.
"Okay, I think I've got everything I need," I say to no one in particular. I don't even think anyone besides Baron hears me.
He just nods, and I start to pack up my equipment. The other three players notice and slowly start to make their way back toward the door that separates the back hallway of rooms and front reception. Ivy opens the door, and everyone starts to file out…everyone except Baron.
He walks right next to me, his hands tucked in his pockets. We're two steps away from the door, and he stops. "Monty, I don't know about you, but I'm starving. Want to grab a quick bite? There's a great burrito place down the street."
I know exactly the hole in the wall he's talking about. It's walk-up counter style, and I wonder if he strategically suggested it because it’s not a place you take a date.
I take a deep breath, and then my stomach lets out a rumble that rivals a summer thunderstorm. I can feel my face turning bright red; I guess my body is putting in its vote.
"Sure, I haven't eaten anything since breakfast." I turn to look straight up at Baron, and he stares down at me like I just told him there really would be snow on Christmas morning. He'd hoped for it, but he wasn't sure if it would actually happen.
"Okay, let's do it." He pulls off nonchalance, but just barely. I can see the bounce in his step that wasn't there when he first walked in.
Baron begs off from his teammates, saying we're going to go grab lunch. None of them seem too phased by the idea. We duck out of the shelter without any fanfare and walk the two blocks down to the restaurant.
We missed the lunch rush, so we walk straight up to the counter and order. I order a shredded chicken burrito and pull out my wallet, but Baron is quicker, pushing a twenty across the counter while ordering a beef deluxe. I almost change my order to match his. It sounds so good, but I wonder if that would be weird.
We step to the side, and I try to focus on anything besides how hungry I am. It makes me desperate…enough to unleash my curiosity.
"Did you know I would be there today?" I ask.
Baron clears his throat and swallows, but I see the hint of a smile in his cheeks. "Are you pulling together evidence for a restraining order?"
I laugh. "No, no restraining orders—not yet, at least."
"Okay, good."
I squint at him. "So how did you find me?"
He tilts his head to one side and then the other as if he's tossing around the idea of whether or not to fess up. "You're easy to find, but kind of hard to pin down. There aren't a lot of Montgomerys who live in Ann Arbor. There was an article about you taking photos of animals up for adoption. I called the center and asked a few questions. They said you'd be there. So, I made sure I was too." He stops suddenly and laughs self-consciously. "Wow, that sounds a lot creepier when I say it out loud."
It has the potential to be creepy. He's admitting to orchestrating a way to see me again, but when I look at the sincerity in his eyes, all I feel is flattered. He genuinely wanted to see me again.
"You dug deep into the Google dumpster of my Internet life." I find it fascinating that he looked me up—I’m sure I have about 100 results to his 100 million. I doubt I would have to dig very far to learn more about him than he could ever learn about me.
"I made my way through a few pages, yeah."
Our conversation is interrupted by our hot food. We grab the red plastic trays and take them over to the massive table that runs the length of the room and has benches on both sides. We sit down across from each other and unwrap the giant foil packages.
Oh man, I am going to look ridiculous trying to eat this, but I'm so hungry, I don't care.
Baron looks over at me and leans his massive burrito over the center of the table. "Cheers."
I tap my burrito against his and smile. This isn't what I expected.
He isn't what I expected.
I've been walking around with an image in my head of what football players are like, and it's starting to feel unfair to lump him into that pile. I've always assumed all sportsballers are cocky, arrogant pricks. Baron is the exact opposite.
Which means I am in serious trouble.
"So, you're in Ann Arbor a lot. Is this your normal stomping grounds?" I ask.
His mouth is full of burrito; I guess that makes two of us that look ridiculous eating
these things. He shakes his head and swallows. "No, but my little sister goes to school here, so I try to stop by and see her…or really, I make up excuses to be in town so I can check in on her like the annoying big brother I am. She hates getting caught with me. I'm not exactly inconspicuous."
"Not when you show up at sports bars in the middle of a college town," I tease him with a wink. Something about being around Baron brings out a different side of me. I'm not as quiet or reserved. I thought when I met him it was the two beers talking, but I'm completely sober and am still saying things that are just a nudge further than I normally would. I kind of like it.
"You didn't recognize me when you first saw me." He responds as if I'm the only person who was sitting in Halftime that night.
"Yeah, I'm not exactly your target market."
"Oh, I think you're exactly my target market, to a T." The way he says it—leaning forward, looking straight at me with a smile sneaking up to one side—makes me blush.
Every single inch of me is turning bright red, and I think I might need a fire hydrant full of ice water to cool off.
I don't even know how to respond. The way he looks at me makes me feel alive and adventurous, two of the things I've been craving in my life—but they're also two of the things that scare me.
This man is nothing like what I expected, and that is both wonderful and terrifying.
When he was an undeveloped print, it would have been easy, but now that he's coming into focus…I like what I see, and I don't know if I can walk away so easily.
Even if this is a bad idea.
After lunch, we walk out and stand just outside the front door for a second. I went into this prepared to make a quick getaway after our meal was over, and yet here I am, both feet firmly planted right in front of Baron.
Baron stuffs his hands into his front pockets and rocks back onto his heels. Sometimes, I swear he's more like an overgrown kid than a full-blown adult. I guess the professional football league doesn't come with how-to-be-overly-suave-101 training, and I am perfectly okay with that.
