by Whitney G.
Her jaw dropped to the floor, but she immediately snapped into agent mode.
She and Michael immediately pulled out their phones, and I made some mental adjustments to my plan with Courtney.
Screw taking things slowly.
Courtney: Now
Seattle, Washington
My heart ached in my chest on my ride home from work, inconsolable by all the “Please don’t think about Kyle” promises that I tried to offer.
It wasn’t interested in the deal.
Instead of stepping into my own apartment, I walked into Graham’s and took the engagement ring off my finger. Then I set it down on his coffee table.
I didn’t see a point in prolonging our conversation for another day; I desperately needed time to think.
As I was rehearsing the lines I wanted to say a few more times, the front door opened.
Graham walked in with a fresh set of yellow lilies and daisies—the same set he always gifted me on Wednesdays.
“Well, hello there, babe.” He walked over to me and smiled. “To what do I owe your surprise ‘right across the hall’ visit?”
“I need to talk to you about something important.”
“If it’s about the renovation in your condo, then don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll give you all the time you need to decide. I do own our building, so I can have the contractors do whatever we say.”
“It’s not that,” I said. “It’s something else.”
He raised his eyebrow.
His gaze shifted to my bare left hand. Then it moved to where I’d placed his ring.
“You don’t want to marry me?” He clenched his jaw. “Is that what this is about?”
“No, I—” I swallowed. “I just need some more time to think about it.”
“More time. More time …” The words rolled off his tongue ever so slowly, as if he was trying to savor their definitions.
“You already told me yes at the party, Courtney,” he said. “I put a lot of time and money into that.”
“I said ‘yes’ in front of everyone, because I do have feelings for you, but I think we’re moving a bit too fast.”
“How ironic.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Just last month you were telling me that things were moving too slow.”
“I was talking about the fact that we still haven’t had sex, Graham.”
“That’s because I’m trying to show you that that’s not all that I want from you.” He dropped the flowers to the floor and unzipped his pants. “But if you’re so desperate to hop on my dick and fuck, then let’s fuck.”
“Graham—”
“No.” He cut me off. “This isn’t about sex, and this isn’t about you needing more time. This is about Kyle Stanton, isn’t it?”
I said nothing.
I officially regretted ever telling him about Kyle showing up to my job.
“Didn’t you write a freelance piece last year about how when the universe gives us fucking signs, that we don’t need to ignore them?” He glared at me. “Wasn’t that what you wrote?”
He stepped closer, not giving me a chance to answer. “How many times does Kyle have to let you down before you get the point? He used you in college because you were the only woman he could fuck—the only woman who didn’t care about his endorsements or have any interest in screwing him over.”
“Graham, stop.”
“No.” He stepped forward again, backing me against the wall. “He hurt your feelings so badly that I had to clean up the mess he made. And now, just because he sees that you’re moving on without him—rightfully so, he’s trying to use you again, Courtney. Can’t you see that?”
“Graham, you and I have only been dating six months,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “We’re still trying to figure out what city we want to grow roots in, and—”
“I’m giving you four weeks to come to your goddamn senses.” He interrupted me again. “Four weeks, Courtney. And yeah, that’s before the end of the playoffs, because I can see Kyle Stanton’s selfish-ass playbook from a mile away.”
“Graham—”
“Get out.” He stepped back and pointed to the door.
“I was really hoping that we could talk this out like adults.”
“We can,” he said, walking over to the door and opening it. “We can talk after you choose me.”
I swallowed the words at the tip of my tongue and left.
As I was stepping into the hallway, my phone buzzed with a text message. My boss.
Mr. Bruce: You have ONE FUCKING HOUR to get to the airport and get on the next flight to Boston. Or else.
Kyle: Then
Senior Year
Pittsburgh
* * *
I stood at the center of the field at the end of the season, smiling as blue and gold confetti fell over me and my teammates.
I was putting on my best smile for the cameras, but I honestly wished I was elsewhere.
Pushing my way through the crowd, I decided to check my phone before Coach gave his speech to the stadium.
* * *
Courtney: Congratulations on going 12-0! What a fucking game!
Kyle: Thank you. It would’ve meant more if my favorite cheerleader was actually on the sidelines.
Courtney: I am. Look over. (I even wore your jersey number in my earrings.)
* * *
I looked over at the sidelines, seeing Courtney wave with her phone in her hand.
I smiled and waved back.
* * *
Kyle: I take it you’ll give me an up close look at my party tonight?
Courtney: Depends. Will there be a chance for a distraction?
Kyle: More than one.
Kyle: Then
Senior Year
Pittsburgh
* * *
Kyle: Hope you have a good winter break planned. Do you need a ride to the airport?
Courtney: I never go home for winter break, remember? I like to enjoy walking around the campus when there aren’t that many people here.
Kyle: You should come over and enjoy parts of it with me, then. I never go home either, and I can make sure you actually *go* inside all of the best places you walk past. (Have you ever been to Mad Mex on Atwood Street?)
Courtney: I’ve been inside of plenty of places. (I interviewed a waitress who used to work there before.)
Kyle: Get dressed. I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.
Courtney: Then
Senior Year
Pittsburgh
* * *
A few weeks later
With Kyle as my only college friend, I felt like I was seeing the city of Pittsburgh through an entirely different lens. He showed me the parts of town that I’d neglected for years, making me see just how much I’d missed.
We visited the North Shore on Saturdays, spent weeknights in the bars at Station Square, and took late night tours inside of Heinz Stadium too many times to count. He personally introduced me to the chefs at his favorite restaurants, taught me what “pierogies” were, and laughed when I experienced my first taste of kielbasa.
For the first time in my college career, I wasn't solely focused on my future career aspirations. I wasn’t spending every free moment writing, or working on my thesis (which was pretty easy to complete considering how much I was getting to know Kyle), and I wasn’t anxiously waiting for the semester to end.
I wasn’t even excited about going to London anymore.
“You need more fries on that salad,” Kyle said, cutting through my thoughts. “You can’t have the true Eat’n Park experience if there are no French fries on top.”
“French fries on a salad?”
“It’s a Pittsburgh thing.” He tossed a handful on top of my lettuce and added shredded cheese. “It’s also fucking amazing. Trust me.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” He covered the fries in ranch dressing.
“What are we?”
“What?” He leaned back.
“Like, you, me, this,” I said. “What are we?”
He stared at me for several seconds, smiling. “We’re friends who have long stopped working on your thesis for some strange reason.”
“I finished writing the draft weeks ago,” I said. “Apparently, I set a new senior record.”
“We’re also two people who are very attracted to each other and haven’t had sex an even odder reason.”
“Does that bother you?”
“If it did, I wouldn’t call you every day.” He clasped my hand atop the table. “Don’t think too much about this, Court. We’re just us.”
“So, you’re not sleeping with anyone else?”
“Not at all.” He looked as if he couldn’t believe it himself. Then he motioned for me to pick up my fork. “I’m not even sleeping with you.”
Kyle: Then
Senior Year
Pittsburgh
I was turning into a pussy.
I’d ignored texts from four guaranteed, consensual hookups, all in favor of hanging out with Courtney.
In years past, when we won the national championship, my first move was to get drunk and let whoever was interested come back to my room.
This year, I went to one goddamn party.
One.
And then I left early to come back to my apartment and watch fireworks on my apartment’s roof with Courtney.
“Something wrong, Kyle?” She looked up at me.
“No.” I looked up at the sky. “I’m just wondering if we can watch Rambo once we go back to my room. I don’t think I can deal with another man groveling in a rom-com this week.”
“That’s like the best part of the film.” She smiles.
“How do you figure that?”
“Because the heroine always takes the guy back, if he does a good job.”
“We’re watching Rambo, Die Hard, and Die Harder in that order.” I pulled her into my lap. “Right after I get done kissing you.”
“You’re not going to try to have sex with me?”
“I’ve been trying to have sex with you since the day we met.” I trailed my finger against her lips. “It’ll happen eventually.”
“You sure about that?”
“One-hundred-percent.”
Courtney: Then
Senior Year
Pittsburgh
* * *
I double-checked my contact list for the umpteenth time, letting out a deep breath before hitting send.
* * *
Subject: Pitt News Presentation
Hey everyone!
I apologize for the mass email, but I wanted you to know that I’m presenting a project downtown this Saturday and since we’ve taken a class together or spent time in a club (and I’ve shown up for you in some way), I figured you’d be interested.
I’m enclosing the details, and dinner will be at Primanti Brothers afterward!
Courtney Johnson
* * *
“Do you have plans tomorrow morning, Kyle?” I looked at him as he pulled in front of my place.
“Only one that I know of, why?”
“I’m giving a presentation downtown tomorrow for a news magazine competition, and I’m inviting everyone I’ve ever met. It starts at seven thirty, and the winners are announced in the late afternoon.”
“You really do love journalism …”
“I can’t promise that it’ll be the most entertaining time you’ll ever have, but the judges always give out tons of gift cards to Primanti Brothers at the end. Once it’s all over, I’ll give you a few of those, if you show up.”
“So, you’re saying that I have a choice between spending my Saturday in bed or getting up at the ass crack of dawn to go downtown and watch you talk about the news—which I hate, for hours?”
“I’ll give you a recap when I get back to campus.”
“Thank you.” He laughed. “I’ll let you know how my meeting with my future agent goes. That’s my only Saturday plan.”
Before I could point out how fast our days were going by—how anxious I was becoming with every day that the draft and my flight to London neared, he cupped my face in his hands and kissed me.
“Stop thinking so much,” he whispered. “Good luck tomorrow.”
Courtney: Then
Senior Year
Pittsburgh
The following morning, I took a deep breath and walked onto the stage at O’Reilly Theater. Standing at the lectern, I stalled for a few seconds in hopes that any of the people that I invited would show.
“Miss Johnson?” The judge cleared his throat. “Is there a problem?”
“No, I um—” I looked at the door and sighed. “I’m just wondering if I can have a glass of water before I start.”
“Well, of course. My apologies for not setting that up beforehand.” He snapped his fingers and an intern brought two full glasses to the stage.
Taking a few sips, I looked down at my notes.
“My name is um, Courtney Johnson.”
“We know,” the male judge said, softly laughing. “It’s on the screen behind you.”
“Right.” I took another sip of water. “Over the next three hours, I’m going to make a case for news media and all the ways that journalists can protect their craft. Part one …”
The rest of the words fell from my mouth effortlessly, and I clicked through my slides without skipping a beat.
Every now and then, I paused when the door opened—hoping to see a familiar face slip into the dark theater. It never was anyone I knew, though. Always a stranger who ducked in for a second and walked away.
“I now rest my case.” I closed my folder. “Thank you.”
The lights in the theater brightened, revealing rows of empty seats around the judges.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, refusing to let tears well in my eyes.
“I am sitting here in utter awe of you, Miss Johnson,” the male judge in the center smiled. “I have a few follow-up questions regarding a point you made earlier. If you wouldn’t mind—”
A sudden round of applause interrupted his sentence.
I looked over my shoulder and saw Kyle clapping from the left wing of the stage. He locked his eyes on mine and clapped louder with every second that passed.
“Security!” the judge bellowed. “Security! Please remove Mr. Stanton from the building again, since he can’t follow simple instructions and sit in the auditorium like we asked!”
Kyle laughed, saying, “Good fucking job, Court,” as two security guards grabbed his arms and led him away.
Courtney: Then
Senior Year
Pittsburgh
I stepped out of the theater hours later, armed with the first-place plaque and a purse stuffed with Primanti Brothers gift cards.
Turning my phone on, I stopped and stared at the most recent subject lines in my inbox.
Subject: Sorry I couldn’t make it! (Raincheck?)
Subject: Good luck today! (Make up over dinner?)
Subject: Wish I was There! (Something came up last minute. Sorry!)
I didn’t bother opening any of them. I scrolled down to Kyle’s name and hit call.
“Hey. You’ve reached Kyle Stanton.” His voicemail sounded. “Leave me a message and I’ll think about getting back to you.”
I ended the call and sent him a text instead.
Me: Hey. Where are you? (Thank you SO MUCH for coming to my presentation today. That meant a lot to me.)
I waited a few minutes for his typical sarcastic response, but it never came.
I managed to take a bus back to campus, grab lunch, finish a layout, and by the time evening came, he still hadn’t said a word.
Later that night, I stopped by his apartment.
“Hey there.” Grayson opened the door. “Your name is Courtney, right?”
“Depends on if the Skanks of Pitts blog is listening to us or not.”
“Ah.” He laughed. “It’s too early for them to start watc
hing. Did you leave something in Kyle’s room?”
“No, I’m looking for him,” I said. “I need to um, ask him a few more questions for my thesis.”
“He hasn’t been at home today.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped the screen, but I heard the start of Kyle’s voicemail. “I’ll tell him that you stopped by, though.”
“Thank you.” I tried not to look disappointed. “Congrats on winning your fourth title in a row, by the way.”
“Thank you,” he said as I was turning around. “Wait a minute, Courtney. He’s probably at The Pete working out. Try there.”
I thanked him again and headed to the closest shuttle stop.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, I swiped my student card at the gym. There were only a few students working out on the machines, and Kyle wasn’t one of them.
Confused, I walked over to the reception area.
One of his teammates was flirting with the brunette behind the desk.
“Have you seen Kyle Stanton up here tonight?” I tapped him on the shoulder.
“I have.” He raised his eyebrow. “Who are you and why are you asking?”
“Can you just tell me where he is? I need to talk to him.”
He stared at me for a while, and then he tilted his head to the side. “You’re that chick who’s writing your thesis about him, huh?”
