Page 83 of End Game

“Just think about it. And when you two get together, don’t invite me to the wedding.”

Snorting out a laugh, I agree to that. “Yeah, because there won’t be a wedding.”

He rolls his eyes. “If you say so.”

Parting amicably, I take my coffee and start the leisurely walk back to my house in Athlete’s Village. I have an hour before I have to be at the fields for practice, so I indulge in a few moments of peace and quiet being the only person in my house. I didn’t think it would get to me, but living with five other women—five women who don’t particularly like me—is starting to wear on me. I spend as little time as possible in my house, mostly hanging out with Barrett at his place. It’s not sustainable. One of these days, he’s going to get tired of me and tell me to go home.

Daylight’s savings time has come and gone, so it’s dark when I emerge from practice, sweaty and tired. I should really take a shower here in the locker room, but I’m not in the mood.

To my surprise, when I emerge from the locker room, Barrett is waiting for me. He shoves his phone into his pocket and starts towards me.

“Hey. Were we meeting up today?”

“No plans. I was in the neighborhood,” he lies, because the football complex is on the complete opposite side of the athletic center. It’s a good seven minutes’ walk. “I thought maybe you wanted to grab dinner?”

“Yeah. Don’t we grab dinner almost every night?”

“We do,” he acknowledges, and doesn’t say anything else.

“So… why is this night different from all other nights?”

“I thought we could go somewhere just the two of us,” Barrett says.

Oh.

“Sure.”

“There’s a dining hall on main campus that’s supposed to have really good lasagna. You in?”

“Are there breadsticks involved?”

“You know, I think so,” he says slowly, a grin spreading over his face.

“Then yeah, count me in.”

He slings his arm around my shoulder, ignoring the fact that I’m hot and sweaty. I probably smell disgusting after a three hour practice.

“How was your date?” he says, oh so casual.

I snort. “Is that why you want to go to dinner? So you can scope out the situation?”

He’s quiet for a moment.

“I care about you, Dee,” he finally says. “I want to know about your life, even the parts you think I’m not interested in. I want to know everything.”

“Well, it was a bust,” I tell him. “Like the first date. There’s no spark, no chemistry. I thought I was interested in him, but I think really I was just bored.”

He winces. “That’s not fun.”

“Yeah. So rather than string either of us along, we went our separate ways. I’m not about to cry into a milkshake over it. I’m just going to move on.”

“That’s good. Healthy.”

I don’t know about that.

The dining hall looks the same as any of the other establishments on campus. We swipe our student ID cards for entry and peruse the offerings. He’s right. The lasagna does look amazing, and there are piles of soft, pillowy breadsticks alongside it. I fill my plate with lasagna and the simple Caesar salad and follow Barrett to a small table for two tucked away in the corner.

It’s an oddly intimate tableau for what should be a simple, friendly dinner. Like the night when we got pizza with my teammates and his friends, he went out of his way to get us a table alone so we could talk.