My fingers tingle where he held my hand. I must have carpal tunnel or something. Carter’s going to be trouble, I can already tell. But it’s the kind of trouble I’ll gladly participate in.
“What’re you doing here?” Ben asks.
Oh, right. He’s here. “More like, what are you doing here?” I rake my hand through my hair.
He closes his eyes and shakes his head. When he opens them, he looks tired. “These are my teammates, Les.”
Ooh, baseball players. Yikes, totally my type. Ben steps away from Carter, who checks his Apple Watch, then sighs.
My skin itches from Ben’s stare. “Well, Candy is Carter’s sister. It’s not like I knew you’d be here.”
Carter cocks his head. “You guys know each other?”
Ben looks at him and huffs. “She’s my girlfriend.”
I flinch. A weird, panicky feeling pangs in my chest. “Uh, no, I’m not. Was. I was your girlfriend. We broke up six months ago!”
I still haven’t met the other three dudes on the couch, but one of them sing-songs, “Awkward!” and it makes me want to tape their mouth shut. But, I don’t condone violence, so maybe I can ask Candy to do it?
Carter chuckles. “Oh, está bien. I was going to say—”
“You were going to say what?” Ben takes a step toward him. They’re about the same size, but Carter has an inch or so on him.
From behind the two, Candy grimaces at me as if she’s saying, uh-oh, abort! Abort!
And if this were a show, I’d ask you to cut to commercial break. But, it’s not, so I don’t get any reprieve.
Carter shrugs, a simple up and down motion of his right shoulder as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. “I was going to say that if she were your girlfriend, which she’s not, that I wouldn’t be able to shoot my shot.”
Ben might as well have steam coming out of his ears. “You’re not shooting any shot, Carter! She’s taken.”
What do they want with me anyhow? It’s not like I’m even that great. Oh, wait. They probably don’t want me. It’s just the modern version of those old-timey gun fights. They’ve got to prove who’s the macho-est man.
Carter takes a step back from him, and his body is relaxed, unlike the tautness of Ben’s. “Nah, man. I don’t ‘got it.’” He air quotes. “She said you’re not together. You need to calm down.”
I should probably step in at this point, but honestly, both of them are starting to piss me off. I’m not some object to be fought over. Candy holds her phone upright against her chest, and she keeps peeking at it, so I can almost guarantee she’s recording this. It’ll probably show up on Twitter later for the world to see. She’ll plaster crying-laughing smiley faces and a caption of, “Two idiot baseball players fighting over a semi-attractive girl. Who wins?”
Not a bet I’d make. I can guarantee neither of them are winning in my book. Ben groans then turns toward me, hands on his head like he was just put through the wringer. “Les, let’s go. I’ll take you home.”
I want to stomp my foot because that’s what Ben does. He brings out an immature, petty side to me. But, I refrain. “I came here to hang out with Candy. If you don’t want to be here because you can’t handle seeing me here with my friend, then leave. No one’s going to miss you.”
The peanut gallery on the couch say, “Mhmm, girl’s harsh.”
But how am I harsh? He just demanded I go with him after staking some claim in the grass like this is the 1600s or something. He’s a jerk, and even if I do miss him and wish we’d never broken up, he’s pissing me off. You don’t act that way to someone—especially not an ex.
He looks at me as if I’ve slapped him across the face. I spent the last six months wondering what I had done wrong, why he wasn’t calling me, and pining over him while he probably slept his way through the baseball groupies.
I needed him this summer.
He had no right. No right to speak to me like that when he knows everything I’ve been through. The longer I stare at him, the more frustrated I grow. I bite my lip to keep from crying over something stupid like this. And it’s probably not even him but rather that I’m hungry and today was freaking sucky. “You know what?” I ask. “I’ll go. But not with you.”
I push past him and leave the apartment, already pulling up the Uber app as I pass through the doorframe.
“Les, wait.” Ben reaches for my arm.
“Not today, Ben.” I shrug away, like Jennifer Aniston to Brad Pitt at the SAGA awards. As soon as I get outside and the sun hits my face, I feel better. It was too crowded in there, anyhow. Thanks to the guys on the couch and Candy’s recording, I’ll probably be known by everyone before I want to. They’ll whisper about me at parties, and I’ll have nothing to do but talk to myself and you all. Great.
The nearest Uber is fifteen minutes away, so I sit down on the curb and pick at a weed that’s growing through the sidewalk. I could make up some cheesy quote about how the weed persevered even through concrete, but then I’d be comparing myself to a weed, and I’m better than that. Try to remember me as a beautiful flower or something, not a plant everyone wants out of their life.
“Hey, estás bien?” Carter’s voice breaks my monologue, and he sits down on the curb next to me with his elbows on his thighs. He’s so tall that he looks ridiculous sitting like that. His knees practically touch his forehead.
He’s giving my stomach real butterflies and Ben just made a fool out of me. Could this day get any worse? And, that’s rhetorical. Please, I don’t need any more drama. “Yeah, I’m good.”
He slings his arm around me and pulls me close to him, and I definitely feel some tingles in all the right places. “If it helps you feel any better,” he drawls, “Candy wanted to come out and grab you, but I told her I got it. She’s in there ripping Ben’s cojones right off.”
It’s so unexpected that I bury my face in his side and break out into laughter. “I believe it.”
His chuckle reverberates through me. “Seriously though, are you good? I told Candy I’d give you a ride home.”
The Uber took a wrong turn and is now seventeen minutes away. Perfect. “I appreciate it, but I don’t get in cars with strange men.” I wink.
“Ah, bien. Then, it’s a good thing you didn’t get in a car with Ben.” He shakes his keys in front of me. “Vámonos, I’ll drive you.” He smirks that panty-dropping smile, and I’ll admit it, he seems like a much better ride home than Raquel, my Uber driver.
He pulls on my hand until I stand from the curb and follow him through the parking lot. I glance at the cars. “Let me guess, you drive some douchey car, like a Charger or…no! Wait! You drive a Mustang, huh?”
“Chica, where’d you get the impression I’m like that?”
Oh, I don’t know, because you have the eyes to make every woman in a mile radius swoon? “Just admit it. It’s probably a flashy red or blue color, too.”
He shakes his head and presses a button on his keys. A white, Chevy truck beeps. It has a baseball window sticker with a #1 inside of it, and I’m not sure if that’s his number or saying that West’s team is supposed to be number one. We head around to the passenger side where he opens my door. I want to roll my eyes but then the smell of his car is like an assault of cinnamon gum, and I end up blinking back in surprise.