Willa’s as au naturel on the inside as she is on the outside, and that is my kind of person. The people I get along with typify a “what you see is what you get” mindset, and in that way, Willa’s very like my two good friends in LA, Annie and Lo. Making friends doesn’t come easily to me, but I feel like I’m becoming friends with down-to-earth, cheeseburger-loving Willa Sutter.
Ryder grins at her, making Willa’s smile widen. I drop my burger to my plate with a splat and drag a fry through ketchup. “Good grief. Just kiss already.”
Ryder laughs. Planting his lips softly on Willa’s temple, he then turns back to his conversation, a half circle of men made up of Ren, Rob our captain, François our goalie, and Lin, a promising rookie defender.
“Sorry about that.” Willa’s cheeks turn bright pink as she sips her lemonade. “We’re still in that I-really-like-you-and-always-want-to-jump-your-bones phase.”
I wave it away, fry in hand. “I’m the one who should apologize. My brain’s an unfiltered place. Most of what it thinks tends to come barreling out of my mouth. I didn’t mean to be rude. You’re in love and happy. Nothing to be sorry for.”
Willa smiles as she picks up her burger. “Thanks. I mean I used to find it gross when I saw people in public looking so in love. I always thought, ‘Is it that hard to keep that kind of hanky-panky for home?’” She takes a big bite of burger and says around it, “Then I met Ryder and realized, yeah, with the right person, it’s that hard.”
My burger catches in my throat. What a terrifying possibility, to find yourself so attracted to someone you can’t help but love them. I try to smile to show her I’m okay, but I’m incapable of an involuntarily grin. Every time I try, I end up giving the impression that I’m about to throw up.
Willa laughs. “You look like I just told you that’s dog shit between your hamburger bun.”
Bingo.
I finally clear my throat and stare down at my food. “I, uh…” My stance on relationships is hard to explain. And while I like Willa, it’s not something I’m ready to get into with her.
She nudges me. “Hey, I’m just teasing you.” Tipping her head, she stares at me for a long minute. “You’re not a relationship gal?”
I shake my head, then take a bite of food. “No, I’m not. No knocks against them. They’re just not a good fit for me.”
“Yeah. I was very against them myself when I met the lumberjack.” She throws a thumb over her shoulder to the group of men where Ryder stands. Ren laughs at something he says, making Ryder laugh, too.
They’re nearly twins in profile, except that everything about Ren just screams at me to look at him. Unruly russet waves, long nose, and sharp cheekbones. That playoff beard he somehow keeps neat, so I can still see the hint of full lips that twist in wry amusement. His eyes crinkle when he laughs, and he has this habit of clutching his chest and bending over slightly, like someone’s capacity to amuse him goes straight to his heart.
So happy. So carefree. What’s it like to live like that? To be so unburdened?
I have no clue. In past relationships, I’ve been the burden. A set of issues to be handled, complications to be managed. Back home, people treated me like a problem, not a person. And so, I came to two conclusions. First, it was time to move away, and second, for the sake of protecting myself from repeating that humiliation, my heart is best left alone, safe under lock and key.
So I wear black. I don’t smile. I hide behind a heavy curtain of dark hair and a mile-long to-do list. I welcome the witch metaphors, walk around with a frown, and grunt in response whenever possible. I don’t make friends with the neighbors or attend team picnics. I stay safe in my solitude, cold and untouchable.
For damn good reason. I will not be treated how I was ever again.
Willa pats my hand gently, then pops a fry in her mouth. “Want to know what made me change my mind?”
I glance up at her. “No.”
That makes her laugh again. “Ah, Frankie. You’re a keeper. Rooney’s going to love you.”
“Rooney?”
“My best friend from college. She’s at Stanford now. Biomedical law.”
A rare feat for me, I manage to bite my tongue and not mention my own plans for law school. Yes, I sent my application to UCLA months ago. Yes, I obsessed and slaved over my application, and I’m practically positive it’s perfect. But I haven’t received my acceptance letter.
I keep my mouth shut and suck down some root beer.
“One of the Bergman brood will inevitably have a birthday soon,” Willa says. From what I can remember of what he’s said about his family, Ren has a daunting number of siblings, most of whom live nearby. He’s one of those rare athletes who got drafted by his hometown and never wants to leave it. Which, to this ex-New Yorker who deliberately moved cross-country, is mind-blowing.
“Ziggy, is it?” Willa stares up at the ceiling, going through some sort of mental calendar. “Yeah, I think Ziggy’s next. Once Ry and I got together, especially once we moved to Tacoma, Rooney started coming to all the Bergman family parties to have the most time to see me and catch up. She’s an extroverted only child, so she fell in love with the big family, and now she’s an honorary Bergman. Come to Ziggy’s party, and you’ll meet Rooney then.”
I choke on my soda. “Uh, I don’t know why I’d be there.”
Willa pats my back gently. “Because I just invited you. I need solidarity at these things, Frankie. All these Bergmans, Rooney, too—none of them are surly or maladapted enough. Not like you and me.”
“Thanks?”
“I need a kindred cantankerous spirit. Seriously, come next time. You and Ren are friends. His mom’s always nagging him to bring a lady. I bet he’d love to have you come along.”
There are so many stupefying components to what she just said, I’m coming up short of words. I blink away, shuffling my fries around my plate.
Willa picks up her food but pauses before she takes a bite. “Also, from one crotchety soul to another, should you ever find someone who makes you want to reconsider your stance on relationships, I’m here for you, okay? Just say the word.”
Frankie
Playlist: “How to Be a Heartbreaker,” MARINA
Before I have a chance to respond to Willa’s unsettling offer, Matt, The Master of Douchical Mischief, drops next to me at the bar. I can smell beer on him.
Reaching right over me, Matt offers Willa his hand. “You’re the soccer star. Renford’s sisler-in-law,” he slurs.
“Not quite. Just Willa.” Shaking his hand, she quickly releases it, then wipes her palm on her jeans beneath the bar.
Matt’s arm lands with a hard thud around my shoulders, nearly knocking me into my food. “Frank. Frank, Frank, Frank.” He sighs. “When are you gonna stop with the ice-queen act?”
I straighten and try to shrug off his arm, but he just locks it tighter. “Frank,” he says. “We both know there’s something here—”
“Matt. Get your arm off of me before I crush your nuts with the Elder Wand.”