Maybe it’s him making an effort.
I want to make an effort too. But I also don’t want to hurt him any more than I already have. I’m not good for someone like him anymore.
Dinner?
I stare at the text for a few minutes. We haven’t been to dinner since freshman year. Then I remember a comment he made the other morning when he was leaving that I needed to eat more.
Trying to make me fat? It feels good to joke with him.
I like something to grab.
I laugh. Sure. Where?
Well I like to grab your ass. You know that.
I meant dinner.
Lol, I know. Be there in a minute.
It wasn’t always like this with us. It’s just sort of evolved into this. Freshman year, even after everything at prom, we actually went on dates but never classified anything as “dating,” it was more of the occasional dinner, party together, and fucking. Then I got high, fucked around, and pulled away from him because I didn’t want to hurt him. He willingly let me go and gave me space.
Sophomore year was the same only after football season, we legitimately tried to date and have a relationship. Didn’t work. Once football camp rolled around, it wasn’t the same and I slipped away. I found comfort in others when I didn’t get it from Cash.
They didn’t expect anything from me. Cash, well, he didn’t either but I still felt guilty.
When he knocks moments later, my heart beats a little faster knowing he’s on the other side of the door. There’s a fraction of a moment before I open the door that I imagine our lives to be different. I imagine that we’re together again and that night never happened. I imagine I didn’t ruin our lives when I handed Landon that joint or drank straight from the bottle because I couldn’t wait. I imagine that I didn’t almost sleep with his best friend and lose mine.
But then I open the door and I see his eyes. The bright blue that meets me changes things for me. It’s adorable in ways only Cash can be. When I look at him, that light brown hair that sticks up in the front, those dark brooding eyebrows that crease when he’s nervous, that’s when I know that everything is different and nothing will ever be the same again. Because of me.
He smiles softly when he comes inside and sits on my bed flipping through my History of Motion text book.
“I’m failing.” I say, shrugging.
He nods. “Need help? I took that class last year because I thought it was interesting.”
“That’s okay.” The last thing I want is for him to feel like he has to do this. “You’re busy with football.”
Right now, this is the most interaction we’ve had in almost a year.
Cash nods, staring at the floor, seeming to know I don’t want him to help me and not pushing the issue. “Dinner?”
“I really should study.”
“It’s just food.” He nods again, and then looks up at me standing near the window as if he knows that but he’s wanting something from me. More than what I usually give him. He didn’t come for just sex this time. “Just let me take you to dinner, please?”
He said please.
That isn’t something I can ignore easily. Not when it’s coming from him.
It certainly doesn’t feel like it’s just food.
“Okay. I guess I gotta eat.”
He laughs throwing my sweatshirt that’s beside my bed at me.
When we get to the Taylor’s Bar & Grill, I’m glad I took that Vicodin earlier. Seeing girls instantly hanging all over him isn’t easy, regardless of how undefined we are. But it’s the way it is with us lately. I’m in the shadows and he’s center field where he belongs.
He walks in ahead of me but reaches for my hand when we get to the door. I feel safe when he touches me like this, warmth enveloping my body instead of the all-encompassing cold I live with daily.
Just before he opens the door, a group to our left calls his name as they sit outside in the green plastic chairs reserved for outside dining. He gives them a nod, never letting go of my hand as we’re led to a table in the back, his eyes on the televisions that line the wall above the bar.
When he lets go of my hand to take a seat, that’s when I feel the warmth leave me.
Everyone stops by to congratulate him on the game against Tennessee. They won 56-14. I watched the entire game from this very bar last Saturday night so I have an idea of what they are talking about. Cash threw for an impressive 456 yards with four touchdowns.
“That’s amazing!” One tall brunette says to her boyfriend when he tells her about the yards. She has no idea what he’s referring to but she’s impressed by Cash and smiles, her eyes never meeting mine.
Cash is low key. He’s always modest when it comes to his playing ability, and though he’s the captain of the team, you’ll never hear him say he’s the best player. He doesn’t believe that even for a second.