Page 14 of Afterglow (Ottawa Regents #3)

I’m No Better Than a Man

Behraz

I’m definitely stupid.

Because why else would I ask my crush and roommate to go on multiple fake dates with me while I pretend they’re not real dates? Oh, I’m so screwed. Or rather, not screwed by Fletcher Donovan. Only screwed by myself and my small collection of sex toys.

I definitely need to go on a date with Fletcher. Just to see how it is. Maybe it’ll suck, and then I put this impossible fantasy to bed once and for all. Or maybe he’ll throw me in a bed, once and for all. No! This is for him. You’re helping him out. He’s helped you, now you help him.

I check my nose in the mirror. “It hasn’t grown, so I’m not lying to myself or anything,” I say quietly, turning off the washroom fan. I pop my lips to make sure the rosy-pink stain doesn’t spread, adjusting my bra one last time to make sure the girls are secure. “Here we go.”

Fletcher gets to his feet from his seat on the sofa, face painted with shock.

“Well, look at you all cleaned up,” I state, checking out the denim button-up with rolled sleeves he paired with tan chino shorts. It’s a significant step up from the usual sweats and tees, and almost as slutty as those injurious-to-my-health crop tops. “Ready for our date?”

He clears his throat. “Yeah.” But he doesn’t move.

“Fletcher?”

“Oh, right.” A bouquet of peonies wrapped in burlap and tied with twine is handed over. “These are for you.”

“My first flowers from a boy,” I gush. My stomach does a happy dance. This smile is not going to go away anytime soon. “Thank you.”

He still doesn’t move. “You look…”

God, he’s so sweet. I smooth a hand over the belly of this blush pink milkmaid dress, then puff the sleeves. “This dress is cute, right?”

“I was gonna say gorgeous.”

Yeah, this smile isn’t going anywhere.

“See?” I wink, eliciting a rampant blush from him. “You’re doing an amazing job on this date already. Now let’s go.”

I practically float to the Rideau Canal.

Fletcher picks a shady spot and lays a classic gingham blanket down, placing the basket in the middle.

I slip off my sandals and sit, shoving my sunglasses to the top of my head. “It’s beautiful today.”

“Yeah, it’s really beautiful,” he echoes.

When I glance over, he’s looking at me.

“That was smooth, Casanova.” My sunglasses return to hide my eyes.

Fletcher kneels to unpack our dinner, arranging a wooden tray with grapes, sliced cheese squares, and some fancy water crackers. It gets placed between us before he retrieves two glasses and a can from the woven basket. “It’s Leinenkugel’s Summer Shandy.”

“Is that a beer?”

“If beer were a lemonade.”

“Sounds delicious.”

A thin layer of foam builds in both cups as he pours.

We clink the glasses together and take a sip.

He’s right. It’s citrusy and crisp, bubbly the whole way down my throat, and warms my belly.

Though that could be the company, too. I nibble on a cracker paired with a spreadable goat cheese, motioning to the path adjacent to the canal.

“Good people watching, too. Check out those two.” I vaguely point to a couple having an intense discussion and imitate a Newfoundland accent.

“This is the last time, Fred. If you leave your filthy drars outside the laundry basket one more time , I’m gonna lose it! ”

Fletcher chokes on his grape. I keep going.

“Or those bros.” Two meaty, sweaty joggers speed along, passing the arguing couple.

I lower my voice an octave and put on a California surfer accent.

“Nah, man. I’m telling you, the whey isolate protein powder is the way to go.

It’s expensive and gives you diarrhea, but it’s the only way to effectively bulk up without shrinking your balls down to the size of peas. ”

My roommate snickers, his shoulders shaking as he smiles. I can’t stop now.

Two young women wearing oversized Carleton University tees over bike shorts take turns whispering to one another and giggling.

I lift my pitch, higher than my normal tone. “He asked me if I liked it, heeheehee ! And…Oh, my god, what did you say? I told him I couldn’t feel it! Heeheehee , that small? Oh no! Then he cried! Heeheehee. I had to leave!”

“Bea,” Fletcher chides through a chuckle. “ Jesus .”

“Hey, that’s the first time you called me that.” I nudge with an elbow. “I like it.”

He takes out a container of cucumber sandwiches and hands me one half. I try it before skewering a ball of fresh mozzarella, tomato, and a leaf of basil with a toothpick.

“You went all out with this spread. It’s so classy.”

“It’s from the store. I can’t cook nearly as well as you do.”

“Stop, you’re such a flirt.” I shake my head at him. “But go on.” A group of four beautiful women on rollerblades laugh as they pass. “ Whew .” I fan myself. “I’m no better than a man.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re hot.”

“If you say so,” he adds, opening another can of beer and refreshing our drinks.

“You don’t think so?”

“Not really. But you’re allowed to be attracted to whoever you want.”

“It doesn’t make you uncomfortable?”

“What doesn’t?”

“That I’m attracted to women, too?”

“Is it supposed to? It’s who you are, right?”

“Yeah. It is.”

Easy as that. Not sure any man has accepted it so quickly, at least not without suggesting a three-way. Then again, I’ve never really hung out with decent men.

My hand drops next to his on the blanket, centimeters away from touching.

He nurses the rest of his beer while watching two boys toss a lacrosse ball back and forth. The younger one misses, and the ball goes into the water. “ Aw, come on, Sam! ” The older one scolds and goes on a rant. “You coulda caught that!”

“What a dick,” Fletcher mumbles. “Sounds like my brother.”

I hiss. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault. Parker’s been angry for a long time.”

“Why is that?”

“Park was the hockey all-star.” He keeps his sunglasses on, despite the setting sun.

“Got drafted to Winnipeg right out of high school, got some decent play time for a rookie, too. But he got into a car accident in the middle of his second season. He’d been drinking and lost control over a patch of black ice.

Smashed right into a lamppost and shattered his left knee.

He was only nineteen, so they did surgery, months of physical therapy, but it always gave him trouble. ”

“That really sucks.”

Fletcher nods with a sniffle. “They ended his contract because he couldn’t play without injuring himself.

He came home and started coaching. My dad was livid.

He thought he’d gotten a free ticket to finally get out of Summerside.

Instead, Parker pushed me into it, hoping for a better outcome.

I made it farther, I suppose, but it’s still not good enough. ”

“God, Fletcher.”

“I shouldn’t complain. It’s a job.”

“What would you do if you didn’t play?”

“No idea. It’s the only thing I’m good at.”

“That’s not true.” An ache settles into my chest, and I close the small space between our hands.

Our pinkies nearly touch. “You’re good at having a kind, generous heart.

You’re good at listening, like, really listening.

You’re good at being dependable. And honestly,” I pause to breathe, afraid I’ll forget to, “all of those things are way more important than being good at hockey.”