Page 106 of Rule 4: Never Get Stranded with a Sports Reporter

Cal

TESSA AND I HAVE JUSTfinished washing dishes in my apartment, when my phone pings. Jason’s name appears on the screen.

Miss you. Want to come over?

My heart does that stupid fluttering thing it always does when I hear from him.

I stand and pocket my phone. “I’m going to crash with a friend tonight. The bedroom’s all yours.”

Tessa’s eyes narrow. “Cal—”

“What?”

“Is this about a certain ridiculously handsome hockey player you’ve been pining over for a decade?”

“What?” My voice goes shaky. I hope she doesn’t notice. I’m sure she does.

“You kissed him when you were teenagers. You told me you kissed your friend Jason. I looked him up. He went to that camp. It’s the same guy!”

“You’re not supposed to look those things up. Privacy is important.”

“Says the journalist.”

I tense. “Everyone knows Jason is straight.” My voice wobbles. I don’t want to lie about this. Because in my fantasies, I’m inviting Jason over for New Year’s Eve in Nashville.

Still, I’m not going to betray Jason’s confidence. I promised him.

I raise my chin. “I’m on apps.”

“Have you opened an app in the last year?”

I look away. She’s heard me rant about them.

“Cal, honey, please be careful. You think Jason Larvik is going to hold your hand at events? Introduce you to his family? Come out publicly and risk his entire career?”

I grab my coat, but she follows me.

“You deserve someone who’s proud to be with you,” Tessa says. “Someone who doesn’t hide you away like you’re something to be ashamed of.”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry.” But my voice sounds hollow even to me.

“Be careful, okay? Whatever this is, whoever this is, make sure he’s worth it.”

I grab my coat and overnight bag. “I will.”

But as I head for the door, Tessa’s words echo in my mind.

The walk to Seaport from the North End is colder than normal. The North End in Boston is a lively Italian neighborhood with cobblestone streets that, based on the number of couples holding hands as they stroll from bustling restaurants to charming cafes for cannoli, is used as the city’s premier dating spot. It’s not an experience Jason and I will have, and I try not to dwell on Tessa’s words.

Once in Seaport, I press the buzzer for his apartment and wait.

A second later, the buzzer sounds, and I enter his apartment building. A woman in high heels nods to me. I wonder if Jason will worry his neighbors might figure out there’s something between us.

Jason’s apartment door is already open when I reach his floor. He’s leaning against the doorframe in gray sweatpants and a Blizzards t-shirt, hair mussed like he’s been running his hands through it.

“Hey.” His smile is wide and genuine.

“Hey.”