Page 11

Honor

The roar of engines rattles the stands as the cars fly by on the racetrack. The hot sun sends shimmering waves of heat over us. I curse myself for not better applying sunscreen and can only hope that I escape the day with only a minor sunburn.

“Did you see that?” Dave exclaims, rising to his feet. “Harrelson nearly clipped the wall!”

“Wow,” I say, struggling to inject enthusiasm into my tone. My fingers itch to pull out the book I have hidden in my purse, but even I know that’s not a good look for a date.

When Dave suggested a date at the racetrack, I was game.

I want to try new things, expand my horizons, yada yada yada.

I’ve seen My Fair Lady and figured it would be like that–an enjoyable day outdoors with the added excitement of a race.

But it turns out I’m not the racecar type.

What I wouldn’t give to be curled up with a book and a cup of tea or hanging out with Wes at Cup of Swords.

I’m not here to read , I remind myself. I’m here to find myself a potential life partner.

In that regard, Dave is…an interesting choice.

He’s reasonably attractive, he’s smart, he has a stable job (as far as I know).

He checks a lot of low bar boxes. Even better, he’s fun.

In our online messages, Dave was upbeat and always had something to say.

In internet dating, when it sometimes feels like pulling teeth to make conversation, Dave was a refreshing change.

When I finally met him in person, I realized he literally always has something to say.

On our first date, we met for coffee, and I barely got a word in edgewise.

I chalked it up to the fact that it was a first date and he was nervous.

As an introvert, it was even somewhat relaxing.

Women are often expected to hold up the conversation with men, and with Dave, I didn’t have to do a thing.

On our second date, I figure that things will calm down. He picks me up in front of my apartment (point for Dave) and we start driving up to the Evergreen Speedway.

“Did you catch the Ironclad Marauders game last night?” Dave asks me. “It was amazing, right?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t watch…football?”

“Rugby–and you don’t know what you’re missing.

I wasn’t into it at first, but then I started watching rugby sevens at the Olympics and wow!

The fast-paced action blew my mind. It was like a combination of football and soccer.

I started following the sport here and Beau Matthews is just the man.

He’s like a combination of Superman and Arnold Schwarzenegger, but on speed. ”

I make affirmative noises during his monologue. “Sounds cool.”

“Are you into football? Have you been following Drake Blythe?”

“Who?” I ask, lost.

“The Miami Dolphins QB.”

“Uh, no, sorry.”

Dave frowns. “You said you like sports, right?”

“Uh-huh.” I like sports because there are usually parties associated with those sports, and I like hanging out with friends with delicious finger foods. That’s what I like about sports.

“So, what sport do you follow?”

“Umm…golf,” I say, crossing my fingers that it’s a sport he doesn’t follow.

“Oh yeah, I don’t watch that as much, but I’ve watched a little of Matthew Wilkes in the Summit Pro Tour.

His swing is like poetry in motion, right?

I love how cool he stays under pressure, you know?

Can you imagine being watched by millions while you try to hit a ball a hundred yards down the green? ”

My head whirls from the rapid-fire questions. “Uh, yeah, exactly. He’s so amazing.”

“Cool, cool,” Dave says, his head bobbing. “We’ll have to watch together sometime.”

Ugh, or never. “I’d love to,” I lie. I’m already not feeling so great about the chances of this relationship making it past next week, so it’s probably a promise I will never have to be held to.

“Hey, do you mind if we listen to a baseball game on the radio?” Dave asks, his hand already moving to the dash.

“Uh, sure.”

“Great! There’s a new shortstop for the Chicago Street Sweeper, Nash Fontaine, and he’s on fire!

” He turns on AM radio to listen to a play by play of the game.

He pounds the wheel and lets out whoops of excitement as the Street Sweepers make runs and his new hero, Nash, makes a series of stunning plays.

“Can you believe this guy?” Dave exclaims, gesturing to the world at large. “What’d I tell you? Fire!”

“Fire,” I echo with a nod. I stare out the window at the passing scenery, wishing I were back in the car with Wes on my way to the Buhurt fight. We always have a million things to talk about and none of them involve random sports.

Except now he has Buhurt . But that at least is interesting . I love that it’s historically accurate and I can actually picture some of my fantasy book boyfriends in it. Clad in steel and leather, riding into battle with their warrior queen at their side, sword raised to the sky.

I shift in my seat. It’s kind of hot, actually. Okay, Wes doesn’t ride a horse, but I can easily picture him hacking away at his rival, and my belly flutters again.

Why am I so attracted to him in armor? But then I remember that I had also felt attracted to him at Cup of Swords, when he was wearing regular clothes. It wasn’t the armor–it was Wes .

Not only that, but I’ve been thinking about him more and more.

Everything reminds me of him. Even conversations with the third prospect in my online dating–WhiteKnight–makes me feel like I’m talking to Wes.

It’s as though something has woken in me that I can’t just put him back in his best friend box.

I shift in my seat again, confinement in the car suddenly feeling constricting.

“We’re here!” Dave announces, pulling into the parking lot.

I give myself a shake. Pull it together, Honor. You’re on a date. Do you want to be seventy, unmarried, and still hanging out with your best friend?

Suddenly, that future prospect doesn't sound so bad. In fact, growing old with my best friend in the world feels…comforting. I can picture our little house together, my library of books, his gaming room, the kids we would have–

“Ready?” Dave asks.

I jump. “Yep!” I say brightly and open the door.

The hot summer air smells like asphalt and burning rubber, with hints of popcorn and gasoline. We follow the masses of people streaming into the Speedway.

Dave chatters at a million miles a minute, telling me about the racers, their crew, and their records as we make our way through the turnstiles and into the stands. We climb up to our seats, practically in the nosebleed section.

I barely listen, as my active participation in the conversation doesn’t seem to be a necessary ingredient for Dave.

The only person who has truly intrigued me from the online dating world is WhiteKnight.

Talking with him feels so comfortable, so natural.

It feels as though we’ve been friends for years.

He’s clever and makes me laugh. Our conversations are just plain fun and seeing another message in my inbox from him makes my heart flutter.

But in reality, WhiteKnight is a stranger. His pictures are obviously fake. I don’t even know if it’s actually a man behind the messages. The longer that WhiteKnight pushes off meeting in person, the more skeptical I become.

When I imagine the future I want with a romantic partner, it looks a lot like the future I imagined with Wes: a cozy, cluttered house full of books and games, comfy couches, too many pets, and maybe even a little boy or girl who looked just like Wes. My heart aches, wanting that future.

But do I want it because I’m actually in love with Wes? Or because he’s comfortable? Maybe all this new attraction to him is some sort of early biological clock ticking. And even if I want that future with him, who says that he wants the same future with me?

Wes isn’t interested in you, but you’ve got a man right here who is interested in you. Think about a future with him!

My internal voice is annoyingly right. I turn to Dave, intent on asking him a question about his future hopes and dreams, when he jumps to his feet, spilling popcorn on me. Dave doesn’t even notice, his eyes glued to the action in front of him.

“Look, here comes Ryder Stone! He’s making his move to slingshot past!”

I brush the kernels off my clothes, my interest marginally perking up.

Even though I have no interest in NASCAR, my social media feed has been buzzing with posts about the relationship between Ryder Stone and his former archnemesis, Blake.

There’s nothing I love more than a good rivals-to-lovers plotline, so I’ve eaten it up like everyone else.

I stand next to Dave, trying to catch a glimpse of the handsome racecar driver. Of course, it’s impossible at this distance and at the speed the racers are going. The cars whiz by and the crowd erupts into a cheer.

“Do you think Blake is here?” I ask.

“Who?” Dave shouts over the noise.

“Never mind,” I shout back.

“They’ve only got twenty more laps to go. So exciting!”

Twenty laps? I sink back into my seat.

“Harrelson’s making a move from the outside!” Dave narrates. “He’s moving up from the back of the pack. He’d better not try his earlier move or he’s going to–”

The sound of screeching metal and a loud bang blocks out Dave’s next words. I cover my ears and leap up to see that two of the cars have collided in a wreck at the back.

“Oh, my goodness, is everyone okay? Are they hurt?” I ask, clutching Dave’s arm.

Dave looks down at me and laughs. “Are you nervous? Look, they’re fine. This is all part of the fun! Let me tell you about the race I saw five years ago…”

And he does tell me. In detail. With every word, my interest in him falters until it’s left dying in the dust. Dave is a nice guy, and I appreciate that he likes sports. But I can’t spend my life with a man who’s clearly obsessed with them. We just won’t have anything in common.

Instead, I yearn to snap my fingers and be back home. The man next to me is not the man I want to spend my time or my life with.

I want to spend my life with a man whose presence is like a warm hug, whose smile lights me up inside like fireworks, whose laughter is the harmonious echo to my own.

I want a man who will love to spend rainy days inside on a cozy couch playing video games and reading books, who’s a little goofy and a lot nerdy, just like me.

Who isn’t afraid to laugh at himself and who cares deeply about others.

Who knows me inside and out and loves me anyway.

In my heart, I know who I want. Maybe I’ve known all along. I want the man who’s always been my best friend, but maybe, just maybe , could become something more.

I'm starting to think I’ve been overlooking the man who’s been right in front of me this whole time.