"There aren't enough people here yet, and it was my very loud and very kind daughter's idea that I bring you something hot and caffeinated."
"Is this where I point out that you're hot and caffeinated?"
"That's such a terrible line, and I hate how much it's working on me," Jamie laughs, his eyes surprisingly bright this close to sunrise.
I look around at where the girls are already starting warmups, my coaching important, but unnecessary for another minute or two. Another look has me gauging the interest of any other early arrivals, but Jamie and I aren't doing anything wrong, and I take a long sip from the coffee he brought.
"Wait, how'd you know what I like?"
Jamie stares, another smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Sometimes friends notice things. And sometimes they remember them for later."
One of my co-captains shouts for me then, and he and I have run out of the time we've got today. We're still chasing the time left ahead, and I hate how much it frustrates me to wait.
After the new year, weeks pass quickly and slowly, and I self-soothe with a rotation of homemade broccoli cheese soup, baked ziti, tomato bisque, and white chicken chili. Sophie and I aren't spending as much time together because she's on a hot dating streak and spares me the sordid details. I only hear from Logan once, but I see Jamie at Kai’s a couple of times because those barstools are almost as safe as the bench. Harper has better things to do than hang out at the church fair over spring break, and Jamie doesn't owe me another afternoon on a date that isn't really that. We’re brave enough to meet for brunch once instead, and we tell ourselves it's the same thing.
He and I are less shy about what we want when we talk, but we haven't made it back to his giant sofa again, and I want that to be okay. I once chose him in an alley and outside a taco truck and in a backyard I didn’t know was his. I'm still choosing him, and will for as long as it takes to make wishes come true.
It's why I don't expect the jolt of betrayal that hits in May of that year. On prom night.
Or actually, it's a couple of days after that, when I find out what happened the night I was in a nearby ballroom, chaperoning hundreds of dance-happy juniors and seniors, including Harper Sinclair.
It's dumb luck—or a curse of some kind—that I'm in a position to overhear anything. A case of being in the right place at the worst possible time. But it's the Monday after prom, and I have to stopby the front office to speak to one of the guidance counselors, and it means walking past a cluster of parents to do it. Presumably, they're on their way to a meeting to discuss graduation preparations, but I've been working here long enough to understand that Vicki Gallagher will open her mouth wherever it suits her best. And today, an audience of one handsome gay English teacher will do just fine.
"She finally did it. Melanie Bishop finally got Jameson Sinclair."
I look up and scream at myself not to care, but I'm not sure my forced incredulity gets me far. I move past Vicki and her minions at the pace of someone nightmare-crawling through molasses, and she keeps talking while her smirk is aimed in my direction.
"There's been plenty of flirting before, of course. But with both of their daughters dancing the night away at prom, I guess they took advantage of an empty house and a big bed."
"What did she say afterward?" one of the other moms hisses. "I mean, was he as good as we've all imagined?"
I'm down the hall now, but the guidance counselor is finishing a phone call, and I'm trapped while I wait, Vicki's voice carrying as well as it always has. I'd guess the smirk is still in place, but I do myself one small favor and don't turn to look.
"I was a little worried that the old rumor about him might be true, but Melanie says no way. Apparently, he was very, very good. Attentive, if you know what I mean. Andthatwas a bit of a surprise, given his well-established ego, but isn't she a lucky little thing?"
"So, she'll be seeing him again?"
I get waved forward then, and I don't get to hear an answer to a question that's already made me sick. My stomach is no better by the time I leave, but the echo of Vicki Gallagher's voice is only in my head. Sophie has other plans, so I can't drag her out for too much tequila, and I don't think Kai can help with this one. After a lonely drink at my apartment that night, I almost text Logan. I think Imight be willing to drive two hours to ruin so many things.
In the end, I don't go anywhere, but it takes me until the weekend to text Jamie.
Will you please meet me at the bench tonight?
He's there before I am, and I'm not surprised. His response to my request hadn't been met with the flurry of questions I'd expect from someone who didn't know what I might have to say. He hadn't asked me to come to the house instead, nor had he begged for a meeting on neutral ground. Jamie had simply suggested a time—after dark again—and there's a chance he's been waiting here for a while.
But he's wearing my hoodie, and I hadn't seen that coming.
"Do you want it back now?" he asks, his voice complemented by the waves below.
"No."
Jamie nods and lifts the blanket draped over his lap so I can join him beneath it. It hadn't occurred to me to bring one, even on a night that calls for it, but he's prepared for this. I sigh and make myself as comfortable as I can, stopping short of taking his hand when we're pressed close together. Then neither of us speaks for a while, my ears catching muted sounds the wind could've carried from anywhere, though I'm curious about whether Harper is home tonight. I stare at the ocean and don't ask.
"I slept with Melanie Bishop."
There it is.
And already knowing helps nothing. Nor does my equal share of guilt.