Page 16 of Your Play to Call
“You don’t have to,” I protest.
“I know I don’t, but I want to.” She says it in a way that’s final and compassionate. “So much of your life is available to others. Sometimes it’s nice to find little pieces you can keep to yourself.” She turns to head back to the house like she didn’t say the most enlightened thing I’ve heard in a while.
I make sure my mouth isn’t hanging open and make a mental note to give her a raise. The flowers—pink and white peonies—stare at me. My favorite flowers. Someone’s been doing their homework.
I pluck the envelope from the bouquet. It’s heavy, substantial in my hand. Willow Scott is written on the front; hefull-namedme. I carefully open it and pull out a note on cream paper with black handwriting.
Willow – Sorry if your week has been crazy.
Meant what I said. I’d love to take you out. The number on the bottom is new and you’re the only one I’m giving it to.
--Tripp
At the bottom of the note is a phone number, tiny but legible. I’m guessing this is why he didn’t want anyone to read it.
I press my lips together, trying to fight the smile. The flowers are lovely but the handwritten note? Swoon.
I sit back in my chair, the blanket hugging my shoulders, moving the note between my fingers—contemplating what to do next. My brain snags on the wildness of it but my heart chases into theIsn’t this exciting?territory.
Most of the men I've dated have been weird about being in public. If they weren't, it’s usually because they had some sort of ulterior motive, like a mediocre music career they’re trying to get off the ground or wanting me to connect them with so-and-so. It’s hard not to feel like people aren’t always looking for something I can give them.
If they didn’t want a connection or an introduction, they wanted me to be smaller or “more normal”. It’s cliché but it’s always tricky trying to gauge someone’s true intentions.
I know if I was saying this out loud it would sound ridiculous. Poor Willow. She’s so popular and really hit her stride with her music but she doesn’t know how to pick a man.
A dramatic sigh escapes my lips, even though I’m the only one around to hear it.
Then there’s Tripp. I know almost nothing about him. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t done some Googling after our latest interaction.
Interesting because he doesn’t seem to have any public relationships, or at least any that the press has gotten their hands on. Besides his anticsat the game last season, there really isn’t much besides actual updates, a few charities he’s tied to, typical professional athlete things.
Most celebrities have those terrible articles showing their dating history in excruciating detail. Not Tripp. Gone is the compilation of any person he may, or may not have, dated served with a side of dramatic contemplation from whoever wrote it.
I once sat next to a stranger at a coffee shop while I was waiting for my order. Something fell out of my bag and this sweet gentleman grabbed it and handed it back to me. That was the entirety of the interaction. However, in the next twelve hours, the press knew everything about him, and we were rumored to be dating. Outrageous.
Nothing like that for Tripp. Which makes me think back to those silver eyes and his boyish but ridiculously sexy grin. And If I think about it long enough, it’s like I can feel his hand on my lower back and see that wink he left me with.
My cheeks pinch when I realize I've been sitting here smiling, all alone. I grab my phone and dial the number on the card before I can change my mind.
“You called,” Tripp says, and I swear I can hear him smiling on the other line.
Chapter 12
Tripp
This new phone hasbecome the equivalent to an additional limb. Ever since the flowers got cleared by her security team, this thing hasn’t left my side.
Flowers are one of my go-to gestures. When I was little and my dad was still in the picture, he brought flowers home one night. They were from the supermarket, still had the price tag on them, wrapped in the patterned cellophane. My mom didn’t care. The way her eyes lit up and her shoulders relaxed. It was like I could feel her mood shift.
That might be the only good thing my dad ever did for me. But I'll take it.
I send a lot of flowers. My mom gets a bouquet every month and I use them as my key thank-you gift. And If I’m being honest, one of the saddest parts about leaving my original team and city was the flower shop. Everyone who worked there was so kind, and they made me feel like we were friends.
This is a secret I keep to myself. And my mom—she knows everything. She’s the one who helped me find a new flower spot when I ended up on the Cosmos roster.
I take the phone out of my pocket and stare at the blank screen. Kind of like it’s teasing me with its silence.
Until it rings.Holy shit.
