My Heart Insists This is Just Right
I wait outside the gym freezing my balls off, wishing I’d just gone to pick up Hannah instead of meeting here. I bounce, trying to keep warm as Timberwolves fans pass me. The door to the building opens, releasing puffs of warm air and the sound of sneakers on a gym floor. My hands are shoved deep in the pockets of my blue jacket and my gray beanie cap is pulled low, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Billows of steam from my mouth escape into the crystallized darkness of an Oregon January night. The snowy slush has frozen, making things slick. As each person passes, I glance at faces, sure that Hannah will see me, just like she had at the pizza parlor, rather than miss me standing out here covered from head to toe.
It’s been two days since our dinner, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it. About her. Hannah’s smile and the sound of her laugh. The feel of my arms around her when I hugged her, then hers around me, a pleasant weight that made my heart tumble. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was thinking about what she wanted to say. The way she blushed when she was embarrassed, or maybe secretly pleased. The way her eyes sparkled as we reminisced. Her mouth curled with a smile—lower lip fuller than the curved heart of the top—full and kissable. I knew, tossing in my bed, zoning out during class, dreaming about the beach, replaying our kiss, that the attraction I’d had for Hannah senior year was alive and well.
My heart has done a complete face plant.
I chickened out so many times during our senior year, like failing to ask her to prom. I’d wanted to but hadn’t, even with Gabe nagging me. Next thing I knew some kid from Newport was her date. I went stag with some of my soccer friends. I remember she looked so pretty. Her dress, a dark color—a deep red, maybe—her hair long and sleek over her bare shoulders. I’d asked her to dance once, stealing her away from her date who’d seemed content to sit at the table, staring at his phone instead of dancing with her.
It was a slow song.
Holding her had been torturous, in a good way. She’d smelled like summer—peaches and cream. With my hands on her waist, I’d wanted to talk to her, like we usually did, because that was something we could do. I just couldn’t find words, my tongue tied up in knots. Her body pressed against mine made me worried my body might do something embarrassing. I felt stupid, which wasn’t a normal feeling for me, then I’d slipped into being stupid, which was normal for me. Instead of talking to her, I’d talked to my friends dancing near us. Then the dance was over, and I was walking her back to her lump of a date.
Now, I remove my hands from my pockets and blow warm air into them, still bouncing on my toes, wishing I’d been braver back then, too worried about rejection.
Graduation came and went, along with the 4th of July at the beach when we’d kissed, then Cantos was in the rear-view mirror. There’d only ever been one other girl that made me feel upended and insecure in my own skin: Abby. In retrospect, I can see now it was because I cared about her. I cared—care—about Hannah.
All the rest of my flirtations and hook ups hadn’t been because I cared. Even Amber. I’d lied to myself to insist my heart was all in. I never have been. I can see now what Dr. B meant by not completely committing to those relationships. Those interactions were going through the physical motions confused with emotional connections.
“Seth!” Hannah walks toward me down the sidewalk, coming into view under the streetlights. When she gets closer, I see her coat is dark green, and her hat and scarf and gloves are matching hot pink. Her blond hair peeks out from under the hat, waving around her jaw.
I descend the entry steps of the gym to meet her. “Hey.” I offer my arm. “It’s kind of slippery,” I say. It isn’t, because the sidewalks and steps have been cleared, and the concrete sprinkled, but it gives me an opportunity to be closer to her.
She accepts my offer, slipping her gloved hand around my elbow to link her arm with mine. She smiles. “Thanks.”
I have a fleeting thought that I wish it was summer, so we didn’t have all these layers between us. “I already got us tickets.”
“Let me know how much I owe you.”
“Nothing.”
She turns her head to look at me. “Thank you.”
I give her arm a squeeze with mine.
Once inside the gym, the warmth dictates the removal of outer wear, which means I don’t get to touch her anymore. I pull the cap from my head, shove it into my jacket pocket, and run a hand through my hair to temper the disarray. Then I unzip the coat to take it off. Hannah does the same, only she’s unbuttoning her jacket and drawing it off. I help her, holding it for her as she adjusts her scarf. Her smile and sparkling eyes offer a thank you.
The moment gives me the time to admire her. She’s wearing black jeans that hug all her curves and a pink top that has slipped over a shoulder. A black bra strap catches my attention. My throat constricts. I imagine tracing the slick fabric with a fingertip, following where it disappears, and look away, swallowing to right myself.
She looks down at herself and blushes.
“You look great.”
Her blush deepens, which heats my insides. “I had a little time to run home and change.”
I think about that fact. Hannah went home to change. To get ready to see me. The thought fills my insides with added heat.
“This way.” She leads us through the gym.
The players move through their warmup on the court. People are speckled throughout the bleachers, but my eyes keep coming back to Hannah as I follow her, admiring the view. She’s got this gorgeous heart-shaped ass, the curves moving as she walks. I remember grabbing that at the beach and will my mind to remain in the gym. The attraction I felt for her two years ago definitely hasn’t gone away. I’m also braver now and not planning on moving away anytime soon.
Hannah climbs the bleachers to an available spot. “How’s this?”
“Perfect.”
We settle side by side, our jackets stacked on the seat between us.
“How was work?” I ask, trying to find a topic that feels safe.
“Good. I enjoy working at the Ham.”
“My roommate’s friend says it’s the pick-up spot on campus.” Dammit, Seth, I think and wish I could retract it. I don’t want her thinking I’m only thinking about hooking up with someone.
Thankfully, she smiles. “There’s some of that.” She blushes, and I wonder what she’s thinking about. I wonder if someone tried to pick her up in the Ham stacks.
“You must have all of the guys flirting with you.”
“What?” She looks shocked that I’ve said it, as if it would be an impossibility, and I have the sense that Hannah doesn’t understand how amazing she is. “Not at all.”
“Fools,” I tell her with a smile, though the smile is because I’m glad. I’m hopeful that she might want to be more than friends. There is a slight hesitation of possibly ruining a good and easy thing between us, which I wouldn’t like to happen. “What do you like about working there?” I mentally give myself a pat on the back for keeping a sane and grown-up conversation moving forward.
“Books, of course.”
“Of course.”
“I thought about library science as a degree at one point but changed my mind.”
“How come?”
“A list of reasons.” She uses her fingers to name them. “Available positions. Pay. Job security.” She looks at me, her face serious and contemplative. “You’d think that in a democratic society we’d do a better job taking care of people and jobs that provide access to knowledge.”
“No shit.” I watch the players doing a drill and look at her again. “Like paying teachers.” Her eyes skim my face, and I smile, my insides heating.
“Do you enjoy reading?” she asks.
“Most stuff.”
I’m feeling a tension building between us that I don’t think is one sided, and I’m wondering how I can broach this topic. Maybe after the game.
“Hannah?”
Her eyes flick from my face over my shoulder to see who’s spoken her name, and she frowns. I turn to look at a stranger standing on the steps of the bleachers. He’s tall—taller than me—and built like a linebacker with muscles on muscles. He’s good looking.
“Seth!” Marco walks up the stairs a few steps behind the guy, who has stalled on the steps near us.
I stretch out my hand to greet him.
He gives me a hand slap. “You met Sebastian?” Marco asks. “Hey Hannah.”
This is the guy? The guy who was an idiot to break up with Hannah, but fuck am I glad he did. I glance at Hannah, who looks like she’s withdrawn somewhere else. When I turn back to Marco and the guy—clearly a football player—is frowning. His blue eyes are boring holes into Hannah, begging for her to meet his gaze.
“Just now,” I say, standing and holding my hand out, drawing his attention away from Hannah.
He glances at my outstretched hand with what seems like condescension. I mean, I am sitting with an incredible person he used to date, but his beliefs about social etiquette seem to insist that he greet me. “Sebastian Mossman. You guys on a date?”
Unsure what to say, I stall. I don’t want to do anything Hannah wouldn’t want. A no leaves the door open for their possible reconciliation. That makes my skin crawl. It would also mean that we’re just here as friends, and I want this to be more than that. A yes would signify she’s moved on, but it isn’t my call to make. It’s Hannah’s.
And then, I don’t have to say anything because she says, “Yes.”
I grin. Surprised and happy.
Sebastian doesn’t like it and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Did you get my note?” His handsome features harden, and his lips thin into a frown.
I drop my eyes to Marco, who’s still a step behind the ex-boyfriend, and consider this information. He’s still pursuing her? I picture his face popping up on her phone a few nights ago while we were at pizza. Her ignoring the call.
“The one you taped to my door in the middle of the night? Yeah.”
I glance at Hannah. She looks annoyed, her lips a tight line. I turn toward Sebastian again, whose working his jaw as if chewing on her response and he doesn’t like the taste.
“Great,” he says, though the tone of his voice would suggest anything but that. He mutters something I don’t really catch and continues up the bleachers.
Marco shrugs and taps the top of my shoulder with a fist, then follows Sebastian up the steps.
I have a feeling this isn’t the last Hannah has heard from her ex-boyfriend. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who backs down from something he wants, and clearly, he seems to still want Hannah. A sobering and worrying thought.
Hannah leans toward me after I’ve sat back down, her shoulder bumping mine.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers.
I turn my head to her. She’s staring at the gym floor where the team captains are meeting with the officials at center court.
“Why?”
She looks down at her lap where her hands are tightly knitted together, her knuckles white. “For him. For insinuating this is a date, that we’re more than friends. I don’t know what’s gotten into him. He was the one who ended it.” She sort of rambles it out on a breath, reminding me of the Hannah I knew before.
Taking a risk, I reach over and untangle her hands, taking one of them in mine. “I’m not sorry,” I tell her and feel grateful when her eyes meet mine. I offer her an easy grin which belies the racing of my heart. “We’ll make this whatever you want it to be.”
She squeezes my hand with hers. “Thank you.”
“That’s the infamous ex, then?”
A buzzer sounds as the teams assemble around the center court circle for the opening jump.
“Yes.”
“Would he be the Sebastian Mossman that everyone says is getting drafted this April?”
“The same.”
I don’t say anything, just hum an affirmation.
There was a time years ago when I’d been a complete ass because I’d been jealous about a girl and my best friend. I’d like to think I’ve grown up and am more mature about stuff like that, but I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t say that I wasn’t nervous sitting next to Hannah with her hand in mine, worried she’s mulling over what just happened with her specimen of an ex.
“How do you know Marco?” she asks.
“My roommate, Trace.”
“Jacoby?”
“Yeah. How–” But I shouldn’t be surprised. She dated his teammate, and as Marco proved just the other day, everyone seems to know someone.
“Small school,” she says with a smile, squeezes my hand, then lets it go.
I miss her skin connected with mine but am okay with whatever she needs.
The game begins, and the pressures of the external world slip away for a while. It’s just me standing next to Hannah, our arms grazing every so often and laughter and joy shared between us, which, I think, is exactly how it should be.