Page 20 of Your Play to Call
I open the menu sitting in front of me, and my mouth starts to water. The way to my heart starts with fresh pasta and all things cheese.
Before I get too far in, our server greets our table with a bottle of red wine.
“Wine for the table?” the server asks.
Tripp looks at me, waiting for me to make the call.
“Please.”
Chapter 14
Tripp
The wine’s been pouredand our orders placed: chicken piccata for me and pasta Bolognese for Willow. I usually don’t drink when I have practice the next day but I figure tonight is the perfect exception.
Asking her to bring a jacket was the move. Wind blows through the rooftop, making Willow’s hair a bit wild, dark strands flying around. Her cheeks are tinged pink from the cold, bringing out the pink of her lipstick.
“I’m impressed. I have to say this is a first for me... a first date on a rooftop,” she says.
I’d be lying if I hadn’t agonized about what we should do tonight. I landed on a classic. Hearing her say “impressed” and “first date” in the same sentence feels like a win.
“I thought this was a safe bet. Far enough outside of the city and not anywhere too busy. Plus, I’m sure you’re always going to all the newest restaurants and things… thought you might like something different.” She doesn’t respond right away, which immediately makes me want to fill the silence.
“Still public enough in case you want to run...” I take a long drink of wine. There’s nothing about her that makes me think she mightactuallywant to escape but sometimes we all need some validation.
“I don’t want to run. Not yet at least,” she says playfully. “You’ve put some thought into this.”
“Definitely have. I knew what I was getting myself into, sort of, when I opened my mouth after practice.” The look on her face, cheeks pinched with a smile, her eye contact, it makes it impossible to look away.
“You also seem to know quite a bit about me. Like my favorite flower.”
I knew this was going to come up. Just didn’t know when.
“I remember an interview you did a while back.” I try to sound cool and collected. “And to just get this out of the way, I've been a fan for as long as I can remember. I played your first CD in the first car I bought. I can probably sing most of your songs, word for word, and I'm not at all embarrassed.” I clap my hands and rub them together.
This might be the fucking worst thing to say. It’s not like I date a lot, especially not someone like Willow. Is it gross to admit to being a fan? No clue. I already said it and can’t take it back.
I can’t tell if it’s the candles reflecting in her eyes or if she’s processing what I said. She tips her chin a little closer to her chest and runs her tongue over her lip.
“You like my music?” she quietly responds, smiling—not what I was expecting. My stomach flips because I have no chill. Plus, I’m still thinking of her tongue on her lip.
“You’re sweet for pretending I wasn’t blaring a live version, one that I had to scrounge the internet for, when you got in my car.”
Willow's cheeks blush, and she looks down at her hands in her lap. She slowly blinks and shakes her head, still grinning.
“What, like you didn’t google me?” I joke and give her space to bypass my confession of being a legitimate fan.
Her chestnut eyes snap up. Busted. And she knows it.
“Guilty.” She jokingly puts a hand up, like she’s claiming responsibility. “In all fairness, there wasn’t much to find. Your record seems to be squeaky clean... minus a rowdy post-championship Champagne incident a few months back.” She takes a slow sip of her wine, not losingeye contact. “Not a mention of a single girlfriend. You really threw the paparazzi for a loop with your after-practice shenanigans.”
“To be fair, there really hasn’t ever been a girlfriend, besides someone back in college.” I lean back in my chair. Willow skeptically tilts her chin up, wanting more. “Bailey. She’s great.” I smile as I share details. “We were close friends and would throw in the benefits when it was needed. She always had my back, and in all transparency, we’re still friends. I know it sounds like a line, but it’s the truth—there wasn’t anyone besides her.”
“Or you’re just very good at keeping secrets.” Her voice drifts.
“That isn’t it. Too many people would use the word impulsive to describe me. I don’t have the capacity to keep things like that under wraps, and I’d never want to make anyone feel like they were being hidden.”
The second the dumb words are out of my idiotic mouth I know there are things she works hard to keep quiet. For example, the home where I picked her up. This was a key mention from her security team. Also, I don’t want to feel like I’m giving her shit for her ex.