I didn’t have time to explain this odd demonstration away before William spoke up, “You’re one to accuse me for playing with people’s hearts.”
I looked over at him, waiting for a clarification.
“He likes you,” he said, repeating my words.
I nearly choked. “Right,” I said, dragging the word out. “He was pointing at the girl in front of me.”
William looked pointedly in front of us. “In case you didn’t notice. There’s no one in front of us,” he finished, sweeping his eyes up and down the court in a dramatic way.
I followed his loaded gaze, no one in front of me, not even a cheerleader to explain away Paul’s grandiose gesture. So there was some other conclusion, but certainly not the one William had leapt to.
“Whatever,” I said, wincing at my cliché choice of responses. “Guys like him don’t like girls like me.”
The other team sunk two free throws before he responded, “What do you mean?”
“You know,” I said, irritated he was playing ignorant so I’d have to explain the obvious.
“I don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Would you go out with him if he asked you?”
“He wouldn’t,” I answered immediately.
“If he did,” he replied, with an edge that was both hard and delicate. “Would you want to?”
I counted to ten silently, to make it seem I was considering my response, despite having an instant answer for him. It was unsettling knowing he was the reason for the immediate certainty.
Stronger girls hadn’t come back from these kinds of heartbreaks—I knew I needed to be careful. “I don’t think so,” I said slowly, as if my answer was unsure—open to change.
“Don’t think so,” he repeated, his eyes narrowing. “Why?”
“You’ll laugh.”
“I won’t,” he said, and for whatever reason, I believed him.
I forced my mouth to form the words, although it felt as unnatural as breathing under water. “I believe there’s got to be a spark, something big that happens when you meet the one you’re suppose to be with so there’s no way you can question it,” I was whispering, barely loud enough for my own ears to register, but from the tilt of his brow, I knew he was hearing every word the silly little girl inside of me was spilling out. “That didn’t happen with him. Why should I waste my time if he’s not the one?”
A part of me wanted to cringe, for admitting this to him, but another part wanted to jump up and run laps around the auditorium from the freedom of bearing myself to someone. Feeling na**d in the most intimate way.
William didn’t have an immediate answer for me, as he had on just about every occasion. Paul made a smooth lay-in, closing the point gap—but it was only going to cut down on the embarrassment at this point. There was no coming back from this.
“Perhaps because he’s popular, handsome, a catch in the world of woman.”
His popularity was evident from the chortling fans behind us. Handsome? I suppose in the conventional, obvious way. A catch? I could see how he would be for some—for most—but something I was trying to suffocate within, bubbled to the surface, and I knew that he and every other man from this day on would be second rate thanks to the one sitting next to me who put a whole new spin on first rate.
“I don’t work that way,” I understated. “I want to be with one person forever. I don’t want to date my way through guys until I’ve forgotten just what I was looking for in the first place and end up settling for the next one that comes along.”
I knew how ridiculous I sounded, as if I had the beauty, wealth and status of a Hollywood starlet, and the options of men to go with it. I knew I was nothing more than Bryn, ordinary at best, odd at worst, but I was through silencing my inner voice. I’d done it long enough.
“What did you feel when you saw me?” he asked, drawing out each syllable as if waiting for the call from the executioner.
I glued my lips together so the answer on the tip of my tongue wouldn’t slip out.
A slow smile formed when I waited too long to answer.
“Not that,” I said, knowing I’d said it too fast for him to take it at face value. “Besides,” I added. “You were too busy making me angry.”
“Sparks come from anger—some of the strongest,” he said, sounding like he thought himself an expert on the matter. “Besides, anger is often mistaken for passion. Especially when someone is trying to hide their true feelings for someone.” He wasn’t kind enough to keep the accusation in his voice light.
“There. Weren’t. Sparks.” I hoped I didn’t sound as unconvincing to him as I sounded to myself. “Besides, we have nothing in common.”
“That’s not true,” he said, right before the buzzer went off, announcing the end of the game where OSU had gained enough ground back they could walk off the court with their heads only partially hung. “We both go to OSU, drive old cars, like basketball,” he listed off, as if he was trying to convince himself of our likeness. “And we both only want to be with one person,” he paused, his Adam’s apple dropping before continuing, “and sparks. We both believe in good old-fashioned sparks.”
His words expressed vulnerability, but it was his expression that screamed it, as if the mask he wore when I first met him, was just that, and the man he truly was was sitting next to me. There was something desperate about it, and incredibly appealing. As if he needed to be any more appealing.