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“Never better. Enjoying the offseason.”
“Good,” I say, and suddenly I’m ready to get off this call so I can send my lame ass text to Cookie. “I’ll let you get back to it. Thanks for the advice.”
“Anytime. Good luck, man.”
“Thanks.” I cut the call, and I draft my text despite his advice to call. I’m nervous to call, which sounds absolutely ridiculous. I’m never nervous. Confidence is my whole personality, and maybe that tells me something about my feelings for this girl.
Me: I haven’t stopped thinking about you.
I stare at it for a few beats. I recall who the fuck I am, and before I lose my nerve, I click send.
Her reply comes quickly.
Cookie: Thank God. I was beginning to think you forgot about me.
I stare down at the text, my chest tightening that she might really ever think that about me, about us, about the night we shared.
Me: Not a chance in hell. When can I see you again?
Cookie: Are you back in Vegas?
Me: No, I’m in LA.
Cookie: Let me know when you’re back and we’ll make plans.
Me: I’ll be back Friday.
Cookie: I get off work at five.
Me: Dinner?
Cookie: I’d love to.
Me: Text me your address and I’ll pick you up at eight.
She sends her address right away and follows it up with another text.
Cookie: I can’t wait to see you again.
Me: Neither can I.
And now I have to wait forty-eight long hours until that moment arrives.
I shoot Beckett a text next.
Me: Heading back to Vegas Friday if you want me to check in on your little sis.
Beck: That would be great. She’s always working, so I’ll send you the details for the place where she works.
I text back a thumbs-up, and he sends me the address. I don’t bother looking it up. I’ll take care of it on Friday as a means to distract me before my date with Cookie.
Time seems to slow down as I sort through my shit and pack the essentials I’ll need versus the items that can stay in storage until my new place is ready. I say goodbye to the home I’ve lived in for eight years, check into my hotel and drop off my suitcase, and head over to my buddy’s house for my farewell tour.
I’m seeing Cookie tomorrow night, so I decide not to get hammered even though it’s my usual MO when I get together with these guys. An hour into the party, they’re all drunkenly laughing about the upcoming season and how I’ll be their opponent.
I’m not feeling it. I’m not one of them anymore. I have new teammates to meet, new friendships to create. I’ll always cherish the bonds I made here, but there are too many new things on the horizon to feel like I fit in here any longer.
I sip half a drink and stay what feels like a good enough amount of time before I duck out early. I just want to get to Vegas, and with that in mind, I grab my suitcase from the hotel I already paid for, and I hop in my truck and start driving without a single glance over my shoulder as to what I’m leaving behind.
