Page 8 of I Wish He Would

But whenever Alyssa is here, that’s exactly what this place feels like: home.

I cross the remaining distance between us in a few long strides. “Hey, Lyssa.” I hear her inhale right before I wrap her in a bear hug. She’s not exactly short at five foot eight, but I still tower over her.

“Thanks for paying for my dinner. You didn’t have to do that.”

“It was the least I could do.” When she sent me the SOS text, what I really wanted to do was drive to the restaurant, stare down the guy so he never reaches out to her again, and drive Alyssa to my place where I knew she was safe. But that sounded like a bit much, so I settled for paying the check. “How bad was it?” I ask.

She groans, her face falling into her hands. “Remind me to never let my cousin set me up again.”

“You’re still letting Patrice send you on dates?” She shrugs, and I blow out a low whistle. “You should’ve cut that off after she set you up with the guy who took you to his aunt’s funeral as a first date.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. But I mean it this time. I just need to muster up the courage to say something to her.” Alyssa waves me off, and I immediately notice her red nails that perfectly match the shade of her lipstick. Looks like she went all out for this one.

I lead her back to the kitchen, grab a plate from the cabinet, and add a pile of the cookie squares to it. “Come on,” I say over my shoulder as I head to my couch. Aside from my top-of-the-line memory foam mattress—it was the one purchase I was adamant about splurging on when I bought this place—I wanted a couch that I could practically rot on in the offseason as I play video games with my teammates and binge-watch shows, and this one perfectly fit the bill.

It’s an extra-deep eight-seater that fits me in all my six-foot-four glory with plenty of room to spare. The oatmeal-beige color adds warmth to the room of white walls, along with the lone potted plant Alyssa’s roommate, Shayna, gave me as a thank-you for helping her out with her flower business earlier this year. It’s a miracle that I’ve managed to keep it alive the past two months with my crazy schedule.

I set the plate of cookies on one of the middle cushions that makes the couch look more like a giant bed and turn to Alyssa. “Do you want to change?” I ask as she glares down at her dress.

She places her hands on her hips. “You read my mind.”

“Grab whatever you want from the guest closet,” I say as I sink onto the couch.

“Thanks,” she calls over her shoulder before walking upstairs.

Alyssa questioned me the first time I showed her a closet full of clothes in her size in my guest room. I made up a terrible lie about it being PR merch from the team and companies that have reached out for brand deals. Luckily, she seemed to buy it, or at least not question it, when the truth is that I stocked a closet with shirts and sweat sets all in Alyssa’s size just in case she ever needs them.

She’s here so often after a bad date, when I have a rough game, or whenever we both have rare free time to hang out, and I want her to be comfortable. If she knew, I’m sure she’d say I’m spending too much money on her. That it’s overkill to have clothes on hand for her just in case she needs them. But I’ve lost count of how many times she’s changed into the comfy clothes, so I think I proved my own point, even if she doesn’t know there’s a point to be proven.

I grab the remote from my end table and turn on the TV. After selecting the correct streaming service, I click on the New Girl episode we left off on and press pause. A few minutes later, Alyssa pads down the stairs in a cozy sweats set in a shade of light blue that makes her eyes pop, paired with some fuzzy socks. She grabs a plush blanket from the corner of the couch before plopping down beside me and burrowing in.

“There’s my little Aly Kat.”

She knocks her fist against my arm. “Is that nickname really gonna stick?”

“As long as you keep burrowing into my couch like a meerkat.”

Alyssa lays the blanket across her lap. I extend the plate of cookies toward her, and she grabs one and pops it into her mouth. She closes her eyes and nods. “Yes. Whatever these are. Just yes. They definitely need to be added to our normal rotation.”

“I’ll add them to the list.” I appreciate that she’s always willing to try my cookie creations, especially since I’m eating healthy right now during the season. But baking has always been an escape for me, reminding me of all the days I spent with my grandma testing out new recipes in her kitchen. Ever since her Alzheimer’s diagnosis, I started baking again to honor her, and I’m glad my de-stressing activity doubles by providing Alyssa with some sugary support after all her disastrous dates. “All right. What did this guy do?”

She lets out a long sigh. “It might be the worst one yet.”

“Worse than the guy you took to one of my games who loudly proclaimed tattoos were evil?” I pause to laugh as that day replays in my mind. There was a guy whose arms were the size of tree trunks—and also covered in tattoos—sitting in front of them at the game. Then her date proceeded to get in a heated argument with him before getting knocked out cold by Mr. Muscled-Tattoo Man. On the JumboTron.

Her eyes narrow as she shakes her head. “I still can’t believe the camera guy caught the punch on the kiss cam.”

I chuckle. “Even the players all paused to watch that go down. I’m pretty sure the whole dugout was cheering when he knocked your date out cold in one swing.”

Alyssa rolls her lips into her mouth. “That was bad, but I still think this might be worse.” She tilts her head. “Or at least the most awkward.”

“What, did he bring his mom or something?” I tease.

She chokes on her cookie. “As a matter of fact, he did.”

“No.” I grimace.

“Oh, yes, but it gets better.” Alyssa holds up a finger while she finishes chewing. “He asked her what she thought before he said or did anything for the entire date.”