I Got the Boy

A week ago, Jonathan had shown up at my apartment with bundles of take-out food and a hopeful smile. And after allowing myself to warm up to him, I offered him an unspoken invitation to rekindle our friendship, which he eagerly accepted.

Since then, Jonathan had been in Florida, playing the first two games of the Stanley Cup Final against the Lightning. And though we hadn’t been able to see each other since, we kept in contact through occasional, witty text messages.

As a result, I had kept busy with continuing to familiarize myself with my new work place and my new home. I had reached out to some fellow co-workers, joining in on group lunches and after-work drinks. And fortunately, I had found a new work buddy in Andrew, one of the company’s architects whose apartment was only a few blocks from mine. Andrew was an energetic, funny, and loud. He resembled the male-version of Danielle, though she challenged that description when I first told her.

“I’ll have to meet him when I visit,” she hummed ambiguously.

Discovering that he was a die-hard Blackhawks fan, I had invited him to watch the first two games with me, using them as an opportunity to learn more about him. During the games, we had shouted ruthlessly at the television together, until a commercial break or the final buzzer. Then, we had chatted mindlessly about ourselves, learning that we had a lot of interests in common.

And despite the fact that Danielle had argued that our friendship was more than I let on, it wasn’t. It was a promising friendship, but it was only that—a friendship.

Andrew was attractive—with his perfectly pushed-back, blonde locks and his sea-colored eyes and his sculptured jaw—but I didn’t find myself attracted to him. It was completely platonic and I could see that he understood that notion, too. We just liked spending time together.

Since it was Monday and the Blackhawks were scheduled to play their third game against the Lightning, I headed into Andrew’s office to invite him to watch with me.

I knocked lightly on the door, before I cracked it open and peeked into his office. His navy blazer was thrown lazily on a nearby hook, his dress shoes were perched on the edge of his desk, and he was sprawled out in his desk chair, light snores sounding from his parted lips.

With a mischievous grin stretched across my lips, I quietly snuck to his desk and leaned over him, pressing a few buttons on his computer. Suddenly, a Taylor Swift song blared through his speakers, jolting him from his sleep and knocking him onto the floor.

I giggled loudly, before shutting off the music and flopping into a seat across from his desk.

“What’s up, Andrew?” I started, balancing my heels on the edge of his desk.

He climbed back into his chair, wearing a disgruntled frown and swatting at my feet. “I was napping peacefully, but then, you showed up.”

I rolled my eyes and shrugged off his comment, “I’m here to discuss important business.”

He eyed me curiously over the desk, leaning forward onto his elbows. “What business would that be?”

I held his gaze for a moment, before stating seriously, “Whether you want Buffalo Wild Wings or Papa John’s while we watch the game tonight.”

Andrew threw his head back in a deep chuckle, his eyes crinkling up and causing his blue orbs to disappear temporarily. Once his laughter settled, he shook his head at me, “You’re something else, Callista.”

I frowned at his use of my full name, something I only required of unfamiliar people, “How many times do I have to tell you to call me Callie?”

He shrugged one of his broad shoulders, “Just as many times as I have to tell you to call me Drew.”

“You just don’t look like a Drew.”

His bottom lip quickly jutted out and his shoulders sagged. “All of my friends call me Drew,” he sulked.

“Aw,” I pressed a hand to my chest, sending him a sweet smile, “We’re friends?”

At this, he rolled his eyes and leaned back into his chair, kicking his feet onto his desk and pulling his phone out of his shirt pocket. For a few moments, he silently scrolled through some new messages, before looking up at me again, “Wings.”

“What?”

“C’mon, Callie. Keep up,” he rolled his eyes playfully at me, “I want wings to watch the game.”

I let out a short laugh, before nodding, “Okay, we can do—”

Suddenly, my phone vibrated twice against the wood of Andrew’s desk. I quickly picked it up and peered at the screen, which was illuminated with a new text message from Jonathan.

Jonathan Toews (1 min ago) – Two tickets opened up for the game tonight. Yours if you want them.

After quickly typing ‘YES’ in response, I looked up from my screen to Andrew, snapping my fingers to break his attentive gaze from his phone. “So,” I laughed, unable to control the large grin spreading across my lips, “How are the wings at the United Center?”

“What are you talking about?” he raised his eyebrows and shot me a questioning look, “And why are your eyes so wide, crazy?”

I rolled my eyes, before shrugging my shoulders and stating nonchalantly, “I might’ve just scored us tickets to tonight’s game.”

After processing what I had said, his mouth swung open with a gasp. He stayed still for a moment before he nearly fell out of his chair and scrambled around his desk, engulfing me a tight hug and picking me up from my seat. He excitedly jumped up and down, swinging me back and forth, “How the fuck?!”

A few hours later, Andrew was yelling the same obscenity at my apartment door, complaining about how long it took for me to let him in.

After being jarred from my mid-shower daze by his constant banging, I tightly wrapped myself in a bathrobe and jogged down the hallway to the door, hurriedly unlocking it and flinging it open.

“Well, finally,” Andrew huffed exaggeratedly, dropping onto the nearby sofa, “That took forever.”

I rolled my eyes at his childishness and started towards the hallway to my bedroom, calling over my shoulder to him, “If you weren’t half an hour early, we wouldn’t have this problem.”

Before I could disappear into the hallway, he sent me a sheepish grin, “But I’m just so excited.”

“5 minutes,” I promised, hurrying into my bedroom and shedding my bathrobe. I quickly pulled on the outfit scattered atop my comforter—a pair of white jeans and a jersey-red Blackhawks t-shirt I had bought right after Jonathan’s Draft Day—and swiped on a minimal amount of makeup. After readjusting the oversized t-shirt, which had slipped off of my shoulder, I slid on a pair of black booties and riffled through my closet for my favorite leather jacket.

Making my way back into the great room, I called to Andrew, snatching my purse off of the front table, “I’m ready!”

He jumped up from the couch, stuffing his phone into the pocket of his jeans and straightening out his vintage Bobby Hull jersey, “5 minutes, my ass.”

I rolled my eyes at his impatience, “Let’s just go, Drew.” At my use of his nickname, Andrew smiled at me and hurried out of my apartment, following behind me like an excited puppy.

After a short walk down a few blocks, we arrived at the arena and I retrieved our tickets from the will-call station, giving my name to the worker behind the glass. As soon as she slid out the tickets, Andrew snatched them up, looking for the seat numbers. But his eyebrows furrowed together in the center of his forehead and he cast me a questioning glance, “We’re in a box?”

I shrugged. Jonathan hadn’t been specific about what tickets they were; he had just said that two spots had opened up. But as I thought more about what Andrew had said, I suddenly realized that we were seated in the Family and Friend’s box, which I knew was usually packed with wives and girlfriends and some young children.

As we moved through security and started making our way to our seats, I reported this realization to Andrew, but he merely cast me another confused look. When we reached the elevator to get to the private box floor, he turned towards me and eyed me suspiciously, “Who did you get these tickets from, Callie?”

I pulled my bottom lip between teeth, nervously chewing on it, as I dropped my gaze to the floor. Andrew’s questioning gaze burned into the side of my skull, causing my mind to race. I hadn’t told Andrew about my complicated past—or renewed friendship—with Jonathan. I hadn’t wanted our friendship to be based on my connections; I wanted him to want to be friends without the incentive of Jonathan, although I always knew that Andrew wasn’t the type to use another person.

“I—uh—there’s something I need to tell you,” I sputtered. He just continued to stare at me, silently encouraging me to continue. So, for the rest of our elevator ride and walk to the box, I explained the story of Jonathan and I in a rushed whisper.

“You guys didn’t talk for 8 years?” he looked at me, wide-eyed, “How is that possible?”

I shrugged, stopping a few feet away from the box. I could hear the loud chatter of the different women, all talking loudly above each other, and the occasional holler of a toddler. I turned back to Andrew, “It wasn’t just a break-up; it was the end of our friendship.”

Andrew frowned at my statement, “What’d he do? Should I beat him up for it?”

As I let out an airy laugh, I shook my head lightly, “That’s a story for a different night, Drew.”

He nodded, before pressing his large hand into the small of my back and guiding me into the private box. We maneuvered around the pack of women, drawing little attention to ourselves—save for a few nonchalant side-glances—and dropping down into the first empty seats we found. They were tucked into the front corner of the box, away from the loud crowd and wandering eyes.

Automatically, my gaze became trained on the red jersey of #19. I watched as he glided elegantly across the ice, reminding me of all the hours I spent watching him in our local ice rink. And my eyes were glued to him for the rest of the game as I mindlessly exchanged comments with Andrew, the women behind us completely forgotten. I hadn’t even noticed that when the game officially started, a few women moved their conversations to the rows of seats surrounding us.

However, during the second intermission, I broke my gaze from the ice and let my eyes wander, entertaining myself with people-watching while Andrew fetched us snacks. Suddenly, I saw a flash of familiar blonde hair out of the corner of my eye and I instinctively turned to see who it was. But as soon as my eyes locked on her icy-blue ones, I realized my mistake.

“Callista!” Lindsey cried from across the aisle, jogging over the empty seat beside me. She was clad in a pair of black-leather leggings, a Blackhawks tee with a deep V-neck, and a pair of black stilettos, instantly reminding me of the NHL girlfriends I had met in Jonathan’s early career.

“Hi!” I forced a smile onto my lips, “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m great,” she flipped her perfectly-curled hair over her shoulder, causing me to self-consciously twirl my flat hair between my fingers, “Jonny didn’t tell me that you were coming tonight.” Her face twisted into a questioning look.

I shrugged, “I just got the tickets a few hours ago.”

The look remained plastered across her features, “Ticketsssss?”

As if on cue, Andrew suddenly plopped into the empty seat on the other side of me, balancing a tray of food on his lap and popping a fry into his mouth. When he noticed the new occupant of the seat beside me, he looked at me with raised eyebrows.

“Oh,” I stuttered, “Andrew, this is Jonathan’s fiancée Lindsey. Lindsey, this is Andrew.”

Andrew leaned over my lap and offered his large hand to Lindsey, sending her one of his charming, crooked smiles, “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” she offered him a small grin before she turned back towards me, giving me a not-so-subtle thumbs up. I could feel Andrew’s shoulder shake as he chuckled quietly, earning a playful kick to the shin from me.

However, if Lindsey had heard his laughter, she didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, she jumped into a zealous explanation about her upcoming engagement party. Whenever she paused for more than a second, Andrew would offer some sarcastic comment, inciting quiet giggles to slip past my lips. But Lindsey didn’t understand his humor, waving off his comments and continuing to talk, only getting distracted when the Blackhawks went down by one with 3 minutes left.

And suddenly, the final-buzzer sounded and dejected fans started filing out of the arena. Andrew and I started to follow suit, but Lindsey stopped us, insisting that we follow her down to the locker room. We politely declined—realizing that the atmosphere of the room wouldn’t be so inviting after a loss—but she pleaded until we agreed.

The waiting room had a similar atmosphere to the box—with scattered groups of girlfriends and wives chatting among each other—though the once-energetic children were now slumped on their mothers’ shoulders. While Lindsey reconnected with her friends, Andrew and I stationed ourselves in the corner, talking and laughing quietly to ourselves.

But suddenly, I recognized a familiar brunette head barge through the double doors. “Oh!” I grabbed Andrew’s hand, moving away from our safe corner and guiding him towards Jonathan, who was already wrapped up in Lindsey’s arms.

Once we got close enough, he spotted me over Lindsey’s shoulder, unwinding his arms from her waist and pulling away. “Cal,” his gruff voice perked up slightly, as he offered me whatever he could muster up of smile.

Stopping in front of him, I reached up and pulled him into a quick hug, whispering against his ear, “You played great.” I splayed my hands across his back, feeling his rippling muscles underneath his shirt, and pulled him into me. In response, he used one of his large hands to squeeze my hip slightly, before we both returned to our original heights.

We didn’t say anything for a long moment, waiting for each other to react. It was the first time we had engaged in any friendly contact since we had started our new friendship and we were both waiting to see if it was okay.

But before we had a chance to, Andrew nudged me from behind and I broke my gaze away from Jonathan’s. I reached behind me and grabbed Andrew’s hand, bringing him in front of Jonathan. “Jonathan, this is Andrew,” I leaned into Andrew’s side.

“Nice to meet you,” Jonathan spoke politely, stretching out his hand to Andrew, who quickly grabbed it and shook it firmly.

“I’m a huge fan,” Andrew admitted, “Nice game tonight.”

Jonathan merely nodded as his almost-black eyes flickered back and forth between Andrew and I, before landing on our intertwined hands. Immediately realizing that he thought we were dating, I dropped my hand from Andrew and took a step away from him.

Suddenly, Lindsey appeared at Jonathan’s side again, defusing the awkward tension that had began to build between the three of us. “Baby!” she gushed, wrapping her arms around his waist, craning her neck to look up at him, “Pat just told me that you’re going to hang out with him, so I’m going to head home.” Before he could answer her, she hurried away quickly, her heels clicking against the plastic floor.

When Jonathan turned back to us, I spoke up, “We’re gonna head out, too.”

“Are you walking home?” he questioned, glancing at his watch.

I nodded, prepared to assure him that we didn’t need the ride he was about to offer; but he beat me to it, “I’ll drive you guys home?”

Andrew shook his head, sliding his phone out of his front pocket. “I actually have to run to the office really quickly for some paperwork,” he nodded in the direction of our office building, “It's only a block or two from here. But thanks for the offer, man.”

Jonathan returned his stare to me, “And what about you, Cal?”

I simply nodded, a small smile spreading across my lips, “Sure.”