Chapter 2 : Taking Chances

*Jane*

I wake up feeling like I’ve got a mouth stuffed full of sand. The mini migraine pounding through my head isn’t helping either. Fortunately, all things considered, I’m not doing too bad.

With a groan, I raise my head, trying to figure out where I am.

I realize that I must’ve just thrown myself onto my bed last night, given that I’m still in my party outfit with hair that looks like I stuck my finger in a power outlet. When I look for Rachel, she’s in a slightly less dignified position —she ended up just sleeping on the floor, with one shoe missing. I absentmindedly note that it’s been abandoned halfway on the trek between the bathroom and where she decided to pass out for the night.

“Rach?” I ask groggily, my voice sounding rough. I pick up a pillow to throw at her, and it bounces off her head. “Are you alive?”

She makes an unintelligible sound and raises a hand to flip me off.

“Oh great, you’re in good shape then.”

“My head is killing me,” she grumbles, struggling to a sitting position. “We need sustenance. Medicine. Where’s the nearest fast food place?”

“Ten minutes off campus.” I sigh, managing to get to my feet.

“Nice, that’s breakfast done. Just give me a minute. Or ten.” She rolls over onto her back and presses her hands into her eyes, evidently trying to soothe her own headache. “I can’t believe I feel this shitty. We didn’t even drink that much last night.”

“We maybe didn’t drink a lot but what we did manage to get down was strong enough to count for more,” I point out. “I’m never doing tequila shots with you again.”

“Hell, I’m never doing tequila shots with me again.”

I make my way to the bathroom to brush the bitterness out of my mouth and fix the bird’s nest on my head. As I go about my routine sluggishly, I hear Rachel shuffling around in the room as well.

“Hangover aside, what did you think of last night? It wasn’t a total bust, after all, was it?” she calls out. Then her voice perks up, suddenly free of the post-drunken stupor it had been in. “I still can’t believe that Noah Baringer walked us home. And that you got his number!”

I pause with my toothbrush in hand. “Why do you make it sound like it’s such a big deal? Granted, he’s hot. But it’s not like he’s a celebrity or anything.”

Rachel splutters with laughter, coming to stand in the doorway with one elbow propped against the doorframe. “My God, Jane. You really do need to get more in touch with campus life. Don’t you know who he is?”

I shake my head, proceeding to layer toothpaste on my brush. Rachel rolls her eyes.

“Noah Baringer is only the star center fielder for the baseball team. Not only is he dreamy, but everyone keeps saying he’ll make it to the MLB one day. You know, Major League Baseball. Not a big deal in the slightest,” she teases with a shrug.

I almost drop my toothbrush in the sink.

I try to think back to last night. As I sift through the hazy memories, I recall his kindness to me, and how he was willing to step in and protect me despite being a stranger to him. He never pushed me for anything in return, didn’t try to overstep his boundaries.

But I can’t reconcile that to his apparent reputation.

I don’t have much knowledge about sports, but from the little I do know, I’d always assumed that prime athletes were the sort to be arrogant and obnoxious, more often than not players who changed girls as often as they changed clothes. Then again, it’s not like I know this guy. Maybe I am putting way too much stock in his character.

I’m about to respond when my phone beeps with a text.

I head over to my bed to check it, passing a curious-looking Rachel as I do. My phone screen lights up with a message from an unknown number.

Unknown: Good morning, Jane. It’s Noah. Just wanted to check in and say I hope you’re having a better morning than the night you had.

I make a surprised sound and Rachel rushes over to peek at my phone.

“That’s actually really sweet,” she says, nudging my shoulder. “Are you gonna respond?”

“I don’t know,” I reply honestly, utterly confused.

“Jane, that’s kind of bad manners if you don’t reply to him,” Rachel points out, commandeering the now-empty bathroom despite the fact that I’m not done yet and called it first. But I’m too distracted to care much.

If this text came through before I found out about who Noah was, it wouldn’t even have been a question. But now … there’s clout to him that I wasn’t expecting and that I’m not even sure I’m capable of dealing with. Rachel’s right, I’m not even up to date with much of what happens on campus. How would I be able to deal with being with someone so central to it?

“Earth to Jane Thomas,” Rachel calls, waving a hand in front of my face. “Are you okay? What’s up?”

“I just … I don’t know about this anymore, Rach. I had no idea who this guy was and I’m not sure it’s something I can handle,” I confess honestly.

Rachel tilts her head and crosses her arms. “What, the popularity? Future fame? That’s a lot to assume about something that hasn’t even happened yet. You don’t know how you’d deal with everything and there’s only one way of finding out. The man is obviously interested. The least you can do is reply to his good morning text.”

She has a point, I can’t deny that.

“Plus, you should’ve seen the way your face lit up when you first read his message. Whatever nervousness you feel about his reputation here, you’re definitely not, not interested,” she reminds me.

Another good point.

My fingers hover over the keyboard on my screen as I rack my brain for a good response. My mind has gone absolutely blank and this time, I can’t even blame the alcohol. But I want to make sure I say the right thing. Eventually, I settle on what I think is a decent reply.

Me: Fortunately, the bar for that is very low so, yes, it’s been a great morning so far. Hope yours is going objectively better.

I send it and expel a sharp breath, relieved but nervous to see what his reaction will be. I save his contact as soon as the text sends. Rachel shoots me a mischievous grin before she disappears into the bathroom to get ready for the day, and to keep my mind from overanalyzing and picking apart my text, I decide to try tidying up.

He doesn’t keep me waiting too long. It’s embarrassing the way I dive for my phone again, but fortunately, Rachel isn’t there to see it and make fun of me.

Noah: You’re funny. Yeah, I’m doing good too. Even better, now that I know you didn’t give me a fake number. That’s the highlight of the night for me.

A cheesy smile tugs at my lips, but I can’t help it. It’s still there when Rachel comes out of the bathroom, sporting a towel with her wet hair wrapped in another. “Shower’s free. Also, I assume this means the lines of communication have officially opened?”

“Indeed,” I say, falling back on the bed with my phone still clutched in my hands and my eyes reading over his text again and again.

“That’s my girl,” she adds proudly, heading over to grab some clothes. “Now go and get showered so we can get our hands on something greasy and totally unhealthy.”

***

By the time we head over to Burnley’s–the closest fast food place that’s walking distance from campus–Rachel is demanding as many details from the handful of exchanged texts that I can possibly wring out. Between our bits of conversation, I continue to text Noah, even telling him about where we’re headed.

“That’s literally it. I don’t know how much more you want me to tell you,” I tell her eventually.

“Oh, come on, there has to be more to it,” she insists.

“I’d be making shit up at that point, Rach.”

We find an open table and plant ourselves down. Our order is taken quickly. As we wait, Rachel notices a group of guys who look vaguely familiar picking up an order, and when one in particular seems to recognize her and freeze in his steps, she tilts her mouth up in a knowing smirk.

I wish I had that level of confidence when it came to guys. Rachel never seemed to have an issue with being able to pull anyone she wanted, and they seemed to gravitate toward her. She always told me that the issue was the way I thought of myself and that the second I got that fixed, I’d give her a run for her money. We tended to agree to disagree on that one.

Another text comes through and I read it under the table.

Noah: If Burnley’s doesn’t cure that hangover, then nothing will.

Me: Sounds like you learned that through experience.

Noah: I’d like to pretend that I didn’t and that I’ve always been a flawless heavy drinker, but that would be a lie. Let’s just say that Burnley’s easily owed half their revenue to me during freshman year. It was definitely an interesting time.

Me: Hmm. Does that mean you’ve improved on your tolerance since then?

Noah: Most definitely. It’s why I rarely go there anymore.

Me: Why not? Their burgers look really good, hangover or not.

Laughter coming over from the group of guys draws my attention away from my phone and I watch as they seem to tease Rachel’s conquest about her. His face turns bright red as he avoids eye contact and tries to get them to shut up.

For her part, Rachel looks completely unbothered, examining her nails.

“How do you do it?” I ask, watching as the guy’s friends jostle him out of the restaurant. “How do you get people to react to you that way?”

Rachel shrugs her shoulders. “It’s not as complicated as you think. People react to energy, not just looks.”

“Well, having looks on your side definitely helps,” I mutter, my eyes immediately going to the incoming tray of food headed our way. My stomach grumbles and I realize now for the first time just how much I’m starving.

“Clearly, your looks aren’t the issue,” Rachel notes around a bite of burger. “Not if Noah Baringer noticed you. You have to at least acknowledge what that says about you.”

“Are you going to keep using his full name when you talk about him?” I ask, savoring the deliciousness oozing grease down the sides of my hands.

“It’s a very important detail, my friend.” Rachel tosses me a napkin. “You might not remember much about it, but I do. I saw the way he was looking at you. And the two of you have been talking nonstop this entire time too.”

“We haven’t been—”

Just then, a notification beeps on my phone and Rachel smiles in victory. I narrow my eyes at her before looking to see what he’s said.

Noah: Don’t get me wrong, they’re decent, but I can show you better.

I put down my burger and clean off my hands before typing out my response.

Me: Well, I can now tell you that I have just gained an informed opinion and you’d have a lot to prove on that score. These burgers are amazing.

As I wait for those three little pulsing dots to turn into words, Rachel hums innocently, her eyes flitting to my hands every other second and I know she’s waiting for me to tell her what’s happening. But I’m not prepared for the reply I get.

Noah: Oh, I’m pretty sure I can do that. Tonight even, if you’re free. My treat, seeing as this is meant to be an educational experience for you.

“Jane?” Rachel asks. “Is everything going okay there? You just went really pale.”

“Noah just asked me out. Tonight,” I mumble, stunned.

Rachel squeaks, then claps a hand over her mouth and tries to regain her composure. For my part, I’m completely taken aback. This is all happening so quickly and there’s no mistaking now that he’s definitely interested.

“Are you serious?” she asks in an excited whisper-scream. “He asked you on a date?”

“Either that or he’s just an extremely passionate burger connoisseur and I’m not exactly banking on that being the reason.”

“Well…?” She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. “What are you gonna say?”

“I don’t know,” I answer, and she groans.

“You have to do this. He’s hot and a genuinely nice guy. How often do you get that combination in a single fine specimen?” she asks. “Plus, I can tell that you like him. I wouldn’t be pushing you to do this if I didn’t think that you were genuinely into him.”

“I’m not into him,” I say defensively.

“Yeah, and up is down.” She reaches out and flicks the very tip of my nose. “I say go for it, babes. You only live once and all that.”

I look down at the message once more, my stomach twisting itself into knots.

Do I feel fully confident about this situation? Hell no.

Do I think this could be a potentially bad idea? Hell yes.

Do I like him? Another hell yes.

Is it going to be worth it all in the end? I have no idea. But maybe, it’s worth trying. With a sigh, I begin to type out my answer.

Me: You’re on. Pick me up at eight.