Page 34 of End Game

But she’s not Diana.

I take a deep breath and meet her eyes. “I need to be honest with you. I don’t want to lead you on or anything.”

She looks at me sadly. “This wasn’t your idea, was it?”

Slowly, I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I wish it were different.”

“You really care about her.”

I don’t pretend to misunderstand who she’s talking about. “She’s my best friend.”

Johanna sighs. “No. You really like her.”

My cheeks heat. “Is it that obvious?”

“Well, you’re on a date with me because of her grand idea, so…”

So, no, she has no idea. My stomach churns. I take a sip of my iced coffee, and it does little to soothe the ache deep inside of me.

“We can be friends. We should try to be friends, because of Diana.”

Her laugh is bitter. “Nothing personal, but I’m not really interested in being your friend. Sure, you’re a great guy, but I want more, and I have enough self respect not to go for a guy who is obviously interested in someone else.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“You’re Barrett Zhang.” She blinks. “Tell me what there is to know about you.”

My stomach twists. I’ve come across this before. She wants Barrett Zhang, scion of the Zhang family and football player and all around Good Guy, the wealthy son of a prosperous Chinese family who does good in the community. She doesn’t want me, Barrett, the guy who barely has his head on straight some days and can’t turn his homework in on time and sweats at the vaguest mention of spicy peppers. She doesn’t want the guy who is in love with his best friend and too chicken to do anything about it.

I’ve dated before. I’ve hooked up. I’ve gone home with random women, or taken them back to my place for a night. I’ve never had a girlfriend before. It always felt like a line that shouldn’t be crossed. No matter how much I might appreciate the woman in my bed for a few nights, in the back of my mind, I’m always comparing her to Diana. I’ve never met a woman who even comes close in comparison. There has never been anyone who succeeded in making me forget about her.

As soon as it was confirmed she was coming here, I stopped hooking up. I stopped taking women home. That seemed like a boundary I shouldn’t cross. The soccer team has always been off limits on the off chance she came here. And now that she’s here, I’m incredibly grateful. It would supremely suck if she had to live with and play on the same team with someone I’ve been with. I would never want to make her uncomfortable.

I’m not some Casanova playboy; I’m human, I’m twenty-two, and I’m fallible. When I got to college, I made the decision to live my life and not pine obnoxiously for a woman on the other side of the country who has never, not once, intimated that she wanted to be intimate with me. It’s not like there was a line of people waiting to sleep with me: I’m big, I’m not white, and I was entirely inexperienced, which is not an ideal combination in attracting women, even with being a football player at an elite school.

The other players took me under their wing and taught me how to party, how to talk to women, how to be a mostly functional adult amidst all the challenges of being part of a team and not being able to play for a year as a redshirt. They kept me out of trouble when the boredom set in. The team wanted me to put on weight for a year and learn the plays, so I did. I studied. I got stronger.

Most of those guys are gone now, graduated or doing other things with their lives. One guy was drafted into the NFL late in the seventh round two years ago. He made the practice roster and was cut before the season started. I’m not sure what he’s doing now.

The guys I live with now are great. We get along well. Occasionally Amir, Greg, and I will go out to a frat party on a Saturday night, but the three of us are just as happy with a quiet night in watching a movie or playing video games. It’s a good fit. Until recently, Miles and Tucker were both social recluses—since they’ve started dating their respective girlfriends, slowly their social lives have gotten more interesting. Wes is still an antisocial recluse who barely ever looks up from his books, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon.

“I’m just a regular guy,” I tell her.

“Whose family is loaded,” she points out. “Your parents are—”

I’m nothing like my family. Sure, we have the same name and genetics, but that’s the only thing we have in common. We might as well be strangers.

I clear my throat. “I hope we can keep everything civil, at the very least.”

Johanna rolls her eyes. “Yeah, sure, whatever. I’m not, like, heartbroken or anything. This was clearly a setup. I’m not going to cry myself to sleep over it.”

Even though I know she’s trying to cover up her own disappointment at being rejected, her casual dismissal still stings. “Right.”

She shrugs. “I’m not going to waste my time.”

I’ve never really dated. Sure, I’ve gone out with women. I’ve taken them to bed. But I’ve purposefully never entered into a relationship. How could I, when I compared every single woman I met to the one I can never have?

“Well, it’s been swell,” Johanna says bitterly. She pushes back her chair. “See you… never.”