First Flight, Final Fall

by C.W. Farnsworth

“So, what’s my prize?” He presses me against a shelf, prompting loud clangs as the glass bottles shift in protest. And then he kisses me.

“You’re at Scholenberg to learn new things.” I snort, not sure what to make of the fact he knows I’m here attending the camp. Lucky guess? Did he research more than my stats? “You’re not going to teach me anything I haven’t already—fuck.”

He says nothing, just takes another step closer. Another. And another. Until the ridges of my spine are pressed against the cold cinderblock wall. Beck kisses me with no preamble. No flirting. No shots.

“You’re the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Say my name, Saylor.”

“This isn’t a therapy session. It’s a date.”

He raises one eyebrow. “You were talking about me?” “You done being jealous?” “I’m not jealous.” “You’re mad at me for talking to another guy. That is the textbook definition of jealousy.”

Because I love him too, I think, not just the game we’re playing together.

“You, uh, saw the interview I did, then?” “After. They didn’t include it in the game coverage.” Game coverage? “Wait, you watched the game? My game?” “Yes.” He says it simply, like it should be no surprise. “Why?”

“You’re not millions of other people to me.”

“You watching me play, you following my career, you saying I inspired you—that’s different from millions of other people doing those things.”

“You asked me why I came—you didn’t need to. You know the answer. I came to see you, Saylor.”

“Of course I did. Of course I want to fuck you again. But it was more than sex for me. I let you walk away because I thought it was a lost cause. But then you did that damn interview and I thought…” He runs a hand through his hair. “I thought that maybe it was more for you too.

Instead of telling him any of that, I say, “A lot of women want you.” “I want you.” Three short, simple words that say so much. That he flew over a thousand miles to tell me.

“I think I’m in love with him, though.” Shocked silence follows. “So that’s…inconvenient.”

“Does that mean you didn’t change your mind?” “Change my mind about what?” “About me. About wanting me.” He doesn’t reply right away, so I brace myself for the worst. “I’m never going to change my mind about wanting you, Saylor.”

“I missed you too,” he says. “You hung up before I could say it.”

“Do you think I do this shit with other women, Saylor? Because I don’t.”

Before he turns the light out, I say the words I’ve been afraid to utter until right now. “Ich liebe dich.”

I love you

he’s trying to figure out what I’m saying. “Ich liebe dich,”

“I love you, Saylor Scott.”

“You don’t have to say it just because I did,” I tell him. “I’m not. I’ve wanted to say it for a long time.” “Yeah?” He leans down to kiss me. “Yeah. Ich liebe dich auch.”

“I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

Saylor Scott is it for me. No other woman will ever compare. She’s been in my life for almost exactly a year, and I can barely remember what it looked like before we met.

bisect,

“Because you don’t think we’ll make it?” I reach into my pocket and pull out the velvet box that’s been there all night. I set it on her stomach. “Because I’m certain we’ll make it no matter where you decide to play.

“It was perfect.” “I never even asked you.” “So, ask.” I take a deep breath. “Saylor Scott, will you marry me?”