Free Taking Chances by John Goode Page B

of time back toward the point where I’d first approached his house, hoping to see him. I couldn’t remember the last time I was really happy, and it was bugging me. I had been satisfied and I had been content, but actually being happy had always eluded me. On that quiet walk, I faced the facts. I had been deferring actual happiness to some future point that was never going to come.
    I’d be happy when I moved out of Foster. I’d be happy once I graduated college. I’d be happy when I had a career instead of a job. I’d be happy—when? It ceased being a statement and began being a question I knew I still couldn’t answer.
    Deep in thought though I was, I still stopped walking at the head of the Parker sidewalk. Another deep breath, a sharp right turn, and I traveled the few feet from the road to his porch on autopilot.
    I knocked on the front door. When would I be happy? Was I even capable of it? Maybe I was just a naturally miserable person, destined to be alone. I didn’t know what was worse—not knowing the answer, or knowing it and not wanting to accept it. I knocked again and checked my watch, a little thread of anxiety winding through me. It was almost noon so I knew I wasn’t too early.
    The door swung open, and I almost fell off the porch.
    He was standing there, hair wet, a blue towel clutched around his waist. If I had thought he was in good shape before, I was assured by the way the water dropped off each and every muscle. “What? Oh…,” he said, once he realized it was me. “You didn’t call.”
    “What?” I echoed, noticing the way the wet towel bulged and then unable to look away.
    “I was expecting you to call,” he said, sounding more shocked than angry. “I was in the shower. Come on in and have a seat,” he added, moving aside. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be right down.” I watched him climb the stairs and realized that sixteen-year-old me would have blown his load right then and there. I was relieved I had a bit more control. To keep my attention off Tyler’s attributes, I looked around the part of the house I could see from the living room couch. Of course, thinking of the word couch and what a person could do with another person on said couch caused a near misfire, so I firmly fixed my attention on the furniture and pictures around me.
    The house was comfortable; it looked like a family still lived here instead of just him. I looked around for signs of a wife or kids, but all I saw were pictures of him in high school and college. There was one of him, on one knee in his football jersey and pads, that transfixed me. He was so young, so flawless; it was the very image I had fallen in love with ten years ago. His smile was wide, and his pride at the moment radiated a decade later like heat from a flame.
    “That was sophomore year,” he said from behind me. “My first year on the team, I thought I was the shit.”
    He was pulling on a T-shirt when I turned around. His flat stomach should have been illegal, I thought as I casually continued my stare past him, taking in the rest of the room. “My brothers were on the team before me, so for me, my first year felt like going into the family business.” I discovered that feigning casualness could end up with me staring at a closet door. Still casual, I swung my gaze back around to focus on him.
    He chuckled. “Yeah, you guys were kinda legendary around here.” He gestured to the den. “It’s in there. D’you want something to drink?”
    “I’m good,” I said, following behind him. He was barefoot, and I was instantly reminded of catching him reading in the backyard. I felt my body begin to react as he led me to the computer. “Here she is. Finicky bitch, if you ask me.”
    “Huh?” I asked, his words not making sense for a moment. “Oh right, the computer.” I covered quickly. “Lemme take a look.”
    He kept on talking while I opened the side panel. “So I saw the cars in front of your house. Christmas must be