should have asked you for his name when you came back from that trip, but I only wanted to call him a dick.”
“Because he was a dick.” Rhiannon rested her elbows on the table. “You know of him? Would you have recognized his name?” Katrina followed sports a little better than Rhiannon did.
“Yeah. I mean, he hasn’t played in years, but he’s more famous for his family than his career anyway. His dad and uncle were both Hall of Famers.” She screwed her face up. “There was some drama when Samson retired, but I don’t remember what, exactly.”
“I don’t care about his past.” When it came to Samson, she knew quite enough, thank you.
“I can’t imagine how awkward that interview must have been for you, and now I’m more impressed at how well you kept your shit together.” Katrina gasped. “Ah God, all the double meanings now. Was he talking about you? How he didn’t intend to—” Katrina paused and Rhiannon waited patiently for her to voice her outrage over how stupid it was to claim one wasn’t intending to throw someone aside.
I didn’t intend to ghost you was fast becoming the mealymouthed I didn’t intend to hurt you of the dating world, and Rhiannon was sick of it.
“Wait a minute.”
“What?”
“He said he had a personal emergency. That was why he ghosted you.”
Rhiannon snorted. “A hypothetical.”
A frown creased Katrina’s otherwise smooth brow. She often got skin care tips and products from Lakshmi. “Or real.”
“If that’s his excuse, it could mean anything. Or, yanno, he’s lying.”
“Oh yikes.”
“What? Do you know something?”
“He may not have been lying. The timing would fit with . . .” Katrina hopped up from the table and retrieved her phone from the counter. She typed something in, scrolled for a minute or two, and then grimaced before sitting down again and placing the phone faceup on the table.
“What’s this?” Rhiannon peered at the ESPN article.
“I remember hearing about Big Joe Lima’s death a few months ago. That’s his uncle, Rhi.”
Rhiannon skimmed the article, each word increasing her sense of foreboding. Long battle . . . ALS and Parkinson’s . . . chronic illness . . . brain donated to the Concussion Research Alliance . . . survived by his nephew . . .
The short bio ended with the date of death. Rhiannon compared it to her mental calendar. “His uncle died a few days after we were supposed to meet.”
“That would probably be what he was talking about.”
A sick feeling descended on Rhiannon, and she put her phone down. Underneath that sickness, there was another feeling, one she couldn’t quite identify. “Probably.”
Katrina’s smile was pained. “Rhi.”
“Don’t say it.” She could see it, the slight hopeful look in her friend’s eyes, and she didn’t want that hope to infect her.
“What do you think I’m going to say?”
Unlike Rhiannon, Katrina was a soft romantic, though she hadn’t dated anyone in years. She couldn’t go out to too many public places where she didn’t fear a panic attack. “That he had a valid reason for not showing up that night.”
“I don’t know if I’d call it a valid reason, but it seems like extenuating circumstances.”
Rhiannon pulled her sleeves down so she could stick her thumbs through the thumbholes. These were her favorite kinds of sweatshirts, the ones with the long sleeves so she could cover her palms. They hugged her best.
Katrina cocked her head. “Could he have reasonably gotten ahold of you to explain he’d had an emergency sometime between standing you up and the conference?”
She’d unmatched him on the app, she never gave anyone her real number. Plus, the fake name and all. “No,” she said grudgingly, that sick feeling growing.
“Did he try to talk to you at the conference? I mean, when you weren’t being recorded.”
He’d chased her in that ballroom. “Kinda.”
Katrina tapped her fingers on the counter. The silence stretched between them and Rhiannon finally made a frustrated noise. “Say what you want to say.”
“I was only thinking . . . ninety-nine percent of the time, immediate block for ghosting, right? This might be the .01 percent time when a ghoster wasn’t being a total cowardly dog.”
Rhiannon folded her arms, then unfolded them. She thought of how tender Samson’s hands had been on her skin. When he’d pushed inside her, he’d leaned down and whispered in her ear. It’s been so long since I’ve done this. Tell me if it’s good for you. “So? So what?”
“So he hurt you when he ghosted you. Doesn’t it bring you