Out of My League

Chapter 10 (Noah)

A very large part of me wants to be over-the-moon excited that Coach Russell admitted to me being one of his favorites.

However, those emotions are too busy being terrified at the fact that I agreed to tell Izzy everything.

Why did I do that, exactly?

I know why.

Because I've known her for a little more than a month and still, I think I might be starting to like her already.

I can't do that, though, without letting her in on who I am and, most importantly, why I am how I am.

Slowly, at least. There's many different parts of the puzzle that make me, me.

We agreed to meet at my house at five.

That would give me enough time to shower and wash all of this sweat off from the game earlier. It would also give me enough time to make something for dinner.

If Izzy is into that sort of thing.

I, honestly, cannot get a clear read on her.

Is she into me? Or is she into Noah Parker, baseball prodigy, shortstop for the Colonials, a man pretty much incapable of being loved?

Who am I kidding, both versions of me are pretty well incapable of being loved. 

Nonetheless, after a quick shower, I throw on some clothes and head into the kitchen to try to prepare something to eat.

I've never been an overly talented chef. In fact, the majority of the time I just order out.

Today, though, I have to try.

After all, cooking will be the easiest, least nerve-wracking part of my evening.

***

Izzy shows up as I'm pulling the chicken out of the oven and I nearly drop it on the floor in my attempt to get to the door.

When I swing it open, I'm relieved that she looks dressed to the same extent that I am.

I was worried sick that one of us would be over- or under-dressed.

I figured that it'd be me considering I'm about as dressed up as I've ever been.

"I wasn't sure I'd be able to find your house," she admits, tugging her Corduroy skirt down to her knees as she steps into my front door and sheds a pair of converse, "I don't know my way around LA."

"But your cab driver did?"

"Well, at first he looked confused, and a little suspicious, that I was handing him a slip of paper with an address on it and looking like this."

She glances, embarrassedly, down at herself.

I want to compliment her, but I don't know what to say, so I settle instead for, "You didn't tell him where you were going, did you?"

"I'm going to the Noah Parker's house and you expect me not to tell absolutely everybody that I know? I posted the address on my Instagram feed."

I feel my eyes widen, though a dominant part of me knows that she's only joking, "Did you, really?"

"No," she laughs, "But trust me when I say that I wanted to."

"Ah, but if you had," I decide to play along with her antics, "You would've had to share me."

"Well," she smiles, small and embarrassed, but also pleased, "I wouldn't want to have to do that."

I smile and, for just a moment, hold her gaze to mine, but, not wanting to be awkward, I clear my throat and say, "I made dinner."

Her eyes go half-wide in surprise, "You made dinner?"