“So he’s stable and responsible and makes a nice living for himself,” Randi said. I thought of her college boyfriend who’d spent an inordinate amount of time bumming around our living room, skipping class, talking about the next big break he knew he was moments away from discovering. It took Randi six months to decide the guy was too lazy to ever discover anything but the underside of our couch cushions. Their breakup ratcheted up Randi’s vigilance in making sure guys she dated—and I dated—were far away from the “maybe I’ll still be living with my parents in five years” track.

“Yes. This guy’s definitely a grown-up.”

“How does he feel about soccer?”

Ha. She did know the right questions to ask. “He plays. That’s how we met. And he’s good too. Played in college and everything.”

“Sounds like a great match.”

“I think so. It’s a good story too. He totally blew me off when we met and didn’t want me on his team. It was only a pickup game in the park, so I approached the other team and played for them instead.”

“You did not. Oh my word, please tell me your team won.”

“Let’s just say it was my third goal that gave us the victory.”

“You are so hard core. Okay. Soccer, money, good job, Virginia, twin brother. What else?”

“Hold on. I’m texting you a picture.” I sent a photo I lifted off Jamie’s Facebook profile, then switched over to speaker phone so I could dig through my laundry to find my shorts. Me and laundry. We hadn’t been getting along lately.

“Oh. My. Word. You have met the perfect man.”

“Right? I can’t wait for you to meet him.”

“Ugh. It’ll never happen. That would require me to leave the kitchen and have a social life.”

“How’s it going?” After college, Randi decided her true passion in life was pastries. She’d gone back to culinary school and become a pastry chef for a fancy restaurant in Atlanta. She complained about the hours, but I knew in her heart she loved it.

“It’s going. Just got one of my original desserts added to the menu, so there’s that.” A buzzer dinged somewhere in the background. “Gotta go,” Randi said. “That’s the cream puffs.”

“Hmm. Enjoy one for me.”

“Will do! Love you. Talk again soon!”

* * *

I’m not going to lie. For a minute, I considered letting Jamie win. He’d been acting like the stupid rematch was so important, which bugged. But once I was on the field, my competitive edge took over. I mean, we were all still smiling the whole time, but there was no way I was coddling Jamie’s ego. The rematch was his idea. If he won, fine. But it wasn’t going to be because I held back.