Page 18 of Play the Last Card
If denial is a place on earth, I’m living smack-bang in the center of it.
And that is fine by me.
I don’t want to lose anyone else. Especially not Pops, not yet.
A familiar laugh floats down the hall and my shoulders automatically relax. Katie’s laugh.
“I gave you a key for emergencies,” I call out as the plush white couch in the center of the open living room comes into view and so does the sprawling blonde hair of my best friend. Some sports panel show is on the television that sits over the large fireplace and Katie’s bare feet are propped out in front of her on the ottoman we use more as a coffee table. I feign a scowl as I drop my gym bag onto the bench. “Onlyemergencies.”
“This was an emergency,” Katie tells me, raising an arm and waving it around in greeting. Her eyes are glued to the TV. I glance up, my fake scowl turning real as I watch a football highlights reel play on the screen. At least Katie had the decency to turn the volume down when I walked in.
“Oh? And what would that be? You forgot to pay your cable bill?”
Katie laughs, finally turning around on the couch to face me. “I was out of bagels.” A smile breaks out on my face as she holds up half a bagel in her hand, generously smeared with cream cheese.
“So sorry, can’t imagine the distress that must have caused you.” I slap a hand over my chest nodding sarcastically.
“You have no idea.”
“Do you want coffee?” I ask. My eyes drift to the TV again. The Broncos logo flashes on the screens behind the panel of presenters and it makes me think of Scott.
Tall, handsome, jaw chiseled sharp enough to cut right through my heart, Scott.
Damn him for being tied to football.
It makes me curious. About him, about what he does for work, how he’s tied to the stupid sport. I hate that I’m curious about that world again.
I busy myself with the coffee machine, taking Katie’s silence as a yes. It’s always a yes when it comes to coffee. It’s the first thing we bonded over when we became friends in college.
“How was the gym?” she calls again over her shoulder as her eyes are still glued to the TV. The volume is low enough that when I turn on the coffee machine, I can barely hear the presenters anymore. Still, something builds in my chest and I struggle for a moment to take a breath. I force myself to take a sip of water, eyes darting back to the TV. They’re showing college reels now, some feature on a player it looks like as they’ve blurred most of the screen to single out one man on the field. It’s the quarterback. I can tell from the two seconds of film they show. It runs in my blood even if I wish it didn’t.
I decide that they must be showcasing some fresh talent that’s either being watched or has already been drafted and while I could probably put up with it, the film switches games and the distinct difference between University of California, Los Angeles’ blue and gold clear against the bright red of Harvard fills the screen. The memory of watching similar film reels when I was younger, late at night wrapped in my bed covers and clutching my favorite stuffed bear, clouds my mind and the echo of my dad’s deep, happy laugh fills my head.
Ouch.
“Go home to watch football, you’re ruining my morning,” I say, my eyes burning as I watch the steady stream of coffee pouring into my mug.
“Spoil sport,” Katie remarks, yet she still turns the channel over—Bravo, much better— before turning her body around on the couch to face me. She flicks her hair over her shoulder. “So, did you hear from mysterious football man?”
I smile, still not facing her in the hopes she won’t catch it. “I still cannot believe you told him I thought I had something in my teeth.”
“You did!”
“I know, but you aren’t supposed to share those kinds of things withhim!” I take her mug out from under the coffee machine before picking up mine and joining Katie on the couch. My legs curl underneath me as I lean into the corner of the lounge, and after Katie takes her mug from my hand I wrap both my hands around my own mug.
Coffee, in my opinion, saves lives. Mine especially.
“So …” Katie says as she waits for me to finish savoring my first sip.
“I messaged him. He messaged back. I saved his number.” I lift a shoulder, trying my absolute best to come off easy, confident.
I conveniently forget to mention the nervous pacing and many,manydrafts of a first message I’d written out before sending the one I settled on.
She rolls her eyes at me and completely crushes any delusions I have of coming off cool, calm and collected. “Oh, please. You were probably a nervous wreck sending the first message and we both know it.”
“I appreciate your confidence in my ability to date.”
“If you had any ability to date, you’d have been snapped up the moment you walked on to campus that first day of college. You’re a smoke-show.” She grins behind her mug at me. “You’re just too modest to admit it. That’s why you have me.”