Page 31 of Play the Last Card
Flynn shakes his head again. “You’re such a sucker. You know that, right?”
“It was nice.” I run another hand through my hair, tugging at the ends.
Across the field, Coach blows his whistle signaling we can hit the showers and eat. Flynn and I grab our helmets and head toward the change rooms.
“Look,” Flynn starts. “I know that with who we are and what we do, there is a risk to meeting someone and them not being genuine but you still should probably tell her before someone else does. Just because she hates football might not mean she has her fucking head buried in the sand completely. If you like her, like properly like her and want a shot, you gotta tell her man.”
We file into the change rooms, heading for the lockers where our bags sit.
“I will. I will tell her. I just … it’s been so nice.”
Flynn stares at me, studying me as something like curiosity flashes in gaze. “Man, you’re done for already.”
“Shut up.”
“You are though! This girl has you so twisted up.” He grins, picking up his phone. “You know, this might be good for you. Dating a girl that hates football and doesn’t give a shit that you’re the best QB in the league right now. Very humbling.”
I ignore him, digging around in my own bag. I sent Ivy a message this morning as I pulled up for practice. I wanted to see what she was wearing today. Her outfit of the day pictures are my favorite messages.Her clothes tell me a lot about her as a teacher. Sneakers, so she can be as active as the kids but still comfortable. Pants, always. Light colors even though she tells me she’s spent a fortune on learning how to get paint out of her clothes since starting.
She wore denim cut off shorts on our date and converse sneakers. She hadn’t cared about wearing heels or a dress, I’d told her to dress comfortably and that’s what she’d done. She’d smiled, and laughed, and ate as many tacos as she’d damned well pleased.
Flynn’s hand waves in front of my face, breaking me out of my Ivy induced hold. “Scotty, what’s her last name again?”
“Huh, who’s?”
“Your girl’s, duh.”
“Oh … uh,” I strain my memory. I vaguely remember her signing her name on the score cards at mini golf. “Booker, I think.”
I look over at Flynn tapping away on his phone. He pulls up Instagram and in less than a minute, a picture of Ivy’s smiling fills his screen. “Got her.”
He holds the phone up to me proudly.
“You’re a creep, you know that? You found that way too fast,” I say to him as I take the phone.
He pouts, reaching behind him to pull off his practice jersey.
“What? So girls can be literal FBI agents when finding a guy’s profile but I can’t?”
I glance at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
He sighs, taking his phone back. “Never mind. You’re such an old man.” I watch him scroll through her profile. “You know, Booker sounds familiar.”
“Does it?”
“Yeah. I know that name. Just can’t think where.” He scrolls further down her feed, pulling up picture after picture. Summer holidays, in a swimsuit, to a photo of her on graduation day, to another of her at a college hockey game wrapped in a giant scarf and beanie. Another of herand Katie standing on the bar at Pats, drinks in their hands. Ivy’s head is thrown back, her laughter caught on camera.
Flynn zooms in, studying her face a little closer so I lean over and lock his phone. “You can stop thinking of her altogether.”
He sticks his tongue before tossing his phone back into his bag and heads for the shower. “You’re no fun.”
I shake my head, following him to the showers and pushing all thoughts of Ivy out of my head.
***
I take my seat in the back of the small theatre room. The coaches sit in the front and the rest of the guys spread out around me. Flynn drops down on my right, legs outstretched in front of him. He tugs his hood up and over his head and his arms fold over his chest. He is most definitely planning to fall asleep.
As the lights turn out and the game tape starts to roll on the screen—Coach’s red laser pointer highlighting whatever player he wants us to be focusing on—my thoughts turn back to Ivy. This week, trying focus on the start of the season and on football has been torture.