Think about attending our open house. You’ve got good instincts out there.
The guy gave me his card. Every now and then, I slip a finger into the back pocket of my jeans just to feel the edge of it.
I’m sitting in a booth with a couple of other guys on my team, the overflow table. I know my place, and as there aren’t enough seats at the tables pushed together in the middle of the diner, some of us have to sit on the side.
Besides, I have to keep an eye on the time, and I have a perfect view of the clock. I have to be back by ten. I glance up at the clock, which is, of course, Elvis-themed. The seconds tick by with the sway of his hips. And oddly enough, his hips keep time with every song that comes on. Presently, it’s “Blue Suede Shoes.”
I still have forty-five minutes.
“And here you go.” Chatham slides an enormous piece of cake in front of me, as she’s passing me. Sort of nonchalant. “As promised.”
I didn’t order the cake. I haven’t even ordered a burger yet.
She glances at me over her shoulder and winks.
“Nice throw, dickweed.” Novak shoulders his way into our booth across from me and treats me to a hard stare. “You know how important this game was? You know what chances you fucking blew for me with that fucking throw?”
I shrug a shoulder. Keep cool. “Maybe you should’ve caught it.”
“Maybe I should’ve . . . what did you say?”
“I said, you should’ve caught it. You were open. I hit you in the numbers. I did my job.”
“I had no problem when it was Yates in the pocket.”
“Any receiver worth his salt,” I say, “would’ve caught that pass.”
“Are you saying I’m not worth my . . .” He raises his voice a few decibels. “Worth my what?”
“Hey, guys.” Jensen turns around in his seat. “We’re all on the same team. All share the same goals.” Always the mediator. That’s why he’s a good captain.
“I hit you in the numbers,” I say. “Can’t get more accurate than that. Listen, I can appreciate that you grew up playing catch with Yates, and you’re pissed he’s out, but—”
Novak’s on his feet now, his finger in my face. “You’ve got some fucking nerve, rookie.”
Jensen: “Guys!”
“Excuse me.” Suddenly, Chatham is there, working her way between us, armed with another plate of chocolate cake. “You’re getting a little loud, and there are a few families with kids here, so . . .” She offers Novak the plate. “Truce?”
Novak backs off a bit, but doesn’t break eye contact. His hands are balled into fists, and if he could manage it, steam would be coming out of his ears.
I lift my chin. Bring it. After all I’ve been through, I can handle whatever he throws at me.
“My treat,” Chatham says. “I’d appreciate it.”
At first, Novak doesn’t move. But a second later, he takes the cake, and looks away, but only for a breath. “We’ll talk about this later.”
“Any time.” I watch him walk back to his seat.
“Calm down,” I hear Jensen say to the bastard. “We won, all right? You had a decent game.”
I take a forkful of cake. Glance at the clock. Then I happen to see Damien’s truck parked at the curb across the street, where it was last week.
He isn’t in the truck this time, so I keep an eye out for him to return.
What the hell is he doing here?
Could be he’s bellied up to the bar at the Cannery, down the road, at the intersection at Suffolk—pretty likely, actually—but it’s weird that he would park here, then walk four blocks.
He probably knows I had a game tonight, and half the town knows the team congregates at the Tiny Elvis after we play. I wonder if he’s looking for me.
I have half a mind to investigate, to go right up to him and ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing stalking me, what the fuck he’s thinking worming his way back into my mother’s life, but that would be in violation of the order of protection. And if I leave the diner, it’ll look like I’m going because of what just happened with Novak, and I can’t let him think he affected me. Because he didn’t.
I eat my cake.
Shovel in a burger.
Relive some awesome moments of the game with the guys sharing my table.
Catch a glimpse of Chatham every now and again. Is it possible for a girl to get hotter every time you look at her?
But I never go more than a minute or two without checking Damien’s truck. And suddenly, he’s there, walking down the sidewalk, smoke in hand. He climbs into the cab, rolls down the window, and settles in. He’s staring into the windows of the Tiny E, as if he’s waiting for me to emerge.
He wouldn’t. I mean, we have a restraining order. It’s a coincidence. He’s out drinking, wants a smoke. Can’t smoke in bars in this county, so he’s having one in his truck. That’s all.
But it’s not unbearably cold out, so why wouldn’t he just smoke outside the bar on the sidewalk like everyone else instead of walking four blocks?
I still have a few minutes by the time the rest of the team is ordering dessert, but I pay my portion of the tab, making a point of waiting for Chatham to be up at the register so I can say good-bye.
“Hey,” she says. “Everything all right?”
“Yeah.”
“So smile.”
It’s involuntary after she asks. “What time are you done tonight?”
“I work till close.”
“Around ten-thirty or so?”
“Yes, sir.”
Sir. What a southern thing to say. “Want a ride home?”
“I live just . . .” She points with her pen, but stops. She knows I know where the Churchill is. “Of course you know that.” She licks her lips. “If you want to see me later, you could ask.”
“I’m asking.”
She’s smiling.
“If you don’t mind hanging out at my place,” I add. It’s only fair she knows what she’s getting into. “I have my sisters.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I mean, they’ll be in bed. Asleep. I know it’s not as exciting as seeing a movie, or going to a party, but—”
“I don’t mind.”
“I’ll come get you then.” I figure I can get them to bed late, after we get Chatham. What Rosie doesn’t know can’t hurt.
“All right. I’ll text you when we’re done cleaning up.”
I stand there stupidly for a second. What would she do if I just leaned over this counter and kissed her? I’d like to, and I kind of guess she knows it.
I snap out of it. “See you soon then.”
“I guess you will.”
I walk out into the night.
Damien’s watching me.
I have to walk right past his truck to get to where I parked.
I stay on my side of the street, and feel his eyes on me the whole time.
I guess that’s to be expected. He’s sizing me up, preparing for what kind of barricade I might be if he decides to come after my mother again. I’m a lot bigger than I was the last time.
When I start my SUV and pull away from the curb, I see that his headlights are suddenly on. He’s pulling away, too.
Coincidence, I tell myself.
But two turns later, I’m pretty certain he’s following me. If I know Damien, I know he’s keeping a measured distance, too, so that if I call the cops, he can truthfully say that he was farther than the mandatory five hundred feet from me. I wouldn’t put it past the asshole to have measured the lengths of the town blocks just to be sure.
When I turn onto Carpenter Street, I pull over and wait a few seconds. Sure enough, Damien appears around the curve half a minute later, idling several car lengths behind me.
I inch along.
So does he.