She turns to Skeeter, who orders a double cheeseburger, large fries, and a draft beer. We eat together most weeknights after practice. He was already doing offense when I came, and I kept him. Mild mannered and jovial off the field, he becomes a force of nature when he coaches.
After our food comes, Sonia Blackwell, the science teacher, walks in the door, pauses when she sees us, and then comes over. Petite with shoulder-length dark hair and glasses, she’s wearing a bright-green shirt with an avocado on it and slacks. We murmur our hellos.
She adjusts her glasses. “Skeeter. So I heard about the lice—”
“What? Has another team got it?” He slams down his beer. “I knew it. It’s gonna be an epidemic.”
She shrugs. “No, um, I was just wondering if you come across one, maybe save it for me? You could bring it to the science lab in a cup or something.” She smiles, a dimple in each cheek. “We’re studying reproduction, and the female louse doesn’t need the egg to be fertilized to have a nit. Those things are bloody fascinating.”
I put down my bite of brisket. Ready to watch the show.
Skeeter shakes his head, a large bite of burger in his mouth. He chews furiously, then wipes his face. “Hell no, Sonia. I ain’t touching those things with a ten-foot pole, and neither are my boys. They’re a menace. Remember fifth grade?” He glares at her. “I do. And today I cleaned fifty-two helmets with Lysol. If I see a louse, I’m gonna stomp on it, then flush that fucker.”
Red steals up her face. “Oh, yeah, well, I, um, just thought it would be cool through a microscope.” She looks away from us.
This is what I know. They’ve known each other since school. Sonia has a crush. Skeeter is clueless. She’s a fearless teacher, but when it comes to him, she flops around like a fish. My take is he was popular and she was the shy nerd.
“If I see a louse, I’ll text you, Sonia. You want to join us?” I ask, noticing she came in by herself.
She glances at Skeeter, and I kick him under the table. He grunts, then darts a look at me. I nudge my head at her, and he gets a confused look on his face; then realization dawns. “Um, yeah, you wanna eat with us?”
“You guys have already gotten your food.” She shrugs. “I guess not.”
“We don’t mind,” I offer as Skeeter focuses back on his burger.
The hostess, who’s been lingering, asks Sonia if she wants to go to her table, and she gives her a jerky nod. She stops about halfway to her table, her voice rising. “Nova!”
My head snaps around to the girl who just breezed in the double doors and heads to the bar area. She’s wearing denim shorts and a blue T-shirt with red cowboy boots, and her hair shines under the light, straight as an arrow down her tanned shoulders. She sees Sonia, then rushes over to give her a hug.
Skeeter follows my eyes. “Nova really let you have it at the party.” He chuckles. “She’s usually sweet, but you had to go and ruin her roses.”
I scowl. “It was Jenny.”
He smirks as he chews on a fry. “In college, she talked me into a tattoo. She couldn’t get anyone to go with her, and I was game.” He pushes up his shirt and shows me the number fifty-seven. “That’s my high school number when we won state. She got Trouble at the top of her ass. With yellow roses around it. Those are her thing, so you really messed up when you ruined them.”
“I didn’t,” I growl.
“She was crazy fun. Spunky.” A frown flits over his face. “Then everything went to hell . . .”
“And?” I give him a look after the pause goes on too long.
The waitress interrupts us, asking if we want refills, and when she’s walking away, Skeeter gets up to go to the bathroom. I bristle. What went to hell for Nova?
I glance over as Nova wraps up her chat with Sonia, then heads back to the bar, where she plops down on a stool.
Before I think too hard about it, I grab my water glass, which I didn’t want refilled, and head to the bar. Tuck’s words keep tumbling around in my head. Who is she? Really? Why did she agree to come to the party if it wasn’t for money? Is she just like the other crazy fans who would do anything to see a player? Was the emotion I felt in her arms fake?
My chest twinges. Did I hurt her? Or did it mean nothing at all?
She’s leaning in over the bar, her face supported by her elbows, chatting to the male bartender, when I slide in next to her. I motion to him. “Water, please.”
She stills, then turns to look at me, those blue eyes cool. “Hello.”