[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
We waited so long for a table that I almost asked Shepley if we could leave, but then a blue-haired
waitress with a chip on her shoulder and more piercings than she had holes showed us to two empty
seats at the bar.
Why did she seat us here? I asked. There are empty tables. There are a lot of empty tables.
Not even the employees want to be here, Shepley said.
Maybe we should just go?
He shook his head. We ll just grab a quick bite and get back on the road.
I nodded, unsettled.
The bartender wiped off the spaces in front of us and asked for our drink order. Shepley asked for
a bottled water, and I ordered a strawberry lemonade.
Not a beer? Why did you sit at the bar then? the bartender asked, perturbed.
We were seated here. It wasn t a request, I snapped.
Shepley patted my knee. I m driving. You can pour her a Bud Light. Draft, please.
The bartender placed menus in front of us and walked away.
Why did you order a beer?
I don t want him telling the cooks to spit in our food, Mare. You don t have to drink it.
Thunder cracked outside and shook the building, and then rain began to pelt the roof.
We can wait for the storm to pass somewhere, but I don t want it to be here, I said.
Okay. We ll find somewhere else even if it s the parking lot. He patted my knee again and then
squeezed.
Hey, a man said, passing behind us with a friend. He looked drunk already, shuffling to a seat at
the end of the bar. His eyes poured over me like dirty water.
Hey, Shepley answered for me. He locked eyes with the drunk.
Baby, I said in warning.
Just showing him I m not intimidated, Shepley said. Hopefully, he ll be less inclined to bother
us.
The bartender returned with my strawberry lemonade and Shepley s bottled water. You ready to
order?
Yeah, we ll both have the southwest chicken wrap.
Fries or onion rings?
Neither.
The bartender took our menus, eyed us, and then left to put in the order.
Where the fuck is he going? the drunk said to his friend.
Calm down, Rich. He ll be back, he said, chuckling.
I tried to ignore them. So, you re considering the sports scout route?
Shepley shrugged. It s a dream job. I m not sure how realistic a venture it is, but yes, that s the
plan. Coach Greer said I should apply for a graduate assistant coaching position. He said I d have a
good chance. I ll start there.
But & you don t play football.
Shepley shifted in his seat. I did.
You & did? When?
Never college. I started all four years of high school. Believe it or not, I was pretty good.
What happened? And why haven t you told me this before?
Shepley pushed out his water as he leaned further up on the bar. It s stupid, I guess. It was the one
thing I was better at than all my cousins.
But Travis doesn t talk about it. Your parents don t talk about it. If you started as a freshman, you
must have been better than good. I haven t even seen any pictures at your house that might insinuate
you were in sports.
I blew three of four major ligaments in my knee during the last game before the play-offs my
senior year. I worked hard to come back, but when I began training for Eastern, the knee didn t feel
the same. It still hadn t healed, so I was a redshirt freshman. I wasn t sure how long the coaches
would wait, but I knew that even if they gave me the year, I would be done. He sat up straight. So, I
bowed out.
That explains why you always say a different reason for the scars. I thought you were just
embarrassed.
I was.
I frowned. That s nothing to be embarrassed about. I can see why you want to be a part of it
again.
He nodded, the smile on his face revealing that he was just now realizing that fact himself.
He had opened up. It was the perfect opportunity for me to start a conversation about why the air
had been so tense in the car, but as soon as I opened my mouth, I chickened out. Thanks for telling
me.
I should have told you a long time ago, but & He trailed off.
Finally, curiosity and impatience won over fear. Why does it feel so weird between us? I asked.
What s on your mind?
Shepley tensed even more than he already had been. What? Nothing. Why do you ask?
You re not thinking of anything?
What are you thinking?
Baby, I said, my tone more chastising than I d meant.
Shepley sighed, nodding when the bartender brought me a cold mug full of amber liquid and a thin
line of froth.
Chug it! Rich said, grunting. God, those lips are fucking fantastic. I bet she could suck a golf
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]