The bell rings, indicating that this period will end in three minutes. Papers are rustled, and half of the class sighs with anxiousness.
“I have football after this, so if anyone needs an extra five or ten minutes, I can stick around. Just… take your time.”
I text Clara June again.
I’ll see you there. Glad you’re not sick.
See you there, Coach
CHAPTER
TWENTY
CLARA JUNE
“You’re really coming?”I ask, holding my phone to my ear with my shoulder as I tug on my leggings. It’s cold this evening, so my thick fleece leggings and Rawley’s oversized Bluebell Bruisers hoodie is the fashion statement tonight.
“After that article, how could I pass up a Friday night seeing the next big quarterback in his rememberwhen days?” Jackie says in between sips of what is likely a cocktail or glass of alcohol.
“He’ll be so excited to see you after.” I toss the phone on the bed after hitting the speakerphone button, and pick up my preheated curling iron off the dresser. In just my bra and leggings, I throw some big barrel, loose curls into my hair.
“Do I get to meet Mr. Box Fixer? Hmm?” she teases, and I snatch the phone off the bed and bring it closer, setting it on the dresser before kicking my door shut. I grab another section of hair and begin curling.
“No!” my cheeks flame in my reflection. “I mean… yes.” I think about this for a moment. Dean and I aren’t at a place yet where we’d need to discuss what we are, though if he makes me come one more time, I fear we’re there.
The thing is, do I fear it?
I think before I got to know him, I was scared of wanting him because I thought I couldn’t have him. But now, everything I feel about Dean almost feels reciprocated by him. Like somehow, someway, Dean McAllister likes me back. Hard.
“A couple of days ago,” I tell her, “when the boys had the flu… I had to meet Tanner for that photo, you know, the one in the paper.”
“Do I know? Uh. Hello. That’s where I first saw your hunky coach!” Jackie reminds me. I glance at the bed, where I have the extra copy I purchased from the machine at Goode’s this morning. I worked a half shift today, but got paid for a full. The benefits of the owners being solid people who recognize hard work from an already tired mom.
“Right,” I say, staring at the granular, black and white photo for a long moment before turning back to the hot curling iron and mirror. “Well, anyway, after I’d left work, Dean called the restaurant and had someone deliver food to the house. He couldn’t do it himself, you know, because hewas at the school, and part of the photo. But when I came home, Archie and Rawley had already eaten, and Tanner and I ate at the table, and then… I had time.” I shake my head and place the curling iron on the dresser, unplugging it. While finger combing my curls, I explain to Jackie what this means. “I didn’t have to rush to cook a meal for four people at six o’clock after a long day, I didn’t have to stand around in the kitchen by myself and clean up after that meal—I just came home and… ate, then took a bath.” I shake my head. “It’s just… on top of having this ridiculously overwhelming crush on him, he reminds me that in a partnership, where things aren’t one-sided, life is so different.” I nod, and refuse to acknowledge my own damp eyes. “It’s better.”
Jackie sighs. “I say this out of love but please do not go and get attached to a man who you have not had any serious talks with.”
She’s not wrong. “I know.” What I don’t say?Too late.
“The game’s at 8. I’ll meet you at the concession stand? I gotta go do a few things.”
“Sounds good.”
I end the call after a few goodbyes, and flop down on my bed in leggings and a bra, and stare up at the popcorn ceiling. Should I talk to Dean after the game tonight? About us? I watch the ceiling fan spin as I consider my options.
Talk to him now like a grown woman, or regret it later.
Or, say nothing, and be easy going and see where it leads you.
I decide right then, win or lose, that tonight is the night I invite Dean back to the house for a conversation. Not a promise to commit but a single conversation where I lay it on the line.
I have sons. You know them. I like you. They like you. We need to decide what we’re doing so we don’t hurt or confuse my kids.
There.
Simple.
Easy, peasy, and I feel like barfing at the idea of actually mentioning any of this. But it’s big girl panties day—I’ve learned my lessons the hard way in the past, and Jackie is right. We gotta figure it out.
