I jumped to my feet, hoping I didn’t look as guilty as I felt. “What are you talking about, Daddy?” I rolled my eyes to cover my skittishness as I answered my dad. “I was just bringing in the cheese platter, and so I introduced myself to your guest.” I quirked one eyebrow. “Aren’t you always carping at me to be nicer when you bring your players around to the house?”
“Hmph.” Dad relaxed, his expression fond as he wrapped one arm around my shoulders. “I don’tcarp, Will. I make requests of my family. Is it too much to ask that you’re polite to the team? To my fellow coaches?”
“Sure, Dad. Whatever you say.” I grabbed the glass of iced tea from his hand and took a sip, making a face. “Ewww. This isn’t sweet.”
“Isn’t it?” My father tried the tea. “Sure, it is. Tastes fine to me.”
“Oh.” Damn the pregnancy hormones that sometimes made food taste so off. “Maybe my sweet tooth went into overdrive while I was living in Europe.” I kept my tone light.
My father chuckled as he walked toward Dean. “Lassiter, here’s your H2O.” He passed Dean the glass. “So you met my girl. Did she tell you that she just got back from a year in Europe where she not only finished her bachelors’ degree but also got her masters at the same time?”
Dean glanced at me, as I regarded my dad with fond tolerance.
“No, sir, she didn’t mention it.”
I snorted. “Dad, this might surprise you, but when I meet someone new, I don’t lead off by announcing my latest accomplishment.”
“Why not? You worked damn hard. You deserve to boast a little. Your mom and I are proud of you.” Dad patted my back. “Are you sticking around for dinner?”
“Ah . . .” My eyes darted toward Dean. “I’m not sure—”
“What do you mean, you’re not sure?” Mom appeared in the doorway. “Where else do you plan to eat if you’re not having dinner with us?”
“I’m . . . I mean, of course. I guess.” I felt flustered, my cheeks going warm and pink.Way to make me sound like a loser without friends or options.“I just didn’t want to intrude. You know, on the coach and player talk.”
“I think Lassiter can probably figure out how to talk about something besides football. For one night at least,” Dad noted drolly. “And it’ll do you good to be social, Will. You’ve been moping around here since you got back from your interview in Boston.”
And thanks to you, too, Daddy, for the pep talk. “I don’t mope,” I snapped. “But yeah, I’m going to be here for dinner. Mom made lasagna, and that’s one of my favorites.”
Dean was watching the back-and-forth between my parents and me, his expression amused. Again, I wilted inside as I thought about how he might look at me once I told him . . . well, everything.
“Let’s go sit down.” Mom cast a reproving look at first Dad and then me. “Dinner is ready.”
* * *
It was the meal that felt like it was never going to end.
I’d been sitting here at the table for just over an hour, poking at my salad and then pretending to eat the lasagna. I managed to scrape sauce and cheese from a noodle, chop it into tiny pieces, and sneak them into my mouth. To be honest, I felt a little resentful: usually, I could eat dinner. Actually, generally I could wolf down a lot of food after five in the afternoon, making up for everything I didn’t eat earlier.
But tonight, thanks to the man sitting across the table from me, nerves had robbed me of even the slightest inclination to enjoy my food. Instead, I was sitting here like a grenade about to explode, waiting for an opportunity to get Dean alone or somehow figure out how to contact him and set up a meeting. I didn’t have the slightest clue how I’d do that, unless I snuck into my dad’s phone to see if he had Dean in his contacts. Or maybe he had a paper roster with phone numbers and emails somewhere on his desk. That might work, though he mostly tended to keep all of his team paperwork at his office, not at home—
“Willow?” My mother was gazing at me in a way that let me know she’d been trying to get my attention. “Sweetie, you okay?”
I pasted on a smile. “Sure. Sorry, that lasagna was so good that I think I’ve got a little bit of a food coma going.” I had to hope that my mother hadn’t noticed how much Ihadn’teaten. “I’ll take care of the dishes. You can sit and relax.”
Mom quirked an eyebrow. “I was just saying that if you’d help me clear the table, I’ll finish cleaning up later. I promised Aunt Von we’d video chat tonight.”
Finally, I was catching a break. “I don’t mind doing dishes. Go ahead and give Aunt Von my love.” I glanced at my father and then at Dean. “Do you need anything while I’m up?”
“I’m going to make us some of my famous chocoffee,” my father announced. “You want some, too, Will? You’re welcome to sit with us, but I’ll warn you that Lassiter and I are going to do a deep-dive into the playbook for next week.”
I wrinkled my nose involuntarily at the mention of the rich drink that my dad so often boasted as his unique creation—a mix of dark hot chocolate and coffee, with the added perk of chocolate milk just to give it that extra boost. I usually loved it, but even the thought of coffee was too much now.
Thankfully, Dad thought my reaction was all about the football talk. He chuckled and waved his hand.
“All right, all right, you’re excused. Thanks for hanging in there as long as you did tonight.”
“No problem.” I let my eyes meet Dean’s briefly, hoping he got the message I was silently telegraphing. “It was nice to meet you.”
