Chapter 8 #2
She smiles. “I love those guys. I worked on several of their games last summer. And when Jessa and Clark got together, it was so cute. I was at that press conference when she defended him. It was like true love waiting to happen.”
I’m not exactly sure what she’s talking about, but I nod my head and smile like I do.
“I just moved in with Jessa, well, I will when we get back from this trip. Clark and his teammates live across the road.”
“Who’s the one who’s texting you?” she asks, looking down at my phone.
“His name is Burton? He finally told me that’s his last name, but I don’t know the first.”
I kind of hope Daphne has some insight, but a text from the same number comes through again.
This is Burton. That probably should’ve been the first text.
I try not to smile too broadly because Daphne is watching my expressions like I’ll crack at any moment.
How did you get this number?
“Is he a really tall guy?” Daphne asks after checking something on her own phone. After I nod, she says, “I remember him. He’s really funny.”
I haven’t seen him on the ultra-funny side of things. Okay, maybe the whole “dead body” thing is funny now, looking back. Burton has been nothing but a gentleman.
He still hasn’t texted me back by the time we pull up to the restaurant. I reread my text and wonder if I’ve been too harsh. Did he feel like I was bugged about him having my number?
We walk in and sit down at a booth. It smells good here. Fresh seafood is something I’ve missed since moving back to Utah, not that I could afford it a ton, but I would splurge every once in a while in Seattle.
“Are we ready for this trip?” Fred asks, taking a sip of his drink.
The rest of us nod.
“It’s going to be a good one, I think,” Jerry says. “I didn’t know if we’d make it to the playoffs, to be honest. Hopefully we can pull off a win here.”
“It was touch-and-go there for a while. Sometimes I wish we’d just won a bunch more at the beginning, so we’d have more breathing room,” Daphne says.
“What do you think, Laney?” Fred asks
I smile, trying to buy myself some time to form an adequate response. “The playoffs have been awesome. The team I reported for in Seattle never made it this far. And the Yetis are a great group of guys and deserve it. Besides, that means more time working with you all.”
Jerry lets out a whoop and holds out his drink. The rest of us follow, clinking the glasses together.
They smile and continue the conversation, but I’m distracted as I haven’t gotten a response from Burton yet.
Are you at your cardboard lacrosse game?
I grin, remembering his irritation when I called it that this morning.
That’s supposed to be tonight, if I remember correctly. Or tomorrow night? What day is it?
Still Tuesday.
Sometimes my brain doesn’t keep all the information it gathers while running. It’s why I struggle to listen to audiobooks when working out.
There aren’t any dots on the phone screen popping up to let me know he’s responding. Why am I so bugged about it? Maybe I’m not the most patient person in the world, but I need to relax and enjoy the evening with my co-workers.
I turn the phone over and look up, trying to drop into the conversation.
“But he needs more points. He’s going through a big dry spell. If he scores, we win consecutively.”
I’m not sure which “he” Jerry is referring to, but I can imagine it’s a player from the top line of the Yetis.
Our food comes, and I’m able to focus on the group as the conversation goes from the games and the team to other topics. As much as I love reporting for sports teams, it’s only healthy to broaden the conversation and get to know the people at the table.
We wrap up dinner and get in the rideshare to head back to the hotel. I take advantage of the large tub in my room and fill it full. Of course, the moment I get in is when my phone pings with a text.
Instead of rushing for it, I close my eyes and try to relax, hoping I’ll be able to ignore it for as long as possible. Call it a test of my patience.
I last probably ten minutes, but it feels like at least thirty. After wrapping a towel around me, I walk over and check the phone.
Do I smile when I see that it’s from the same number as before? Maybe. But that means nothing.
Just got done. My team won.
At least he wasn’t trying to act all cool again. Sure, I’ve only met him a few times, but I already knew that was way off for how he usually is.
Congrats. I’m sure they’re happy. Did you score any goals?
Two. Got a couple assists, but overall, our defense played well.
I put the phone down, needing to put on some clothes so I’ll stop shivering with the cool air in the room. It might help to turn up the heat as well.
Is your box lacrosse team a professional thing?
Yes and no. I play on a pro team, but our season ended at the beginning of April. This is an adult rec league, but it’s fairly competitive. Then field lacrosse goes from May to September.
How does he play on so many teams? And keeping them straight would be hard. But it sounds like they don’t all overlap.
What are you doing? Did you make it to Florida?
I don’t know why it thrills me to get texts from him. It’s like I’m fourteen again and hoping my crush, Sam Sanchez, will text me about more than just our group assignment.
Just settling in for the night. What about you? What’s your post-game ritual?
It takes another minute to get a response, but I’m laughing as I stare at a picture of him looking like he’s got enough ice on his body to be armor.
Maybe you won’t be as sore as you think
I’m not sure where to go from here. Should I keep the conversation going? Maybe I’m just enjoying this because of the chat I had with Daphne earlier, and this is a rebound for my loneliness.
Chocolate milk and some beef jerky.
Interesting choice. Maybe I’ll have to try that after my next workout.
I think of Daphne’s words, how she’s grateful for the guy her husband is. Is it a good idea for me to even flirt with an athlete? What if he gets traded the minute I’m actually interested?
It can’t hurt for now though, right?
Instead of following up on that, I push my phone aside and do my skincare routine.
No need to worry about Burton. We have good chemistry, and he’s fun to talk to.
My phone pings again, but I let it be since I think I just got moisturizer in my eye.
Ow, ow, ow. It burns.
My brain thinks back to the movie She’s the Man, when the main character pretends to be injured during soccer warm-ups.
That’s not how I want the night to go.
Once I get stuff cleared out of my eye, I wash the rest of my face and make sure I’ve got nothing left there. My eye is bright red, but hopefully time will make it better before I’m on camera tomorrow.
I head over to the bed with my phone and finally open the screen, feeling a little more anxious than I should about a random text.
I’m going to hit the hay. Have a good night, Laney.
Good night.
I’m both sad and relieved the texting conversation is over. It should be like any other text, but it has my hopes lifting way too often with him.
I turn out the lights and fall asleep to the only movie I can find on the television. Some chick flick that has no similarity to my life whatsoever.
Okay, maybe a little, but this is real, and I’m going to enjoy the Florida sun and watch a few hockey games.