Chapter 9 Hollis
“I think this is where we're going,” I say as I pull into a driveway.
A large brick mansion towers in front of us.
I don’t know what I expected Lincoln Landry’s house to look like, but this exceeds any expectations I might’ve had.
The house is grand, the biggest fucking house I’ve ever seen, with clean black shutters and window boxes full of some sort of green plant that drapes over the sides of the boxes.
Lawns extend along both sides of the structure that would be perfect for football games.
To cap off the vision is a Tennessee Arrows team flag flying proudly from a flagpole near the front porch.
“Quite a place, huh?” I ask, shifting the car into park.
“Yeah. It is. Who lives here?”
“This guy used to play baseball for the Arrows,” I tell her. “That’s a professional baseball team. His name is—”
“Lincoln Landry.”
I raise a brow.
If this girl turns out to be a sports fan on top of being hot and funny and willing to spontaneously do shit like pretend to date a guy, then I’m done.
I’m taking her home and calling it a night.
I’ll be sure that the universe is pulling a trick on me, and that she’s really a dude.
Or the host of some reality show. Or working for an ex-hookup and going to poison me.
“I know him,” she says simply.
“You like baseball?”
She sighs. “No. I know him. Personally. Well, sort of. My cousin Coy used to play baseball with Lincoln a long time ago. They were on the same high school team together and played ball all summer. I used to go watch with my aunt Siggy.”
“You know this guy? I mean, I know it’s a small world and all, but … really?”
She laughs. “It’s a small world, but it’s even smaller down here.” She studies me for a moment. “Where are you from, anyway? Your accent doesn’t scream Georgia.”
“I’m from Indiana. Land of corn and coal.”
“Sounds delightful,” she jokes.
I shift in my seat to face her. “So back to this you knowing Lincoln thing. You’re telling me that a girl I randomly met in a bar knows the professional baseball player I’m here to see. And that’s completely random?”
“Stranger things have happened.”
“I beg to differ,” I say, still unable to process this new information. “Anyway, are you ready to go in?”
She holds up a finger. “Before we do that, I have a question for you.”
“Shoot, Shooter.”
She makes a face but continues. “Why are you coming here? Not that it’s crazy or anything, just … random, as you say. I’m just curious. Humor me.”
There’s a right or wrong answer here. I can see it in the curiosity in her eyes and the way she nibbles on the end of her fingernail.
“Well,” I begin. “He has a Catching-A-Care program that … I don’t know what all it does, honestly. But there’s a banquet I have to go to next week here in Savannah, and he invited me for dinner tonight to get to know me or something.”
She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “Not what I mean. Who are you, Hollis? In adjectives.”
I glance quickly at the front of the house before looking at her again. She sits next to me with her eyes squeezed shut, and if I was a betting man, I’d swear she was whispering a prayer.
“Adjectives?” I sigh. “Okay. I’m a man. Handsome. Charming. Studly. Humble,” I add for good measure.
She opens her eyes long enough to give me a look of disapproval. The way her nose wrinkles up is adorable.
“I’m a student,” I tell her, pausing to see when she’ll have had enough. I’m also not sure if that’s an adjective, but whatever. She doesn’t stop me, so I continue. “Ferocious. A football player—”
“Ugh,” she groans immediately.
“What?”
“I knew it,” she moans, hitting the headrest with her ponytail.
I have no idea what’s happening here. I only know she’s slightly freaking me out.
“Larissa?”
“I should’ve known.” She looks at me, resolution in her eyes. “You’re an athlete.”
It’s more of an accusation than a statement, and I’m not sure what to do with that. I’ve been accused of many things in my life but never of being an athlete. It’s usually more of a positive connotation, a conversation starter.
“Yeah. That’s what I said,” I deadpan.
She smacks her lips together. “Everything is starting to make sense.”
“I’m glad it is for one of us.”
She glances toward the door and then back at me.
“It’s too late. We’re already here,” Larissa says.
“It’s too late for what?” I run a hand through my hair. “What are you even talking about?”
“It’s too late to have you take me back home.”
I flinch. “What? Why do you want to go home?”
“Because you play football.”
She scrunches up her face in a way that I think is supposed to express her dislike of my sporting habits but instead makes me laugh. This further annoys her.
“Let’s get this over with, shall we?” she asks as she grabs the door handle and steps outside.
I scramble to get out. Before I can get around the car, she’s already standing at the front.
I grin at her. “I need to know why me playing football is such a problem for you?”
“Just because.”
We start up the walkway to the house. Her arms are crossed over her chest, but I don’t get the feeling she’s mad at me. Just … at the football player in me.
I don’t know what to do, so I laugh.
She stops at the top of the stairs and sighs.
“Look, do you remember last night when I told you I had sworn off men right before I met you?” she asks.
I nod even though I don’t actually remember. I’m not about to fight Larissa on this. Not with her already riled up about something I don’t understand.
“Well, I didn’t swear off all men, Hollis. Just one specific little category of them.” She takes a deep breath. “Athletes. I promised myself I was not even entertaining the idea of being with an athlete in any way, shape, or form.”
She turns away from me and rings the doorbell.
I take a step forward and nudge her with my elbow. When she looks at me, I smirk.
“Does this mean you were entertaining the idea of entertaining me tonight?” I ask.
“Ugh,” she groans, looking at the giant chandelier hanging over our heads.
“Because, if you were, I’m technically not an athlete anymore. My season is over. So if you wanna …”
Before I can get the thought out, the door swings open. Lincoln greets us with a broad, genuine smile.
“Hey, Hollis,” he says, extending a hand. “It’s good to see you. Thanks for coming, man.”
We shake hands. Lincoln steps to the side to allow us to enter his home. I look at Larissa and wait for her to enter first.
“Don’t I know you?” Lincoln asks as she walks by.
She smiles up at him adoringly. “Yes. I’m Larissa Mason. Coy Mason’s cousin.”
He tilts his head back and laughs. “That’s right. Coy Mason. How the hell is he, anyway?”
“He’s okay. He’s Coy, so you know how that goes.”
“That I do. Just saw him on the television a couple of days ago on one of those entertainment news reports, actually. And I hear him on the radio all the damn time. Danielle loves his music.” Lincoln shuts the door behind me. “How do the two of you know each other?”
“We met in a bar,” I say, figuring it’s best to leave it simple and as vague as possible.
Lincoln looks at Larissa and winks. “I won’t tell your cousins that you’re picking up men in bars.”
She grins. “I’d appreciate that.”
He turns and heads down a long hallway, motioning for us to follow. “Come on. Let’s get some food.”
The house smells warm, like apples and cinnamon, and it’s precisely what I imagine the homes smelling like in the old fifties sitcoms I watch late at night.
The hallway is decorated with pictures and random art pieces that make no sense to me. Music, I understand. Abstract art? Not even a little bit.
A living room sits to our left. It’s painted light yellow and has oversized green couches facing a fireplace.
On the right is a long dining room that looks like something out of a magazine that I would flip through at the doctor’s office.
It’s immaculate, yet you can tell by the little touches of personal effects that people live here.
I look down at Larissa to see her watching me. She smiles.
“Hollis, Larissa, meet my wife, Danielle,” Lincoln says as we enter the kitchen.
A woman much shorter than Lincoln is standing in front of a counter. Pizza boxes are lined up behind her as she watches us walk in.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Hollis,” she says. After wiping her hands on a white towel, she tosses it over her shoulder. “I’m so glad you could make it tonight.”
Her energy is a bit shocking as she heads my way, and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. I half-ass stick my hand out in case she wants to shake it—in case that’s what I’m supposed to do. But she bypasses it all together and pulls me into a hug.
My body goes stiff as I look over her head at her husband. I keep my arms at my sides.
She pulls back and smiles before turning to Larissa.
“And you,” Danielle says, “have to be Sigourney Mason’s daughter? Niece, maybe? I know I’ve seen you around.”
“Siggy is my aunt,” Larissa says easily. “Although we’re both blond with green eyes, so you’re not the first person to ask if we’re related.” She takes a bottle of wine out of her purse like some kind of fucking magician. “We brought you this.”
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Danielle coos, taking the wine from Larissa. She sets it on the counter. “I just love Siggy and her shop. I go in there all the time—”
“She’s not lying,” Lincoln chimes in.
Danielle rolls her eyes. “Ignore him. He’s just upset I put him on a budget.”
I can’t help but laugh at the look on Lincoln’s face. He glares playfully at the back of his wife.
It reminds me of Kim and Philip, the last foster family I stayed with. She definitely called the shots in that dynamic. It was hilarious because Philip was loud and slightly obnoxious, and Kim was this tiny little thing. But she could bend Philip to her will without saying a word.
There was something extraordinary about their relationship. There was something special about their family as a whole.