9. Casey
Chapter 9
Casey
I hadn’t felt this nervous about a date in forever.
I’d spent the better part of the day trying to keep my focus on work—practice schedules, player drills, game plans—but every time I had a free moment, my mind drifted back to Gemma. Her laugh, her smile, the way she made me feel like I wasn’t just some old geezer she was humoring for a story. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was something about her that was starting to pull me in deeper than I’d thought possible.
It scared the hell out of me.
By the time the evening rolled around, I had a plan—a simple one, because I didn’t want this to feel like a production. I wanted her to know that I liked her. Not just because of what happened in the park, though that had been incredible, but because of who she was. I was entranced by her humor, her honesty, the way she looked at life with a kind of calmness I hadn’t realized I’d been missing until she walked into my office.
Normally, I was all work, no play. The team was my focus, and that was enough for me. It was also the reason I was single. Hard to maintain a relationship when your attention was divided. I was always coming up with new plays in the back of my mind, so when a woman asked the usual, “What’re you thinking?” type of question, I told them.
As it turns out, no woman likes it when you tell her you’re thinking about work while you’re in the shower together.
But when it came to Gemma, all that noise went away. I wasn’t focused on work around her. I was focused on her. What she might say in the next moment or how I could make her smile. The way she laughed when things went sideways. She was a breath of fresh air in every sense of the phrase.
So, tonight, I’d do my best to show Gemma who I was outside of the arena. I was determined not to make the same mistakes I had in the past. I decided to take her to my favorite barbecue spot—a no-frills place tucked into a corner of downtown Atlanta that served the best ribs I’d ever had. It wasn’t fancy, and it wasn’t romantic, but it was real. And for some reason, I felt like Gemma would appreciate that.
When I pulled up to her house to pick her up, she stepped out wearing a casual pair of jeans and a simple blouse, her red hair loose around her shoulders. She looked effortlessly beautiful, and when she smiled at me, the tension in my chest eased.
“You look great,” she said, glancing at my jeans and polo.
“Thanks,” I said, opening the passenger door for her. “I hope you’re up for the best ribs in Atlanta.”
Her eyes lit up, and I knew I’d made the right call. “That’s a hell of a claim.”
“You’ll see.”
The restaurant was just as I remembered it—dimly lit, the scent of smoked meat wafting through the air, and hip hop playing low in the background. The place was mostly booths with a few tables in the middle, each one covered by a checkered plastic tablecloth topped by a full napkin dispenser. A cooler sat near the entrance so we grabbed some sodas and sat in a booth near the cash register. The place was half full, and no one was in a hurry.
When the waiter came to take our order, Gemma didn’t hesitate. “Full rack of ribs,” she said, her tone decisive. “And fries. And extra wet wipes, if you’ve got ‘em.”
I laughed, raising an eyebrow. “Not holding back, huh?”
“It’s been five years since I’ve had good southern ribs,” she said, practically bouncing in her seat. “I’m not wasting the opportunity.”
I ordered the same thing and after he left, I asked, “Five years? How come?”
“Los Angeles,” she said, rolling her eyes. “They don’t do barbecue like this out there. Everything’s kale and quinoa. No offense to kale and quinoa, but it’s not the same. Not even if you drown it in barbecue sauce.”
I chuckled, watching as her enthusiasm bubbled over. “So you’re happy to be back in Atlanta?”
“I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I came back. The food, the people, the way the air feels…it’s just different. This is home.”
Something in her tone tugged at my chest. I wasn’t sure if it was the way she said the word home or the way she looked at me when she said it, but it made me want to reach across the table and hold her hand. But I worried that’d be forward. Weird, that.
We’d had sex, but holding her hand right now felt too intimate. So, instead, I settled for a smile. “I, for one, am glad you’re back.”
Her gaze lingered on mine for a moment, and I thought I saw the faintest hint of color rise to her cheeks before the waiter arrived with our food. “Me too.”
I wasn’t prepared for how thoroughly Gemma would tackle her ribs. By the time she was halfway through her full rack, her hands were covered in sauce, her face wasn’t much better, and there was a small pile of used napkins accumulating on her side of the table. She didn’t seem to care, though—in fact, she looked like she was having the time of her life.
“These are incredible,” she said, licking a bit of sauce off her thumb. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re a mess.”
“I know,” she said unapologetically. “Totally worth it.”
Watching her was exhilarating in a way I couldn’t explain. She wasn’t self-conscious, wasn’t trying to be anything other than exactly who she was. That kind of confidence was rare, and I couldn’t get enough of it.
“Five years,” I said, leaning back in my seat. “That’s a long time to go without good ribs.”
“It’s not just the food, though the food here is far and away better than Los Angeles,” she said, reaching for another napkin. “Minus the tacos. That’s where they have Atlanta beat.”
“I’ll have to take you to my favorite taco shop some time. We’ll see how they compare.”
“Oh, yes please.” She excused herself to the bathroom to wash up, so I did the same. When we came back, she said, “I didn’t realize how much I’d missed Atlanta until I came back. It’s good to feel like I belong somewhere again.”
Her words hit me harder than I expected, and I found myself nodding. “I get that. Sometimes it takes leaving to figure out where you’re supposed to be.”
“How so?”
“My family is from Maryland, and I visit now and then, but after living in Atlanta, Maryland doesn’t feel like home anymore. This is home.”
She looked at me then, her green eyes locking onto mine, and for a moment, the world felt quieter. I wanted to say more, to tell her how much I was starting to feel like she might be where I was supposed to be. But the words felt too big, too soon, too crazy, so I let the moment pass.
After dinner, I asked if she wanted to come back to my place to watch a movie. She agreed without hesitation, and as we drove, I was nervous again. Funny. No other woman had ever made me nervous the way Gemma did.
I was stuck somewhere between wanting to impress her and wanting to show her the real me. I’d been looking forward to showing her my favorite movie all week—not because I thought she’d love it, but because it felt like letting her into a part of my world.
When we got to my house, I led her into the living room and grabbed the DVD off the shelf. She laughed when she saw the cover.
“ Casablanca ?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “How old are you again?”
“It’s a classic!” I said, grinning.
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
She settled onto the couch, tucking her legs beneath her as I started the movie. I sat next to her, leaving a polite amount of space between us at first, but it wasn’t long before she leaned into me, resting her head on my shoulder. The simple intimacy of it set me at ease, and I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer.
As the movie played, I felt myself relaxing into the moment. The plot was as familiar as an old friend, but having Gemma there made it feel new. She asked questions about the story and gasped when the tension ramped up. Watching her react to something I loved made me see it through fresh eyes, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so content.
About halfway through, she turned to me with an apologetic smile. “I hate to say this, but I’m not up for fooling around tonight. I think I’m slipping into a food coma from those ribs.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Neither am I. I just wanted to watch the movie with you.”
Her smile softened, and she nestled closer, her back pressing onto my chest as we spooned on the couch. “You’re full of surprises, Casey.”
“So are you,” I said, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.
“I hope you like surprises.”
“Most of the time. You?”
She yawned. “Yeah. Especially from you.”
She fell asleep not long after, her breathing evening out as her body relaxed against mine. I stayed where I was, not wanting to wake her, and let my thoughts wander.
I’d been in love before. I knew the symptoms. Or at least, I thought I did. Feelings for different women were always unique in their depth and breadth. But this thing with Gemma was something else entirely.
The other times I’d been in love, it was this grown-up, mature kind of thing. It lacked the magnetic pull I felt with her. It was more cerebral—go to her house, bring her flowers, take her to the nicest places in town, keep things formal so she knew I took her seriously, all that stuff adults were supposed to do to show that they cared.
But how much of that was something I wanted to do? Was I just using plays from someone else’s playbook this whole time? I had never felt like my exes knew me. Or maybe that was how I kept from getting too involved. My way of keeping them at a distance.
Had I ever watched Casablanca with any of them?
The truth was, what I felt with Gemma was completely unique. I hadn’t felt this way about anyone before—not even in my longest relationship. There was something about her that made me feel like I was seeing the world differently, like I was finally waking up after years of sleepwalking.
As I held her, her warmth pressing against me, I felt a stir of desire that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with her. She was messy, unfiltered, and completely herself, and I couldn’t get enough of it.
I couldn’t tell her now or anytime soon, but there was something about Gemma Grimaldi that felt like home. Like she was the person I could be myself with and she wouldn’t run screaming for the hills.