Chapter 5
SUNSHINE LOLLIPOPS
GREY
My phone just buzzed so many times, it can only mean one thing.
The group chat.
I sigh, diverting my attention from the view through the microwave window as my burrito spins around, unevenly heating despite the technology of the twenty-first century.
When my phone shows thirty-four unread messages, I could puke.
I skim them, deducing the gist of it--they want me to come to The Horseshoe for happy hour.
Remy: Come on, Coach. I know you're heating up one of those nasty high protein burritos. At least come get some real food.
Grey: It has twenty-nine grams of protein, dude.
Tate: It tastes like unsalted ass, dude.
Remy: Listen, I know you have a whole routine and all. Nasty burrito at 6:15. Shower at 6:30. A million pushups at 6:45. Meal prep at 7. Go to bed because you're old.
Grey: Watch it, Winchester. Just because you're not on my team anymore doesn't mean I can't beat your ass.
Remy: Tell you what--come on down here and I'll let you take one shot for free. Just not in face. I gotta take team photos next week.
Tate: Nobody likes a braggart, Remy.
Remy: Nobody likes an asshole, Tate.
Grey: Nobody likes either of you.
Wilder: Don't listen to them, Grey. You should come down though. Just one beer. Gang's all here--even Carlin and Molly.
I pause at that. When the burrito explodes in my microwave, I sigh.
Grey: Fine. But only because my dinner just blew up thanks to y'all.
Tate: We're not even there.
Grey: You're here in spirit. That's enough to ruin anybody's dinner.
Remy: LOL
Tate: Well, fuck you very much too, Coach.
I leave my phone on the counter and head for my room, glancing in my full-length mirror.
What I find stops me for a second that I use to inspect the man on the other side.
I'm as big as I ever was, thanks to my unsalted ass burritos and a regimented workout routine.
I still have my hair, but it's a shade lighter than it used to be, with streaks of grey at my temples thanks to the fuckers in that group chat, no doubt.
But I'm starting to shift from distinguished to just old.
I've got fine wrinkles around my eyes and across my brow, made worse by the tens of thousands of hours I've spent in the sun.
I bet there are more under my beard, probably the beginnings of a waddle under my chin too.
God help me if I ever have to shave. I'll die happy having no idea what's under there.
With the shake of my head, I stride to my closet.
Honestly, I don't think about my age all that much, or at least I didn't used to.
The guys rib me, I rib them back. And despite them calling me old, I don't usually feel that much older than them.
But lately? Lately, I've been thinking about it a lot.
Couldn't be the cute little librarian who's way too young for me.
If I were ten years younger, I'd have already asked her out.
The first time she made me laugh, that would have been it.
In a heartbeat. But ten years ago, I smiled more.
Not a lot, but more. Things felt easier then.
More hopeful. Now? I've got more life behind me than in front, and I can't help but consider that from time to time.
Anyway, I should get out more, that's true at least. And those burritos really do taste like shit.
Soon enough I've exchanged my athletic clothes for jeans, a tee, and lace up boots, and I'm in my truck, headed for The Horseshoe. On a Thursday. But the real trouble? When I walk through the door, my stomach does a little flip when I see Molly sitting there.
They cheer when they spot me, and I shake my head at them.
I catch Leo's attention behind the bar and pantomime pouring a beer. He nods and reaches for a fresh pitcher to fill. When I get to the table, I clap Remy's shoulder too hard.
"Hey, smartass," I grumble at him, but there's a little smirk on my face.
At least I think there is--I've been told it's sometimes too minute for the naked eye.
I'm greeting everyone, they're greeting me.
The only open seat is at the end between Tate and Shelby, who are sniping at each other about something or another.
The two of them need to get locked in a room for twenty-four hours so they can bang whatever's between them out of their systems. Though who knows what Wilder would think of his sister sleeping with his best friend.
Nothing good. Definitely not good for Tate, or his bodily health.
But I don't think there's any danger of that--Shelby's irritated with him as usual, and he's goading her by pretending like he doesn't care. His smirk is lethal.
Reluctantly, I sit between them and pour myself a beer from one of the pitchers on the table.
Shelby rolls her eyes. "You're not a heartthrob, Tate. You're a cautionary tale."
"Come on, Shelbs," he says, leaning back in his chair. "You've gotta admit--I go on a lot of dates."
Wilder laughs. "Like the latest one? He matched with his ex's cousin."
"Ex would imply he's capable of commitment," Shelby notes, taking a sip of her beer.
"Don't worry, he's still not," Wilder says. "He cheated on the ex. Go on. Tell everybody what happened with her cousin."
Tate shrugs. "She slapped me in the mouth. And then I took her home."
Everybody collectively somehow groans and laughs.
"She took one look at his place and ghosted him," Wilder adds.
"Man, whose side are you on?" Tate scoffs.
"You earned it," Shelby says on a laugh. "You've ghosted more girls than a haunted house."
The crew oohs, watching the exchange like it's Wimbledon.
Tate clicks his tongue, his beer on a track for his mouth. "She still spent the night."
Again, everyone eggs them on while he takes a drink. Shelby looks light, but her eyes are hard as diamonds.
"Come on, Shelbs," Tate says, needling her. "Is that all you got?"
"Baby, my well is endless."
"Lay it on me, honey."
"Don't call me honey, asshole."
"Don't call me asshole, gorgeous."
She laughs. "You asked for it." She takes a sip of her beer as if to fuel her, then pins him with a look that's hot as the inside of a fire.
"You flirt like you're applying for a job you're not qualified for," she starts.
, the table erupting in laughter "I've seen better pickup lines on the Horseshoe's bathroom wallsDating apps should pay you for stress testing the block button.
" That one even gets me. And then she leans in, elbow on the table.
"You've got the dating range of a gas station hot dog--cheap, available, and definitely toxic. "
The table howls, Tate's included. Shelby stands to bow, rolling her hand in a flourish.
"Marry me!" Tate shouts at her, but he's laughing too.
"I'd rather eat a roll of aluminum foil," she says sweetly as she sits.
With that, the chuckling group dissolves into side conversations, leaving Tate and I on our own.
But I watch Molly as she talks to Carlin.
She lights up like a struck match when he asks her a question, and my hackles tingle.
Carlin is a puppy, harmless and hopeful and eager.
Maybe it's the eager part that bugs me. They have everything in common. They get on great. He's a good kid.
He's near her age.
I drain my glass and reach for the fresh pitcher Leo left while Shelby was busy napalming Tate.
As if he heard me thinking, Tate rights his chair and leans on the table. "So Coach--what's this about practice with Molly? You're not playing favorites, are you?"
"She's never even thrown a ball. I'm her coach. There a problem?"
Tate watches me. I bet he wears that fucking smirk in his sleep.
"Nah, no problem, Brooks. Makes perfect sense.
You're just looking out for her, right? Like how shoved me out of the way at the Ferris wheel last fall so I couldn't ride with her?
Or how you run off anybody who tries to talk to her?
I mean, except for Carlin. They're awful chummy, huh? "
My eyes cut to Carlin and Molly, but I mumble, "Mind your business, Casanova," and take a sip of my beer.
"He doesn't know how," Shelby notes. I didn't realize she was listening.
"Says the one who butted in," Tate volleys just as Carlin gets up, freeing the seat next to Molly.
"We should put people between you two as a punishment." I stand, taking the fresh pitcher with me. "Don't kill each other."
She glares at him. He smirks at her. I roll my eyes and head for the empty seat. A trickle of nerves surprises me, and I hesitate when she looks up at me and smiles, the color rising in her cheeks.
"Mind if I sit here? Nobody should sit between them without Kevlar."
Molly laughs, nodding as she scoots her chair a little to make room for me. When she tucks a curl behind her ear, I almost cut and run.
"Leave your bulletproof vest at home?" she asks.
"The one time I forget …"
I revel in the chuckle I earn. But as I sit, she looks in the directions of the bathrooms where Carlin went, her smile falling. I can't figure out if it's longing or guilt. But when she turns her attention back to me, she's smiling again.
"Hey, thanks for offering to help me with softball. You already have such late days. It means a lot you're willing to stay even longer to teach me stuff I shoulda learned in the third grade." She chuckles, shaking her head. "I'm a little bit worried I'm hopeless."
"Don't worry--I'll teach you everything you need to know.
" The words come out lower than the rest. Rougher.
I hear it even as I'm saying it and immediately wish I could take it back.
I shift, suddenly very much aware, then clear my throat, take a drink and change the subject.
"Sorry I can't help right after school. Hate for you to have to go home and come right back. "
"Oh, I'll still be at school. I ran a book drive that went like gangbusters. Jessa donated too." She leans in a little. "Like, she donated a lot."
"She'll do that."
"I mean, I tried to give it back to her, but she said she'd just order the books herself, and I'd probably end up with a hundred copies of 50 Shades of Grey.
" Her eyes spark when I laugh. "But wow--I got so much great stuff.
The kids are gonna lose it. I've been working on making decorations though and designing little bookmarks and stickers and stuff for the library. I even have a theme for next quarter."
"What's the theme?" Why am I smiling?
The spark in her eyes explodes into glitter.
"Reading Is Magic." She's so excited, she starts to talk real fast. "I have all these cute sayings and ideas.
Like the fliers are going to say Once upon the time…
in the Roseville Elementary Library. I've been collecting fridge boxes from the appliance store so I can make a big archway to walk through that looks like a portal.
I've been making all these decorations too--like I have an idea for a paper maché Wish Tree--the kids can write their daydreams on these glittery stars and then hang them in the branches.
Gah, it's going to be so neat. But…" She lifts up like a balloon, then deflates.
"Well, it's a ton of work. I might have overdone it.
" Then she's up again, smiling brightly.
"But it'll be fine. I've got it. Point is, I'll be at school anyway, so practice will be a good reason to stop.
Otherwise I'd stay all night duct taping fridge boxes together. "
She laughs, and I laugh, and then we're sitting there laughing, and I'm not sure how I got here.
"Hey, Coach," Carlin says amiably from the other side of Molly, pulling a chair behind him. He turns it around and sits on the other side of her.
My smile flattens, but I try to keep it up. "Hey, kid."
He asks Molly something, and she turns to him to answer. I didn't hear him because my ears are ringing. So I take a drink, realizing I still haven't had food. I make a point to flag Leo down. There's no way I'm getting up, or Carlin will end up in my spot.
I don't want to go sit between the Bickersons again, that's all.
Couldn't be anything else.