6. Cords and Clips #2
I look at the classy girl who is most out of place in this neck of the woods and back at Ellis, who, I have to admit, is the winningest football coach in eastern Kentucky. Fucker.
“Ellis, this is Erika Amherst, Josephine’s great-niece. Ellis Andrews is our football coach.”
That smile on Ellis’s face makes me want to punch it off. The piece of shit is salivating, his gaze dragging from the top of Erika’s head to her furry snow boots and back up, lingering on her pretty pink lips. Her cheeks are the color of cherries from the cold.
Sucker’s not even trying to be subtle.
Erika doesn’t seem to notice.
“Erika, nice to meet you.” Ellis tips his head, indicating me. “Heard you almost took out our basketball coach the other day.”
Her pink cheeks flush crimson as she cuts her eyes up at me with shock. “You told everyone?”
“Not me.” I didn’t tell a soul.
Ellis, who likes to consider himself a ladies’ man, smiles smugly, showing off a big dimple in his cheek—which Erika does seem to notice. Her eyes sparkle back at him.
I guess the fucker is a ladies’ man.
Ellis keeps drinking her up with his eyes. “Nothing’s secret in Blitzen. Everyone in the coffee shop got a front row seat to you bowling him over in the little Volkswagen. They’ve all been buzzing about what a knockout you are.” He winks. “No pun intended.”
She doesn’t know what to say. After a couple of eyelid flutters, she’s staring wide-eyed at Ellis with her mouth slightly open and mutters, “I apologized for what happened…”
Ellis and I lock eyes. Son of a bitch wants to get in her pants. Not happening.
He wants to drive a wedge between me and her—but he can’t. There is no me and her. Still, I don’t want her to think I’ve gone around town badmouthing her.
“Ellis, don’t you have some shopping to do?” I take Erika by the elbow, guiding her away from the football coach who likes to score.
Erika’s pushing the basket quietly, as I turn us down the actual aisle for clips.
“You know, I didn’t tell anyone,” I volunteer.
Erika shrugs and answers, not meeting my gaze. “You only get one chance to make a first impression. I guess I blew mine with Blitzen, if everyone’s buzzing about my faux pas, like he said.”
Can’t say you haven’t made one hell of an impression on me.
Pulling out of the parking lot—having dumped enough extension cords to light up half of America in the bed of my truck with Georgia’s clips secured in the back seat, my stomach grumbles audibly.
An eyebrow rises from the passenger side, and I can’t help releasing a smile.
“Are you hungry ?”
“Yeah, I’m as hungry as a buzzard at a barbecue.”
“I’m sorry?” She turns back to me slowly, squinting those beautiful blues and biting her bottom lip, which gives me license to go on.
“A mosquito at a picnic? A jackrabbit in a carrot patch? Is that small town Blitzen enough for ya?”
She’s trying to press her mouth closed, but I like her laughter unrestrained. I like hearing her voice.
“How about as hungry as a basketball coach who hasn’t eaten all day?” I look both ways as we pull out.
“Speaking of basketball, do you still play?”
“Some of the guys and I play when we can.”
“Don’t be modest. Helen told me you went to college on a basketball scholarship.” Her big baby blues take me in, evoking the kind of energy that comes over me before a big game. A rush of adrenaline. What the fuck?
“Helen’s a blabbermouth.” I counter to shake the feeling.
“So, I have a thought.” Erika shifts and positions herself toward me in her seat.
“Over somewhere we can eat?”
Her train of thought is interrupted by my proposal of food, and I swear when I drop my eyes I see her cheeks flush. She rolls her eyes as I return mine to the road. Cautiously, I wait for the idea to manifest, finally prompting. “Shoot. No pun intended.”
“None here either. What about a charity basketball game? You get some of your college basketball buddies to come play against you and the volunteer fire department—people pay God-knows-what to watch—plus, the ladies auxiliary or Lion’s Club, or any other organization vying for proceeds for the truck can do the concession stand and make a ton of additional money for your cause.
What do you think?” She asks cooly, like she just proposed a dare.
“I think it’s a hell of an idea—if anyone on the volunteer fire department could dribble a basketball and if any of my old buddies still played. Most went into coaching, like me, or teaching or accounting.” And the rest—are in the NBA, but who’s counting.
“It’s not about how good you are—what is that everyone calls you, McShotty?
It’s for charity. The point is you entertain them on the basketball court, and they pay to watch.
You get your college buddies or a good enough group that has a competitive following and you’ll have more outsiders than you think.
That’s key. Bringing in more than Blitzen. ”
Smart. I’ll give her that. She’s smart.
“Maybe. It’s not a bad idea.”
She claps her hands again and wags her shoulders with pride. “Good. Then it’s settled.”
“I’m afraid I can’t settle anything until my stomach is settled. You hungry? We can hit up a place on the way back.”
“Okay. Since you drove me, I’ll buy. I mean, if you hadn’t had to drive me up here, you’d already have eaten, probably.”
She pauses and almost pales, fumbling the words. “I mean, if you want to. You don’t have to… if you’re ready to get back. If there’s someone or some reason you need to get back.”
Nope, not letting her back out of this, but no way is she paying.
“The only thing I have to do when I get back is put up Georgia’s lights. And you, Erika with a K, ad executive from Chicago, apparently, have to iron out some details of a charity basketball game.”