AllFreeNovel
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“Why, thank you for the invite, Cooper. I’d be delighted.” Kid doesn’t even realize he just got played, but it’s for a good cause so I don’t feel too guilty.
Allyson walks up at the perfect moment. “Mom, Coach B is coming over for lasagna! Woo-hoo, I’m gonna go tell Liam!”
He runs off and Allyson gives me a hell of a mom look, but it doesn’t have near the impact on me that it would on Cooper. “Can I pick up some wine or bread or something? It’s not far to your house, and I pass by a grocery store on the way.”
“I know what you’re doing.” She makes it sound like I’m hiding shit, but my intentions are crystal clear so I just shrug. My smirk’s answer enough. There’s a pregnant pause where there’s a very real chance she’s going to tell me no. But she sighs and rolls her eyes. “Fine. You can come to dinner. I’ve already got bread and beer. But you can get wine if you’d rather have it?”
I chuckle, scratching at my lip with my thumb. “Hell naw. I’d rather have a beer any day, but I was trying to be fancy for you.”
She laughs and teases, “Do you even know what fancy is?”
I love the brightness of her eyes, the relaxed slope of her shoulders, the flush on her cheeks. I realize all at once that the haunted look is fading, the shadows are receding, and her smiles are more frequent. She’s less rushed and rigid, more chill and relaxed. Does she realize that too?
Is it because of me, the football team, or something else? I’m not saving her like some prince in shining armor, but I want it to be because of me. I want that because making her happy makes me happy. I’m such a sappy shit for this woman.
“Yeah, I know what fancy is. It’s when I wear clean jeans without holes and a shirt straight from the laundry. Not just one from the floor that passed the sniff test.” I turn my head, taking a big whiff of myself, and make a face. “So we’re definitely not doing fancy today.”
Her repeated laughter bolsters me, as does her confirmation of the invitation. “See ya at my house in a few.”
Hell yes.
I drive around the block once, chomping three cinnamon mints nervously before pulling into her driveway to give her an extra minute to prep for company she wasn’t expecting. I considered stopping for flowers but decided they might spook her, so I’m saving that idea for another time.
I knock on the door, and it opens quickly, like she was waiting for me. The thought that she might be excited to see me sends a warm buzzing though my entire body, making me feel drunk.
“Hey,” she says. I think she’s aiming for casual, but she fails spectacularly, leaning against the door with her hip popped out and her hair falling around her shoulders when minutes ago at practice, it was up in some messy pile of a bun.
Oh, yeah, we’re dancing and dinner tonight is a good two steps forward.
I just need to watch out for the backslide.
“Hey yourself,” I reply, keeping my tone the casual she tried for. I step inside and she shuts the door behind me. I’m officially in.
“Coach B!” Cooper yells, beelining toward me from down the hall. He stops short in front of me, holding up a fist. I pound it, liking that he initiated the greeting this time.
“Wash up. Dinner’s ready.”
Cooper and I disappear down the hall to wash up as ordered and hit the kitchen. I wait to see where they sit and take one of the remaining seats, choosing the one that puts me across from Al. I think she expected me to sit beside her, but I want to see her face, read her reactions, and make sure I’m not fucking up, so this angle is better.
We dig in, moaning in ecstasy at the pasta goodness. “This is delicious. Did you make the sauce yourself?” I ask Allyson. “Shay might need this recipe.”
She laughs, her smile bright and her eyes crinkled. “No, I didn’t make it. I bought it jarred . . . from your sister. Well, Debra did. She’s a big fan of Shayanne’s goodies and is basically my dealer for all things homemade by Shayanne now. Apparently, there’s some pumpkin concoction she makes? Debra has the first sale date on her calendar already, says she wants to make sure she can get the hookup before Shay sells out.”
“Mmm,” I hum in blissed-out carb heaven, and Allyson looks pleased at my positive reaction to her food as I shovel another bite into my mouth. “Yeah, she makes smashed pumpkin. Jarred and whole pies. She’ll start running around like a chicken with her head cut off here shortly. My watermelon water delivery route has nothing on her pumpkin season orders.” I shudder violently and dramatically. “I’m exhausted just thinking about it.”
