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“I’ll drink to that.” I head for the liquor cabinet situated under a framed photo of my team at the Super Bowl in 2010. I pull out two highball glasses and unstop the decanter of amber liquid. “How do you take it? On the rocks?”
“Neat,” she says, and I glance up at her, impressed. “And I’ll take three fingers.”
“My kind of woman,” I say.
I pour two matching glasses and take the seat beside her on the couch. I hand her one of the drinks and she knocks it against mine.
“Cheers,” she says, and she downs half the contents in a single gulp.
“How are you doing?” I ask, too afraid to drink my alcohol.
“Did something bad happen?” Her eyes meet mine, and I see a twinkle in the green. “I’m okay. Today’s been a lot. I’m off on Mondays, thank god, and it’s given me time to do some damage control. I haven’t quite convinced my mother we’re not together, but I’m close.”
“Same.” I swirl the liquid around and bring the glass to my lips. I take a small sip and relish in the bite of harshness on my tongue. “I gave the guys today off. Half because I’m mentally exhausted, and half because I didn’t want them to give me shit. You should see some of the things they’ve sent me. I don’t know how they don’t have second-hand embarrassment from the crap they’ve said.”
“Ah. So that explains the Just Married flower arch down in your lobby. There are roses everywhere. I crushed about a hundred petals on my walk to the elevator,” Lacey says, and my mouth pops open. I’m going tokillthem. “Just kidding. I would’ve kicked it down.”
I laugh. “You and me both.”
“Fuck the patriarchy.”
“Hear, hear.”
“I’m not showing up under the most selfless pretenses, though,” she admits. She finishes the rest of her drink and sets the glass down on the table to her left. She props her elbow up on the arm of the couch and cradles her cheek in her hand. “I want to talk to you about something.”
“What’s up?”
“The kiss. Or, more aptly, the aftermath of the kiss.”
The blood drains from my face. I knew this was coming, a conversation that needed to be had about the mistake we made. Her words echo in my ears and I turn my glass around in my hands, staring at the grooved edges instead of her.
“I’m sorry, Lace. It was stupid, I know. I shouldn’t have—”
She interrupts me by lifting her hand, and I stop talking. “I’m not mad. It’s in the past, and we can’t change the past. Besides…” she dips her chin, and her assuredness drops. Wavers around the edges and turns bashful and shy. “It was a good kiss.”
I blow out a breath and throw back the rest of my drink. I might need four more. Fuck, maybe I need the whole decanter.
“It was a very good kiss,” I agree, and my voice catches in my throat.
“I have a favor to ask. The hospital has our annual holiday gala in December. It’s a big fundraising event with a silent auction and an open bar. They rent out one of the Smithsonian’s,” she starts.
“Which one?” I ask.
The question catches her off guard. Derails the speech she has planned. Her fingers trace the outline of one of the square decorative pillows propped under her thigh, and she smiles. “The Museum of American History.”
“My favorite. I love the Sesame Street stuff. I was a big fan as a kid.”
“Really? I can’t picture you doing anything except catching a football and yelling into a headset.”
“Picture it. I was in front of my television every Thursday to watch the new episodes with a bowl of Cheerios. I needed a place to turn my mind off and just be a kid, you know? People were talking about the high school team I’d play on when I was ten. Where I was going to go to college when I turned thirteen. The NFL before I even took an algebra class. I didn’t have a lot of chances to grow up like the rest of the kids my age. When I saw Big Bird and Elmo, it reminded me I wasallowedto have those childish moments. I was allowed to still be figuring everything out.”
“It was your safe space,” she says softly. She adjusts her position on the couch and turns her body to face me. Her knee presses against my thigh, and I hate that I want to reach out and touch her. “Just like classical music.”
“I never thought of it that way, but you’re right. My thoughts are constantly in overdrive. I like places that… that calm me. That bring me back to earth. That let me know it’s okay to make mistakes because I’m human, just like everyone else, and I’m going to mess up.”
We lapse into silence, but it’s the comfortable kind. The quiet between two friends who are contemplating, considering and pausing for reflection. I so rarely get these moments, a career in a fast-moving sport where it’s nearly impossible to blink without missing something important. But against the leather of my couch and with her by my side, I’m content.
“It feels wrong to ask for my favor now,” Lacey says. “It’s selfish.”
