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“Feminist studies.”
“She’s going to change the world for women,” Kit chimes in, always so confident in me.
“Hopefully,” I say. “That’s the dream anyway.”
“Admirable,” he says. “To answer your other question, I’m a friend of Alexander’s.”
“Alexander? As in, Zander Fane?” Nobody that knows him calls him by his full name, it throws me off. Though the formality somehow fits coming from this man.
“Yes,” he says, offering no other explanation as to how he knows Zan. Immediately, I know it’s more than just a friendship and that tiny spark of heat I felt a moment ago snuffs itself out.
Stupid vaginas.
“Is his mother here,” I ask Isla.
“Couldn’t make it,” she answers, shaking her head with some remorse. Zander comes from a small town in Minnesota and has a sister much younger than him, I know money was always tight for his family. I also know my sister would have offered to fly his mom out. “His dad is ill.”
Ah, that explains it more. He’s never said anything in my presence, but I’ve caught on to the fact that his father is an alcoholic.
“That’s unfortunate,” I say. “I’m sure she would have loved to be here.”
The pregame clock keeps ticking down, and it’s almost time for warmups. More family members trickle in, and we make our greetings. Damian is introduced to everyone. He politely says hello but doesn’t seem too eager to converse with any of the new arrivals. I’m oddly tuned in to all things Damian March now. Registering every sip of his coffee, every infinitesimal shift of his body. The way he leans closer to me when another player’s wife takes the seat next to him.
I hate how much I like the heat of his arm pressed against mine. Even more, I hate that I can only seem to be attracted to homosexual men. Maybe I’m doomed to singlehood. Maybe I’m doomed to singlehood because I was meant to be a man but was born in a woman’s body. No, that’s not right. I love being a woman, even when life seems like it would be so much easier if only I had a cock.
“You keep shyly looking my way, Ms. Cole. What is it you’d like to see? Be direct,” he whispers into the curtain of hair at my ear.
“Oh my god, am I being that obvious?” Embarrassed, I try to laugh it away. He doesn’t seem bothered by my attention, rather, more intrigued. “I’m so sorry.”
“Only obvious to me,” Damian reassures with a smile. “Probably because I’m paying so much attention.”
“Well, I’m trying to place where I’ve seen you before and get a better look at the tattoos,” I say, motioning to his hand. “Now that you know my reasons, what are yours?”
“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he says bluntly, switching his cup to the other hand so he can splay the one with the art on his knee for my inspection. Ignoring that stupid flutter deep in my belly, I look at what he’s displayed for me. The florals bloom over his hand, vines and buds trailing up his wrist and winding around his ring and pinkie fingers.
“Garden Spirit?”
“Wedding Piano, but they are quite similar.”
“You know roses, Mr. March,” I say with a raised eyebrow.
“So do you, Ms. Cole,” he says, once again using my last name.
“My grandmother had a large rose garden, one of her few obsessions. If we wanted to spend time with her, it was often in the midst of thorns and blooms,” I explain. “How do you know I’m a Cole, by the way?”
“You and Isla look alike. Besides, Alexander has spoken of you.”
We do look quite a bit alike, both taking after our mother in many ways. Though I got my mom’s coloring with fair skin and honey hair, Isla takes after Dad with her darker curls and skin that always looks like it has a healthy sunglow to it.
“Has he?”
“Don’t be surprised. He’s quite fond of your family.”
Right, my family. Not me, specifically.
“We feel the same; he’s practically an honorary Cole.”
“There’s time for one more before warmups,” Kit says to Sadie. They have a game they play where Sadie rattles off a subject and Kit tells her whatever random stat or fact she knows about it. If she knows nothing, they look it up together.
