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“I appreciate that you’re putting up with me,” I said.
With the most uncomfortable element already out in the open, Nola and I fell into what seemed like natural conversation. We both ordered the same meal—a spaghetti and meatballs—and shared a bottle of red wine.
We were polishing off the remains of our dessert as the sun set behind the skyscrapers to my side. Nola had a habit of running a hand through her hair and then starting to idly braid pieces of it into long, intricate strands. It was as if her hands moved on their own while she spoke, endlessly weaving.
She was telling me a story from her restaurant job, but I’d let my mind wander to the pink shine of her lips and the way her pale neck pulsed above her clavicle. My eyes followed her slender fingers as they twirled a strand of scarlet hair into a spiral, then released it to splay out over her shoulder.
“...and he told me to try this stuff,” Nola was saying. “I think it was called EndoRush? He said it was like an energy drink, but stronger. So he set the bottle down and it was so small I figured I was supposed to drink the whole thing. I drained it, then he looked at me like I’d just lit my hair on fire. He was like, ‘did you just drink that whole thing?’”
I smirked. “This guy was your boyfriend?”
Nola gave me a half smile. “Yeah. For a couple months. So anyway, I now know what it’s like to be on speed, because that stuff might as well have been a narcotic. My night ended when everyone found me in the walk-in freezer playing the bongo drums on some buckets of cheese. They said I was sweating so much it looked like my head was steaming.”
I laughed. “Maybe I should try that stuff before a game some time.”
“I heard they banned it, actually. I wonder why. Anyway, I’ve told you like four of my most embarrassing stories now. You’ve got to at least give me one of yours.”
“Who says I have any?”
Nola gave me the stink eye. “Even the great Jack Kerrigan, elite athlete with impeccable eye-hand coordination who sometimes tackles couches and often stubs toes, kicks end tables, and bangs his head on things, must have a story.”
“There is one, I guess.” I couldn’t believe I was about to repeat this story aloud, but Nola had a way of making me feel at ease. Too at ease. “It was my first legit date, and—”
“Wait. Classify ‘legit.’”
“As in my parents didn’t drive me to the movie theater, drop me off, and pick me up. This was junior year of high school, and—”
“Wait,” she said, showing no concern for interrupting me at every turn. “You didn’t have a real date until junior year?”
“I caught a baseball to the eye socket when I was a freshman. All I remember was hearing the crack of the bat and then I was waking up in a hospital bed. At first, they said I’d be blind in one eye. Then severely limited. Then they gave up trying to figure out what the hell I’d be. But it did cause the occasional issue with coordination.”
“Oh my God,” Nola winced. “I’m the world’s biggest asshole. I’ve been teasing you about being a klutz and it’s because of a medical condition?”
“It’s alright. I don’t really need both eyes to agree to throw a strike. Catching the ball can be a little trickier and hitting one with a bat would be damn near impossible. But on that first date I was still struggling. We were in my car—it was this beat up truck that only started once out of every ten tries. I romantically drove us through a fast food place to get burgers, fries, and milkshakes. I thought a gentleman would dig the greasy food out of the bag for his date, so I reached to hand her the fries and wound up dumping them on the floor. Then I got out of the car, spent a while on my knees trying to collect as many fries and as little dog hair as I could. I stuffed it all back in the fry sleeve and spilled it again when I reached up to hand it to her.”
Nola was holding back a smile. “Am I allowed to laugh? Or is it still too soon?”
“You can laugh,” I said. “And it’s not over. I also didn’t realize the lid of my milkshake was loose. I wound up catching a huge splash of vanilla to my crotch. And,” I said after letting out a small sigh. “Half the baseball team saw me get out of the car and head into the restaurant for more napkins. They thought the spilled shake looked like jizz. And Even Flow just happened to be playing over the restaurant speakers at that moment.”
