I’d changed back at Mac’s house with the extra clothes I kept in my workout bag in my truck. Once I’d gotten her set up with a camp chair on the sideline, I tossed her one of my extra hoodies, knowing she’d probably get cold in the chilly morning.
Later, when I looked over to see her wearing it, I immediately dropped a pass and turned the disc over to the other team. But I couldn’t find it within myself to be too upset about it. Not when she looked warm in the April air, wearing something of mine.
It was proprietary caveman bullshit, but there it was. I blamed science.
I kept sneaking glances at her while I played, staying distracted by her presence. As much as Mac claimed she wanted to come so she could give me shit, I mostly heard cheers and whistles from the sideline. I was happy she was here, I realized. Glad to have her in another part of my life.
When Amos and I were sweaty and worn out and Mac’s cheeks were windburned and pink, we loaded up and headed back to Kirby Falls. I dropped Amos off first, even though it was out of the way. Then I took Mac home so she could get ready for a late lunch with her sister, Bonnie.
“I’ll text you later,” she said and then pulled me in for a kiss. “Or you can stay over again. If you want.”
“I want,” I confirmed and then leaned back over the console to kiss her again.
The smile stayed on her face all the way up the porch steps.
When I got to the end of the gravel drive, I shifted into park and grabbed my phone.
With the Chatter app open, I drafted a new post, letting my thoughts run away with me. It seemed safer this way. Like, if I let them out in a controlled environment, then I wouldn’t blurt out how much I loved her to her face.
@JuddsFamilyOrchard: @GrandpappysApples, There’s a place for you in every part of my life. In every corner of my heart. The sidelines, the front seats, east to west, north to south. You don’t even need to ask. There’s a reserved sign with your name on it.
That particular draft went into the vault with the other imaginings of a heartsick bastard.
What I actually posted was pretty simple, but I knew it would make her smile.
@JuddsFamilyOrchard: @GrandpappysApples, bless your heart.
sixteen
MAC
The following weekend, my day off aligned with Brady’s once again. He’d mentioned a band playing at one of the clubs in Asheville and asked if I wanted to go.
It must have seemed safer for him to openly spend time together fifteen miles north of our hometown. He seemed to enjoy the sneaking around and secrecy. And despite the smidge of bitterness I’d felt at the invitation, I’d readily agreed.
After months of keeping up appearances in public—the trivia night fights, the social media snipes—it was a relief to hold Brady’s hand on a sidewalk in a city where we were unlikely to see anyone we knew. It made me think dangerous thoughts and wonder what it would be like to do this all the time, wherever we wanted.
But there was no sense in rocking the boat. Things were good. Better than good, actually. This was the longest non-relationship relationship I’d ever had. Maybe the secrecy was why it was working. Who was I to complain?
Either way, I’d enjoy the reprieve we had tonight in a town that wasn’t home.
The club was busy when we arrived. People sat at high-top tables, and others danced while house music played. The stage at the front of the venue was pretty small, and staff milled around, plugging in amps, setting up microphone stands, and hauling things.
We made our way to the bar, and Brady ordered a beer for himself and a Jack and Coke for me. I thought he might balk at dancing, but I should have known better. We finished our drinks, and then Brady followed me out onto the dance floor, perfectly content to move to the thumping beat.
He grinned in the low light, pleased by my surprise. We danced together, limbs grazing and bodies touching in torturous ways. His gray henley was soft beneath my fingertips. I liked being so close. There was freedom in being able to take his hands and place them on my hips as we moved together.
Whenever we needed a break, we’d return to the bar. Brady switched to water at some point, but I kept drinking, the liquor warming my chest, determined to enjoy my night off and the freedom I had with the man at my side. I got looser and happier, less able to keep it contained. Brady and I danced closer, his laughter in my ear even over the loud music.
Finally, the opening band came on. I was delightfully tipsy by that point, everything soft around the edges. The crowd seemed to swell as people pushed to the floor, eager to get close to the stage. Brady planted his big, tall form at my back and kept the surge of bodies and the threat of elbows away from me.
After the opener finished up their short set, we made our way to the bar once more.
“Do you want a water?” Brady asked, lips right against my ear to be heard over the crush.
Grinning, I shook my head. “Grab me a shot.”
His lips flattened, and I laughed, the sound swallowed by the voices around me. “I promise I won’t puke in your truck. Get me a shot, and then I’ll switch to water.”
