Oh. He meant this unit in particular.
“You should still get something to add some warmth.” I was probably being annoying again. I sighed. “But I guess it’s your place, your decision.”
He didn’t say anything. I wondered if that meant I’d said too much. I probably had. I shifted uncomfortably on the couch, my legs sticking to the leather. If he had some kind of throw blanket, I wouldn’t be having this problem. It wouldn’t be a problem if I’d not been wearing gym shorts, either, so I guessed it was partially on me.
“So,” he said after a few moments of very awkward silence, “are you ready for tomorrow’s flight?”
I grimaced. “I was planning on packing after I went to the gym,” I admitted. I hadn’t done anything beyond picking up my pregame outfit from the dry cleaner that morning. “But now, I’ll probably be rushing around and I’m going to end up forgetting something. I already know it.”
“You should make a list,” he advised. “That way you don’t forget something important.”
“Tried that. If I don’t pack in a certain order, I forget things. It’s just how it is. Doesn’t matter how many lists I make.” I’d learned this the hard way. Even when I did everything the way I typically did, I ended up forgetting things. I’d learned to live with it, and as long as I didn’t forget anything I needed for the game, I was usually okay with it. “Are you ready for it? Have you ever played at the Nashville stadium?”
The Fayetteville Foxes were part of the Union Conference, not the National Conference. They only played the teams from our division about every four years. There were teams in the Union Conference I’d never played, and there were stadiums I wouldn’t visit until much later in my career, if I ever visited them at all.And that was just provided that I stayed a Scorpion my entire career.
I couldn’t remember the last time the Foxes division played the NC North teams.
“My rookie year,” he answered. “Last time we played them, it was a home game. I’ve only played the Trojans twice.”
“Jonesy thinks it’ll be a pretty tough game. They played most of their starters in the preseason, and he said their new offensive coordinator had things looking tight.” Talking about football was comfortable, a lot more comfortable than talking about his home decor. It was one thing I knew we both had in common. In fact, it was the only thing I knew we had in common.
“Jonesy knows a lot about football, doesn’t he?”
“He does. He watches a lot of game tape. Like before every game, he watches a ton of tape, and he always sees things that the coaches don’t. I think it’s because he’s playing. You should talk to him sometime. Bet he could give you some insight on whoever you’re matched up against.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. There was this guy, defender for the Roswell Marauders, who stuffed my routes every damn time we played them,” I started.
“And you play them twice a year, right?”
I nodded. “Right.Weplay them twice a year. Anyway, they have this defender who always managed to stuff my route when we were paired against each other. So, of course, their coach always has him against me. Swear that guy has tackled me more than anyone else in the league. If he weren’t married, I might start to think he had a crush on me.” Rowan snorted again, and I felt a strange sense of accomplishment well in my gut. I liked knowing that I’d been the one to make him laugh. I wondered if I could do it again. No, not what I was supposed to be thinking about right now. “But Jonesy, he noticed that the guy had a tellbefore he tackled. He dropped his shoulder a certain way. I’d never noticed it, then when he pointed it out, I saw it right before he knocked me on my ass the first time. Second time, he came for me, and I managed to spin away from him because I was anticipating it, you know? He hasn’t gotten me down since.”
It was one of my proudest moments in the league.
Rowan hummed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Another silence fell over us. I pulled out my phone to check to see if I had any messages from maintenance. Maybe they decided that having a resident locked out was more of an emergency than they originally thought. Or maybe Aunt Ethel had texted and said that her game got canceled and she was going to come home. Unfortunately, I had no messages.
Should I suggest that we watch TV? SEN probably had some commentary going about the games for the weekend: ours and all the other ones across the league. I must have been desperate. I usually hated watching SEN. They always got into my head, pointing out things our team did wrong or acting like we didn’t have a chance no matter who our opponent was. It sucked, but this silence sucked more.
Rowan broke the silence. He asked me a few more questions about the team, about the dynamics in the locker room. We fell into a comfortable conversation, and before long, he was telling me stories about his time with the Foxes.
We kept talking until a loud rumbling noise derailed a story he was telling about his best friend-slash-agent, Troy, his older sister, Raina, and a failed double date. His wide eyes searched the condo for the source of the noise before landing on me. The moment they did, I felt my cheeks burn hot. “Was that you?”
I had to resemble a tomato with how hot my cheeks felt. “I may have forgotten to eat lunch today,” I admitted. He raised an eyebrow. “And breakfast.”
His eyes grew impossibly wider. He looked comically shocked as he whipped his cell phone out of his pocket. “It’s six at night, Milo! You haven’t eaten anything today?”
“I forgot. In my defense, I have been locked out of my apartment since… four? Four-thirty? I don’t know. A long time. When was I supposed to eat dinner?”
“But you weren’t locked out from the time you woke up until then,” he pointed out as he slapped his palms down on his meaty thighs. I had to force my eyes back up to his face, because I did not need to be looking at my teammate’s meaty thighs. I shouldn’t even be thinking about them.
It was just because he was big. That was all.
He stood up and once again, offered a large hand down to me. “C’mon. I’m making us something to eat.”
Less than thirty minutes later, Rowan passed a plate of chicken, rice, and steamed broccoli over the counter. I’d spent the better part of the last half hour watching him maneuver around the kitchen with a skill I had never possessed. I’d offered to help, but he claimed that he preferred to work alone in the kitchen. Not me. I loved when other people worked in the kitchen with me, mostly because cooking could be really boring sometimes. It required so much attention. It was why I preferred baking.
