“That’s a lot of questions,” he says. “But, uh, yeah. It’s pretty goddamn sweet.”
She looks panicked, and mimes a cutting gesture at her cameraman.
“You can’t say that on TV,” she scolds him.
“Oops,” he says guilelessly.
Through no fault of his own, you guys are swept apart by the crowd. Much to Kai’s undoubted dismay, there is an actual line of reporters queuing up to talk to him. The field is swarming with people—players, coaching staffers, family members, press. Cal doesn’t like it, you can tell. His head is on a swivel, watchingeverythingthat is going on. Relenting, you allow him to pull you to the sidelines, where it’s a little less chaotic.
You can’t really see the trophy presentation over the heads of the people on the field, but you hear everything: Coach Beausoleil, tears in his eyes and his voice, accepting the trophy. The Pruitt granddaughter giving a speech. Brent talking. The NFA commissioner. To nobody’s surprise, Sandy gets MVP. In his speech, he shouts out the defense, and says that he’s lucky a whole squad can’t get MVP, because he would have been cooked. He shouts Kai out specifically.
While you are watching, a rogue reporter sneaks up on you. You figured that you would be pretty safe from that sort of thing, not being a football player in any capacity, but there she is with her Chanel suit and her blinding veneers and her mic and her cameraman.
“Hi, Sterling!” she chirps. “Dana Phillips, The Hollywood Hive. What are you and the Train going to do to celebrate?”
“Umm.” You definitely were caught off-guard. “That’s a great question. I’m not sure we’ve even figured that out yet.”
“How does it feel to be dating one of the NFA’s biggest names? Do you enjoy sharing the spotlight?”
“It feels like dating someone special,” you say automatically. “It wouldn’t matter to me what he did for a living.Sharing the spotlightisn’t something that plays into it.”
“You’re so modest!” she trills. “Tell us honestly: now that Kaius finally has his ring, are you going to give him another one?”
This one, at least, you are prepared to answer. Nobody’s had the nerve to ask you it straight to your face, but you’re well-acquainted with the internet, and the fact that people have been speculating about it practically since two minutes after you came out publicly as a couple.
“Kai’s very special to me,” you recite smoothly. “We choose to keep that kind of thing private.”
“That’s not ano!” she squeals in the direction of the camera. “C’mon, Sterling! Give us something for all the Trainspotters. This is a big moment for you guys! Is a proposal around the corner?”
“I really doubt it,” you say, deadpan. “He’s kind of busy right now.”
You point to the dais, where Kai is cheesing from ear to ear in the midst of his teammates. When Dana’s attention is diverted, you simply walk away.
***
You and Kai don’t see each other for a couple of days. On Monday, bright and early, the Cyclones go to Disneyland for the traditional post-Mega Bowl parade. Kai sends you nonstop selfies of himself and Sandy airborne on Dumbo, wearing Mickey Mouse ears, and boarding Big Thunder Mountain. All by himself, Kai is almost too big for one dinky little train car. In hisshort videos, Jameson eats a Dole Whip, Books gets called up to embarrass himself at a family comedy floor show, and a bunch of grown men scream like girls in the Haunted Mansion. Through his eyes, it’s almost as good as being there. Not that you are, because it’s a team event, first and foremost. Some guys brought their families, but there isn’t enough private security in the world to make it safe for you to just show up at an amusement park.
The next night, before flying home, you and Kai take both your families out to dinner. You buy out a small Italian restaurant for the night, which gives everyone room to relax in a low-pressure environment. It’s an old-school little joint; candles melting wax down Chianti bottles, a brick fireplace, replicas of frescoes from Vesuvius and Pompeii, and waiters in tuxedos. You like it tremendously. Both your parents have met each other at games, of course, but your siblings haven’t been introduced, and you can’t say that folks havehung out.You order way too much food, clams and mussels in broth, antipasti, roasted peppers, and a tray of cold cuts… and that’s just the appetizers. By the time the waiters have cleared away the plates of ravioli di zucca and penne giardino, the bowls of homemade pasta e fagioli and the baskets upon baskets of fresh-baked bread, everyone is groaning that they couldn’t possibly eat dessert. You have it served anyway, poached pears in cream, tiramisu, a ricotta torte, and Italian cheeses. There’s coffee and sparkling water and tons of sweet red wine.
You don’t end up needing copious food and drink to lubricate the attendees, however; they get along great. Noemi finds unexpected common ground with Kai’s oldest brother, Roman—neither of them are big talkers outside their immediate circle—and your parents, as ever, get on like a house on fire. It turns out that Donald Reinhart has a hidden fascination forpickleball and pickleball stories, which pretty much guarantees that neither of your fathers is moving from the table for hours. Mrs. Reinhart and your mom are both big home cooks, and almost immediately start swapping recipes. They both love Guy Fieri and hate the Pioneer Woman. August and Aquila are virtually impossible to tell apart at first, so you spend most of the meal silently, studiously trying to crack the code. As soon as you figure out which one is which (Quill is wearing blue, and Auggie is in yellow), you spot it: they are mirror-image twins. Quill has a dimple on the left side, and his brother’s in on the right cheek. After that, you also assess the fact that Quill laughs with his mouth wide open, and August tends to cover his teeth with his hand. Satisfied, you are able to move on with your meal.
At one point, you excuse yourself to use the restroom. When you come back, Kai is standing in a corner of the room with your parents. Everyone is smiling, which you take for a good sign, so you don’t think too much of it. As soon as they see you, they rejoin the table, and your mom immediately starts talking your ear off about wanting to come spend a week at the guest villa now that the reno is done. Kai gets talking about all the amazing food, museums, and places to visit in Miami, and, before you know it, they’ve made plans completely without you.
By the time everyone leaves the restaurant, your belly feels like it is going to explode, your heart is full, and the Reinhart contingent has already invited the whole Grayson clan to join them in Macon for either Thanksgiving or Christmas. You and Kai haven’t had a stray moment together all night, but, when you put your folks into separate cars, he winks at you over the door of the SUV.
Victory!he mouths at you.
***
As soon as he gets back to Miami, there’s the homecoming parade. The Magic City heralds the Cyclones like heroes returning from war. In front of the Hard Rock, the mayor awards Coach Beausoleil the key to the city, and green-and-gold fireworks erupt in the balmy daytime air. After, the whole team and coaching staff climb to the top of three double-decker tour buses that are open to the sunlight and slowly roll through the streets of Miami Gardens. On the other side of immense plastic barriers, thousands of people are dressed in their Cyclones best, waving and cheering. The guys throw beads and t-shirts to the fans, day-drinking in ball caps and sunglasses. Coach Beausoleil holds the championship trophy up high like the figurehead of a ship, and Sandy draws gasps—and then raucous applause!—from the crowd when he casually, drunkenly lobs the trophy from the back of one bus to the front of the other, which is slowly but steadily following it. Like it’s a game ball, Jameson snatches it from the air without so much as disturbing the fat Cuban cigar between his lips. The look on Dettweiler’s face is priceless. From your TV back at home, you admire the cinematographic instincts of the news station cameraman who lingers lovingly on the kicker’s stultified puss. Kai has too much to drink, gets too much sun, and stumbles home from the back of an Uber at five in the afternoon, where you drag him into a cold shower and put him to bed with ibuprofen and a tall glass of water. He sleeps until nine the next morning.
Then, and only then, do you two get your first chance to be alone for more than a few minutes in almost a week. That night, Kai busts out his Chevelle—since the lessons in driving the Bronco have not yet commenced, and it’s still at his house in Macon, anyway—and says he’s taking you out. With the top down, the Floridian night air in February is like a drug, cool and sweet-scented. You wear sunglasses, but forego your usual hat, lettingthe wind whip your hair. Kai is giving vintage Don Johnson, allMiami Vicechic in a tan linen suit and a clinging white silk tank top.
You are enjoying the views, of the palm-lined streets, the radiant high-rises, and of your cool, clean-shaven, gorgeous boyfriend, and not paying attention to where you are going. Consequently, you’re surprised when he slows down in Bal Harbour and pulls the convertible into a small, private lot with beach access.
“We drove all this way to go to the beach?” you ask him blankly. “We have the beach at home.”
“Hush,” he says, killing the engine. “Just go with the flow. Leave your shoes.”
