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“Oh, thanks.”
She took them slowly, turning the bag over with more than due diligence, and nervous energy started coursing through me. Was someone allergic? Wait, no, there was nothing in them to be allergic to. “Is something wrong?”
She looked up and tilted her head slightly. “No...they’re just exactly like the ones Abe makes.”
Relief filled me. “Oh, well, he also uses my grandma’s recipe.”
Now her attention flicked to Abe. “You know her grandma?”
He popped another tomato in his mouth. “Her dad.”
They locked eyes. I watched as Rachael’s brows slowly crept up.
Abe flashed a wide grin at her, before glancing at me. “Come on. You should really meet Mike.” He caught my hand and pulled me away.
I could feel Rachael’s eyes as we walked away, and wondered what she thought it meant, that Abe knew my dad.
Abe stopped in front of a cluster of guys. They all thumped him on the back, these tall men built like battering rams with necks that were optional. I thought they might break each other with the force of their welcome.
Abe stepped back and flourished a hand at me. “This is Tamar.”
They did that guy chin nod at me. I’d spoken to Dylan before, the good-looking one with the tats, and he was looking back and forth between us with narrowed eyes. I also recognized Troy Garza, and Keith Washington. The latter had met me briefly in the hallway a few weeks ago, and I’d asked him the occasional post-game question. He nodded hello and gave Abe a speculative glance.
Troy Garza handed me a beer. “You in town visiting?”
Huh. Shit. “I actually just moved here.”
“Yeah? What for?”
Why couldn’t this guy be self-centered and forget to ask questions? “New job.”
He grinned. “You gonna tell us what it is?”
Well, only now that there was no escape. I squared my shoulders and smiled. “I’m a reporter at Sports Today.”
Conversation ground to a stop.
“A what?” Garza asked with narrowed eyes.
Dylan Pierce cocked his head at Abe, like what were you expecting?
Keith Washington smirked.
But Garza didn’t seem ready to drop it. “You brought a fucking reporter here?”
Abe’s chin went up and he stepped up in front of me. “Hey. Language.”
Garza rolled his eyes. “‘Scuse me. A goddamn, motherfucking reporter.”
I put a hand on Abe’s tense biceps. “Abe.”
But he didn’t seem in any move to leave it be. “You got a problem with that?” He sounded like a white knight, leaping to my rescue, and it did something funny to my insides.
“Hey, what’s going on over here?”
I looked right to see Ryan Carter, star quarterback of the NFL, closing in on our pocket. He kind of looked like an avenging angel.
Keith nodded at me. “He’s put out ’cause Krasner brought in a reporter.”
