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Pictures in the local papers show Grace, Logan, and her parents at several events, and I zoom in as close as possible to see her. She’s smiling in every shot, her beauty shining.
There are a few mentions of her family farm on the outskirts of town, which specializes in peach orchards and pecan trees. There’s a large shot of their home, which appears every bit a sprawling southern mansion, with large columns framing a wrap-around porch on the three-story brick home.
It’s gorgeous, with classic southern style, and I curse myself for not asking her more about herself. Grace Monroe was a popular name in searches, but the Grace Monroe of Thomasville is an encyclopedia of useful knowledge.
The flight attendant returns with two bottles of water for Eddie and me. He takes his with a thanks and lays his head back, closing his eyes again. I reach for mine, and she wraps her hand around my fingers, placing a napkin in my palm.
“I’ll be in Indy for a few days if you’d like to meet up,” she tells me in a seductive whisper, winking.
“Thanks.” I practically snatch the water and let the napkin fall into Eddie’s lap. It lands face up with her number and a large red lipstick kiss. She watches expectantly to see if I’m going to pick it up.
I don’t move, not trying to be rude but having no interest in her number or meeting up with her.
Eddie picks up the napkin and flashes a smile at her. “Sorry, sweet cheeks, he’s off the market, but I’ll gladly take this if you’re looking for a good time.”
Her face flames as she rushes away, and I drop my head to hide my chuckle.
“Thanks, man. I owe you.”
“Don’t mention it. You gonna ever get to the good stuff, or are we going to read about this girl’s family the whole flight?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Six, we’ve been in the air for thirty minutes, and no shit, you’ve almost put me to sleep reading about this southern girl’s family. Where’s the good stuff?”
“Once again, what are you talking about?”
“Spotted it the minute you walked into the terminal on the phone. You were talking to a chick, and it wasn’t Bizzy. We all know the Bizzy look. This was different. The second clue was when you boarded and didn’t give that attendant a second glance when she shoved her tits in your face. Then you took out your iPad in stealth mode, searching for information on this girl.”
“I think you may have taken a few too many hits on the field.” I shield the screen, slightly embarrassed that I’ve been caught. “Why the hell are you spying on me?”
“Not spying. It’s common curiosity. So let’s see it. Grace looks like a hot piece. Want to tell me why you’re combing through her history?”
Him calling her a hot piece sends a spark of anger through me, and apparently, I don’t hide it well.
“Calm down, I ain’t going to close in on your girl unless you tell me it’s okay.” His lips twitch, waiting for my response. He’s goading me, which is common among most of the players. Watching the other guys get riled up is usually hilarious, but not now that the tables are turned.
“It’s not okay,” is my only response.
“Who is she, Six?”
I think about lying and blowing him off with a simple explanation, but he’s probably my best friend on the team. We’ve worked in tandem and developed a level of trust from day one. He may give me shit, but he’s always got my back.
“She’s a girl I met in college and recently ran into again.”
“You hittin’ that?”
“Eddie, she’s not player pussy material,” I warn him dryly.
“Obviously. She’s more of the ‘belle of the ball’ type, from what I can tell.”
“We’re done with this conversation.”
“I’m only pulling your chain, man. Chill. Let’s get back to the good stuff. This time, maybe you can angle the screen so I don’t get a crick in my neck trying to read.”
“You’re a nosy motherfucker,” I mumble, typing a few more keywords into the search engine, focusing on two years ago.
Tension fills my body at the top three results. All of them caption a picture of a family dressed all in black, Grace clutching onto Logan tightly, her face buried in his chest. My eyes scan the titles, one immediately catching my eye.
