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“You don’t look funny.” And she doesn’t. She looks in control and almost graceful. There’s a line of skin peeking between the top of her pants and her shirt. Now that is distracting, especially when there’s no logical reason for me to keep looking at her. Well, actually, yes there is. I’m making sure I’m doing this right.
We do a few more, my favorite being the child’s pose, if I have to have a favorite. Go figure. My knee will let me do yoga, but not play football. Olivia faces me once we stand after rolling the mats up.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“I guess not. It’s harder than you make it look, though.”
She gives me a big smile. “Thanks. I do a routine every day. I could slow it down and do some easier ones for a while if you wanted to do it with me.”
Me? A tough, used-to-play-football, bulky guy doing yoga? Possibly enjoying it?
When I don’t answer fast enough, she pats my shoulder. “Think about it, okay? While I start cooking, you can move my coffee table back for me. Please, and thank you.” She heads for the kitchen without another word.
I move the table and follow after her. “Need any help?”
“Can you cook?”
“Depends.”
She laughs at my answer. “You can sit this one out.”
Even though she just moved in, she’s at home here and moves around easily. I watch her while she talks about something. What she’s cooking, I think. Her bangs are pinned back again and as she turns and goes about getting ingredients, I can’t help but appreciate her looks. She really is beautiful. Sometimes, I’m so caught up in myself that I don’t notice other things. I probably shouldn’t be called a guy because I missed it the last few times I’ve been around her.
“So, what made you want to have dinner with me?”
I lift my eyes to hers as she turns to face me, still keeping a watch on the food. “My sister told me to have fun this weekend. I was trying to do that, but ended up doing yoga instead.”
Olivia smiles. “What’s your sister’s name? Patrick never said. Do you always do what she tells you?”
“Lucy, and no, I don’t. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“One older sister and a younger brother. I’m six years younger than my sister and two years older than my brother.”
“We’re all about a year to a year and a half apart. Are y’all close?”
Her shoulder lifts and falls in a shrug. “Sometimes we get along, and sometimes we don’t.”
I nod like I understand.
“What’s your last name?” She frowns as if she’s just realizing she doesn’t know it. Hers is Bayne, I know, thanks to having seen her ID.
“Kennedy.”
Her frown deepens, like her mind is working. She turns towards the stove to stir the spaghetti sauce. “Have you always gone to this school?” Her question sounds casual, but it’s not. She’s fishing for information.
“No.” If Olivia somehow recognized my name, then she knows more about what happened to me than I’ve told her. We aren’t going to discuss it. She can tell me I’m depressed and I need help and I should stop lying, but my injury is off limits.
“Where did you go before?” She knows she’s close to crossing the line because she won’t turn around and look at me, too focused on the food. This is the first time I’ve seen her do that.
“Why do you want to know?” I ask evenly.
Olivia sighs and finally faces me again. “It’s not like you’re just going to tell me, are you?” I shake my head. “Fine. I’ll flat-out ask. I don’t know how I didn’t catch it before since you have two brothers, one whose name is Patrick and I would bet the other is Jonathan. You played for Salem University, right? My brother goes there and he loves football. He always mentions something about the Kennedy brothers.”
I don’t respond. I’m not talking about it. I refuse. This is something I am in control of and there’s no way I’m changing my mind. I haven’t talked about it since it happened and I don’t plan on starting now.
“I remember him telling me the story when you were injured,” she tries, balancing carefully on the line she’s walking. “A knee injury, right? One too many and you were unable to play. C’mon, Corey. Talk to me,” she eggs on softly.
“What do you want me to say, Olivia?!” I explode, tired of her pushing me. “Sounds to me like you know the full story already. I got hit in practice! Practice, not even in an actual game. Yeah, one too many hits to the knee, perfect wording. Thank God I had some money saved and a job because since I couldn’t play, I lost my scholarship and had to pay for my last semester. I got injured, lost the game I’ve been p
