AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The County Fair—beer, great barbeque, decent live music, and rides worth risking your life for.
“Joshua’s really excited—every time we pass a sign, he asks me how many more days until he can go.” She picks up a piece of steamed chicken and holds it down to Snoopy’s drooling mouth. “So . . . I was wondering, what you thought about you, me, and Joshua going together?” She looks up at me meaningfully. “The three of us.”
I narrow my eyes, confused. “That’s . . .”
“I know that’s not what we said when we started seeing each other . . . we agreed to nothing serious. But . . . I like you, Garrett. I think we could be good together.” She shrugs. “I’m a relationship kind of girl—and even though my marriage crashed and burned, I’m ready to start over. To try again.”
I like Tara—but even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t bullshit her. A man gets to a point in his life when he realizes that honesty—even if it’s not what someone wants to hear—is just simpler.
“I like you too. But I also like my life the way it is. A lot.” I gesture towards the next room. “I bought a Ping-Pong table last week, for the dining room. I like that I didn’t have to discuss it with anyone—that I didn’t have to consider anybody else’s feelings. I like that the only emotional worry I have is wondering how the hell I’m going to get around North Essex High School’s defense this season.”
“You should have kids, Garrett,” Tara insists. “You’d be an amazing father. It’s a sin you don’t have kids.”
“I do have kids. Thirty of them, six periods a day—and another forty every day after school during football season.”
Interest is the key with teenagers—with getting them to listen—they have to sense that you give a damn. That you care. You can’t fake it—they’ll know.
I don’t know if I’d be as good of a teacher as I am if I had kids of my own—if I’d have the energy, the patience. It’s not the only reason I’m not married with kids, but it’s one of them.
Like I said—I don’t mess with a winning streak.
Tara pushes back from the table and stands. “Well. Then, it looks like it’s Match.com for me. And I don’t suppose a new guy is going to be real keen about me keeping a piece of hot coach on the side.”
Gently, I push a strand of hair behind her ear.
“No, I don’t think that’d go over too well.”
“This was fun, Garrett.” She reaches up and kisses my cheek. “Take care of yourself.”
“Yeah, you too, Tara. I’ll see you around.”
With one more smile and a nod of her head, she picks up her purse, pats Snoopy good-bye, and heads out the door.
Snoopy watches her go, then turns to me—waiting.
I tilt my head towards the glass doors that frame the setting sun as it streaks the sky in pinks and grays and oranges.
“You wanna go bark at the geese on the lake?”
Snoopy’s ears perk high, and he rushes over to the back door as fast as his old little legs can take him.
Chapter Two
Callie
Looking back now, I should’ve known it was too good to be true. The best things in life usually are—long-lasting lipstick, Disneyland, dual action vibrators.
“Okay, let’s check you out,” Cheryl says, bending her knees, so she’s eye level with me. At five-seven, I’m not exactly short, but Cheryl is like a warrior woman of Sparta at over six feet tall with eye-catching dark red hair and a broad, often-laughing, always-louding mouth.
Cheryl works in the back office, here at the Fountain Theater Company. We crashed into each other—literally—on campus when we were both students at the University of San Diego, sending the papers in her hands scattering like leaves on a windy day. It took twenty minutes for us to catch them all—and by the time we did, it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
I open my eyes so wide my eyeballs would fall out if they weren’t attached to my head.
“Corner makeup gunk?”
“You’re good,” Cheryl confirms.
I pull back my lips and grit out, “Teeth?”
“Clean and shiny like a baby’s hiney.”
I tilt my head back. “Nose?”
Real friends make sure there aren’t any bats hanging in the cave.
“All clear.”
“Okay.” I shake out my hands and whistle out a deep breath. “I’m ready.” I close my eyes and whisper the words that, through the years, always helped settle my nerves. Words that aren’t mine.
“Visualize the win. See it happen, then make it happen. You got this.”
“What’s that?” Bruce asks.
I open my eyes at the blond, lanky, impeccably attired man in a gray tweed jacket, camel pants, and red ascot standing behind Cheryl’s right shoulder.
“Just something my high school boyfriend used to say.” I shrug. “He played football.”
Bruce is an actor with the Fountain Theater Company, like I was years ago, before I moved behind the scenes for a steadier paycheck and worked my way up to general manager.
