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Peyton
Karina is staying with her parents tonight, which means I have the apartment all to myself. Her grandma is visiting from out of town. I’ll stop by there tomorrow to say hello, but I wanted to give them family time tonight. She argued that I was family, but to be honest, I just wanted to watch Griffin’s game on TV and call it a night.
Unfortunately for me, that means I have to head to my parents’ house. We don’t get the college sports station showing his game, but they do. My dad gets every damn sports channel imaginable. I’m hoping I can sneak down to the basement and watch the game in peace and slip back out. I want to drool over my man in peace.
When I pull into the empty driveway, the house is dark, but I know my parents, and I’m not willing to risk walking in on something I shouldn’t ever see. I should have texted my mom earlier, but I forgot. Pulling my phone out of my purse, I fire off a text.
Me: Hey, I’m here. Are you all home?
Mom: No, we went out to dinner. I wish I knew you were coming. I could have cooked, or you could have come with us.
Me: I’m good. I want to watch Griffin’s game tonight, but I don’t have the channel. I know Dad gets all of them.
Mom: You don’t need to tell me why you’re home, Peyton. It will always be your home if you are nineteen or ninety.
Me: Love you. I’ll be in the basement.
Mom: Love you too.
Clutching my keys and my purse, I make my way into the house. I don’t bother turning on any of the lights. Instead, I head downstairs and flip on the TV. The game starts right now, and I still have to find the channel. Reaching for my phone, I pull up my last message with Griffin, where he tells me what station. I find it easily and turn up the volume so I don’t miss anything. Moving to the small kitchen area, I pop some popcorn and grab a Dr Pepper from the fridge.
My eyes have been glued to the screen every inning. Griffin has pitched a hell of a game so far. They’re in the ninth inning, and he’s still on the mound. His arm is fire tonight. He winds up the pitch, and the batter strikes out, and I cheer for him like I’ve been doing all night. I know he can’t see me, but I can’t help it.
“What’s with all the ruckus?” Dad asks with a smile on his face. He plops down on the couch beside me and helps himself to some of the popcorn that I abandoned a few innings ago.
“Griff’s pitching a great game,” I tell him. I go on to give him some highlights, catching him up to speed.
Dad sits with me through the end of the game. “He’s good,” he comments. There’s surprise in his voice.
“See, I told you he wasn’t some cocky asshole.”
“Lady,” he warns, and I stick my tongue out at him. I’m nineteen, and I can cuss if I want. I open my mouth to tell him just that, but the reporter on the TV says Griffin’s name and pulls my attention away from my father.
“I’m Tiffany Banks, and I’m here with freshman Griffin Anthony. Great game out there, Griffin. How’s the arm?”
He smiles. “Thanks, Tiffany. The arm is great.” He smiles, and I can imagine everyone there seeing his pearly whites on the jumbotron and swooning just like I am sitting here in the basement next to my dad.
“You seem laser-focused out there tonight. Care to tell us what your secret is?” Tiffany, the reporter, asks him.
“She’s no secret,” he tells her.
“She?”
“My girlfriend, Peyton. I know she’s at home in Nashville watching me tonight, and well, I guess this game is for her.” He looks away from Tiffany and stares into the camera. “I miss you, babe. I’ll be calling you as soon as I can get to my phone.” He winks, and I swear I feel like my heart will pound out of my chest and the butterflies in my belly are going to wreak havoc.
“Lady, look at you,” Dad says softly. “You’re glowing.”
“He’s so good to me, Dad. I know the long distance will be hard, and I’m not sure if that’s why you don’t like him, but we’re making this work. I really care about him.”
“I can see that.” He puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into a hug. “It’s not the long distance that bothers me. Both of your sisters and even your mother and me had to do something similar.”
“Then what is it?”
“Nothing,” he admits. “There is nothing that I can find wrong with him. I tried to make him uncomfortable, but he stood his ground, which I’m sure you’ve seen.”
