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Once everything is locked, and the alarm is armed, we exit the same door that Annabelle did. It’s gotten darker over the last thirty minutes, and there are no lights back here. “Do you walk to your car alone at night?”
“No, it’s usually Annabelle and me together. Why?”
“I just don’t like how dark and closed off it is back here.”
“I guess I never really noticed it before. I can see if Annabelle can ask the landlord to add a light back here. Would that put your mind at ease, QB?” She kisses me and hops in the SUV when I open the door.
Throwing her dance bag in the back with my football bag, I tell her, “It’s my job to keep you safe.”
40
Brady
When we enter the Sinclairs’ house, Bash, Murphy, and Cooper are already at the kitchen table. There are books scattered everywhere and a smell wafting through the room that reminds me I haven’t eaten since before practice, and I’m hungry.
“Hey, guys. What’s in the oven? It smells delicious.” Apparently, neither has Nattie.
“I don’t know. I think Dad said it’s eggplant parm. The meal service stocked us up earlier.”
“Is Dad home yet?”
Just as Nat asks, her dad walks into the room, his eyes zoning right in on the fact that I am carrying his daughter’s dance bag and holding her hand. I’ve been around Joe Sinclair many times since I met Coop and Nat, but never blatantly as his daughter’s boyfriend. We have tried to keep the PDA away from him. I can’t decide if he looks annoyed or curious.
Nat drops my hand and walks over to her dad to kiss his cheek. “Hi, Daddy. Are you going to eat with us?”
“No, Nattie. I’ve got more work to do. I’ll be in my office if you kids need anything.” Mr. Sinclair starts to walk away but stops and turns to study Murphy. “Aiden?”
Murphy looks up nervously. “Yes, sir?”
“Why the hell do you look like rolled around with a sweaty stripper?” Mr. Sinclair asks Murphy this with absolute sincerity, that is not shared with the group. Everyone else in the room explodes with laughter.
Natalie manages to keep a straight face. “Well, Dad, Murphy made the mistake of comparing me to Tinker Bell. Then, he got the entire football team to call me Little Sinclair. The. Whole. Team.” She pouts at her dad, who is laughing now too.
Coop starts to speak, but Nat cuts him off.
“Nat, you are—”
“Zip it, Cooper Sinclair. I. Am. Older. Then. You.” It takes every ounce of strength I have not to laugh at my feisty little pixie.
Nat’s dad looks over Murphy again. “I see—poor kid. I guess nobody told you that Natalie might be tiny, but she is ruthless. Lesson learned, Aiden. Don’t mess with my daughter.”
Looking over, Joe Sinclair’s eyes meet mine next. “Brady, can I speak with you for a moment?”
Not waiting for an answer, Mr. Sinclair heads away from us and toward his office.
Cooper is failing at hiding the grin that has overtaken his face. “Ohhhhh. Somebody pissed off his girlfriend’s dad already.”
“Shut the fuck up, Cooper.” I flick his ear as I pass by.
Then hear Murphy mutter, “What the fuck, Nat. Brady’s the one that compared you to Tinker Bell. I just called you Little Sinclair. You are little. I’m going to be shitting glitter for a fucking week.”
“Sucks to be you, Murphy.” Turning away, Nat looks at me. “I’m going to get changed. Have fun talking to my dad.” I get a quick kiss on the cheek and feel like I’m about to walk the plank.
Heading down the long, narrow hallway Coach Sinclair just walked, I stop and knock on the closed double doors. The office is large, and nine months after he moved in, it is still littered with boxes in every corner. His desk is a substantial old mahogany piece with a laptop on the little space that papers and binders don’t cover. The desk is facing out, with built-in white shelving behind it. Pictures of Nat and her brothers take up most of that space.
Pictures of them as babies and little kids at his football games.
Nat with her hair in little, blonde pigtails, sitting on her father’s shoulders, both wearing matching Sinclair jerseys.
