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“If you expect me to start whining because I can’t play ball anymore, you can forget it. I’ve already got more than most people walking this globe even dream about, and self-pity isn’t high on my list of desirable virtues.”
“I’ve never known anyone less prone to self-pity than you, but you’ve built your life around football. It’s natural for you to feel a sense of loss now that it’s gone. You certainly have a right to be bitter about what happened to your career.”
“Tell that to somebody who doesn’t have a job, or tell that to a homeless person. I’ll just bet they’d trade places with me in a second.”
“If you follow that logic, no one who has food and shelter should ever feel unhappy about anything. But life’s more than food and shelter.”
He swiped a paper napkin across his lips, touching her breast with his elbow as he did and setting off a chain reaction of sensations inside her. “Gracie, don’t take offense, but you’re about boring me to death with this conversation.”
She shot him a sideways glance, trying to see if the caress had been deliberate or accidental, but he wasn’t giving anything away.
He straightened his leg to reach inside his jeans pocket, and the denim tightened over his hips. A pulse thrummed in her throat. “You’ve aggravated me so much I nearly forgot what I wanted to do tonight.” He withdrew something and closed his fist around it. “To accurately reconstruct everything you’ve missed in your relationship with the opposite sex, we’d have to go all the way back to playing doctor behind the garage, but I figured we’d skip that part and jump rig
ht ahead to high school when things get more interesting. Sherri Hopper never gave me back my high school ring after we broke up, so we’re going to have to make do with this.” He opened his hand.
Lying in his palm was the most massive man’s ring she had ever seen. Its gaudy collection of yellow and white diamonds arranged to form three stars twinkled in the fading light. The ring was threaded with a heavy gold chain that he slipped over her head.
The ring settled with a thud between her breasts. She picked it up, crossing her eyes slightly to look down at it. “Bobby Tom, this is your Super Bowl ring!”
“Buddy Baines gave it back to me a couple of days ago.”
“I can’t wear your Super Bowl ring!”
“I don’t see why not. One of us has to.”
“But—”
“People in town are going to get suspicious if you don’t have a ring. Everybody’ll get a real kick out of this. Although I wouldn’t plan on being in too much of a hurry when you go to town. Everybody’s going to want to try it on.”
How many bruising hits had he taken to earn this? How many broken bones and sore muscles had he endured? At the age of thirty, she finally had a man’s ring, and what a ring it was.
As she reminded-herself she only had it temporarily, she remembered the pangs she’d experienced as a teenager when she’d seen the girls at her high school with a boy’s ring dangling from a chain around their necks. How much she had wanted one for herself.
She fought to hide her emotion. This was only pretend, and she shouldn’t let it mean so much to her. “Thank you, Bobby Tom.”
“Generally at this moment a boy and girl would commemorate the event with a kiss, but, frankly speaking, you’re a little too hot for me to handle in public, so we’ll postpone that till we have a little more privacy.”
She clutched it tighter in the palm of her hand. “Did you give out your high school ring a lot?”
“Only twice. I believe I already mentioned Sherri Hopper, but Terry Jo Driscoll was the first girl I ever loved. She’s Terry Jo Baines, now. Matter of fact you’re going to meet her; I said we’d try to stop by her house tonight. Her husband Buddy was my best friend all through high school, and Terry Jo’s real hurt I haven’t introduced you to her yet. Of course, if you’d rather do something else . . .” He gave her a sideways glance. “We could probably postpone the visit until tomorrow.”
“Tonight’s fine!” Her throat was dry and her voice sounded squeaky. Why was he prolonging her agony like this? Maybe he’d changed his mind and he didn’t want to make love to her. Maybe he was trying to get rid of her.
His arm brushed the bare patch of skin just above her waist as he reached behind her toward the paper carton she’d set on the seat. She jumped.
He looked at her, his dark blue eyes as innocent as a baby’s. “I’ll help you do dishes.”
With a wicked grin, he began gathering up the fragments of their fried chicken dinner and stuffing it all back in the paper sack, touching her here and there in the process until she had goose bumps everywhere. He knew exactly what he was doing, she decided. He was deliberately driving her to insanity.
Ten minutes later, they were being ushered into the cluttered living room of a small, one-story house by a plump, but still pretty, woman with a baby face and over-processed blond hair, who was clad in a red print top, white leggings, and a battered pair of sandals. She looked like someone who had taken more than her share of knocks in life, but hadn’t let it get her down, and her affection for Bobby Tom was so open and honest that Gracie liked her immediately.
“It’s about time Bobby Tom brought you around.” Terry Jo squeezed Gracie’s hand. “I swear, everybody in town like to die when they heard he finally got engaged. Jo-leen! I can hear that paper rattlin’, and you get out of those Little Debbies right this minute!” She gestured across the clean, but shabby living room, toward the kitchen that lay beyond. “That’s Joleen. She’s our oldest. Her brother Kenny’s over at his friends for the night. Buddy! Bobby Tom and Gracie are here! Budd-ee!”
“Stop yellin’, Terry Jo.” Buddy ambled into the living room from the kitchen, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth in a way that made Gracie suspect he had been the one rustling around in the Little Debbies instead of his daughter.
She had met Buddy Baines briefly when she’d taken the Thunderbird to his garage for new tires. Like the house in which he lived, he had a run down quality about him. With his dark hair and swarthy complexion, he-was still a good looking man, but an extra roll of flesh had begun to thicken his waistline and he had the beginnings of a double chin. Still, she could imagine him as he’d been in high school, just as good looking as Bobby Tom, but dark instead of blond. The three of them—Bobby Tom, Buddy, and Terry Jo—must have been quite a sight.
After Joleen had run in to exchange a moist, enthusiastic greeting with her Uncle Bobby Tom, Terry Jo drew Gracie into the kitchen to help her carry the beer and chips. Gracie had no desire for either, but she didn’t have the heart to refuse Terry Jo’s cheerful hospitality. She had tucked Bobby Tom’s ring inside her sweater, and it nestled between her breasts. She touched it there as she looked around the kitchen. It was as shabby and homey as the living room, with children’s artwork held to the refrigerator by Bible verse magnets and a pile of newspapers stacked on the floor next to a dog’s water dish.
