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It’s okay. I like a little challenge. It distracts me from Julia’s gut punch.
As we stride out of the house, I walk a half pace behind Adalee to make sure she’s steady descending the steps. She appears annoyed, shaking her head. She says, “I’m fine,” at the exact moment she stumbles. Being the nice guy, I am—I envelop her in one arm, so she doesn’t fall. Her head rotates to the side and with a slight uplift of her chin. We deadlock.
“What the hell is this?” Chaz marches up to us, glaring at Adalee. “Are you going out with him to get back at me?”
What? Chaz is Adalee’s ex?
I asked Logan if she was dating anyone and he said no. He didn’t think to mention she dated the only guy on my team that hates me. Ginger or Joe never mentioned it either. It seems like an important detail since he’s my teammate.
Adalee snaps back. “It’s none of your business. Come on, Hagan.”
What feels like snow flurries tickle my stomach right now as she slips her arm around me, squeezing. Adalee’s not refuting Chaz’s claim. I know it’s fake, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t love the feel of her embrace.
“Transfer, you’re dead. I’ll turn the team against you.”
I throw my head back as I hoot. “You still owe me a beer. And by the way, Adalee’s not a possession, not yours or mine. But I can assure you, I’m more of a man than you’ll ever be. I can satisfy her in ways you never could.” I’m so fed up with this guy, and it horrifies me that Adalee and Chaz were a couple. Is my judgement that bad?
“Hagan,” Adalee growls.
My jaw tightens. “And pencil dick, don’t threaten me again. In case you haven’t noticed who the team is hanging out with… it’s me with the exception Ned.”
We stare until Joe says, “Let’s go. We don’t want to be late.”
I help Adalee into the Rover. Traffic is awful so it takes fifteen minutes to arrive at the stadium. I keep peeking at her in the rearview mirror. She’s smiles until she sees me looking at her.
“How did you get this parking space?” Joe asks as I whip into the second row reserved for Platinum Level Stallion Fund members.
I put the Range Rover in park, and steady myself for Little Miss Attitude’s reaction. “I called my dad.”
Adalee mumbles, “Of course you did.”
I give her a curt look in the mirror before continuing, “I told my dad that a friend had ACL surgery and asked if he could get a good parking location.”
She doesn’t respond but keeps glaring at me. Ginger screams, “That’s so sweet of you. Isn’t it, Adalee?”
She utters, “Yes. Thank you.” And then I see her lips continue to move and I think I hear, “I wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for you.” Maybe she’s talking about Ginger. I know she had the accident on the night of the baseball party when Ginger and Joe were getting to know each other better. Clear throat. I was there when she walked away, minutes before she blew her ACL out.
The football team is crushing it today. But it seems the only guy Adalee likes is Logan. She waves her pom-pom and screams his name after every complete pass and touchdown.
At halftime, I ask if I can get her a drink or snacks. She declines but I bring back two different drinks hoping she’ll like one. Ginger and Joe are still in line, so I take the opportunity to try and steal a few moments with her. See if I can get her to ease up a little. She’s wound tighter than a corkscrew.
“Hey, I bought you a drink anyway,” I say as a peace offering. I don’t know why she hates me but I don’t mind a challenge and I have a feeling she may be worth it. “Lemonade? Or Coke?”
She shakes her head. “No thanks.”
God this girl. I chuckle as I pull out a bottled water from my pocket, offering it to her. “Here. Every athlete drinks water. So, unless you’re a badass alien man killer, you’ll take it.”
She rewards me with a sweet smile and it looks a lot like I maybe I won this round, but she’ll fight harder in round two. I unscrew the cap and hand it over.
Adalee looks onto the field where the marching band plays theStar Warstheme. I watch her watching them. The music fades and all I see are stray strands of her silky brown hair blowing in the gentle wind. The way her hand swipes it out of her face. She brings the bottle to her lips, and then I watch her gently swallow.
Finally, I shake those warm fuzzies off and ask, “Why were you walking home by yourself the night of the baseball party? I’m sure Ginger or Joe would have taken you home. Hell, I would’ve taken you home.”
“In your dreams.”
“Maybe. But maybe you’re waiting around on Logan,” I hypothesize attempting to gauge her interest in my roommate.
Her head slowly swivels to mine. “You think I would ask you to take me home? Mr. Transfer whose had his lips and God knows what elseonorindozens of girls since he moved here two months ago? Logan and I are only friends.”
