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Voices buzz near the door. Glancing over, I spot three young female employees huddled in a tight pack and studying our table. When they spot me staring they withdraw in haste, as if I’ve screamed curse words at them.
Conner is oblivious. Being the center of attention is nothing new to him.
“You have quite the fan club around here,” I observe after pounding back half my beer.
He swallows the food in his mouth and chases it with a gulp of water. “Yeah, I live nearby. Come here at least once a week, usually with Tessie, Micah and the baby. They’ve named a drink after me.”
“I don’t remember seeing any Wiseman shakes listed on the menu.”
“Sure, it’s on the back page. Fireball whiskey and lemonade.” He winks. “Called the Twenty-Nine.”
A long buried memory crackles like a lightning bolt.
“I’ll remember that. In fact, someday when I make varsity it’ll be my jersey number. For real. I swear it…”
I could tell him. This is probably what Ishoulddo.
Yet I’ve already picked up on the fact that Conner is still troubled over what he lost after his childhood concussion. He won’t feel better after hearing the whole story of us.
My long silence catches his attention.
“It’s my jersey number,” he says, assuming I’m confused. “Twenty-nine.”
“Yeah, I know.”
A ripple of interest cuts his forehead and he leans back in the chair. “Do you watch my games?”
I could play this off with a lie but the only people I enjoy lying to are the ones who share my last name. “When I get the chance.”
And I always get the chance. If miss the live broadcasts I watch the replays.
He’s pleased enough by the answer to break into a grin. For years I was obsessed with that cocky smile. There might be a piece of me that still is.
I rip my eyes away to avoid getting too lost in Conner Wiseman’s smile. My defenses are already low. Must be all the time out in the sun.
I’m aware it’s not cool to stick your face in your phone in the middle of a meal but I need a distraction. Anyway, I haven’t checked my phone in a while. Never know when something fucked up is happening in the family fold.
No texts, no messages, no fires to put out. I push the phone back into my small barrel-shaped handbag and set it carefully on the table beside my plate.
Conner hears the clink of heavy cargo within. “You keep bricks in your purse?”
“No.”
“Something made that noise.”
“Yup, something did.”
He raises an eyebrow.
Might as well shock him.
“I carry a gun. Sometimes it’s necessary, all things considered.”
‘All things considered’ being that my family has an ongoing deal with the devil.
Conner isn’t shocked at all.
He shrugs off the revelation and passes more food my way. “Eat another roll. Can’t let these beauties go to waste.”
