Page 25 of Love Takes Home

“You know there aren’t any red flags in baseball, right?” I ask, trying not to let on in front of Davis how right she is.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m still not wrong.”

“You know, I know this other woman named Linda. Remind me to never let the two of you be in a room together. I don’t think the world would survive,” Davis jokes.

“Why don’t we move over to the tables?” I ask, ready to be away from my brother for any other conversations I’d rather he not hear. “Snacks should be up soon. It’s almost hangry o’clock.”

“I’ll bring the pitchers over.” He smiles at me. He knows exactly what I’m doing, but he’s letting me off the hook. He’s a pretty good big brother sometimes.

Once we’re situated around the table, I look at Quinn. “Where’s Paula?”

“She’s running a few minutes behind.” She grabs my hand, giving methatlook. “How are you, really?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“We ask because we want to know,” Nicole says.

“You all, maybe, but what about everybody else?”

“Does everybody else really matter?” Linda adds.

“Well, I’m okay. That’s how I am. I’m just fine.”

“You look like you’re not sleeping.”

Quinn adds, “You do look a little tired.”

“So you’re saying I look like shit?”

“I would never say you look like shit, just that you look tired.” Nicole gives me a soft smile.

“Have you met someone new?” Quinn asks, a look of hope in her eyes.

“What? No!” But I can’t help but think of Joker.

“Wait, what’s that look?” Linda asks.

“What look?”

“The one that looks like you’re hiding something from us. That you might have met a guy. Maybe even have a crush?”

“I don’t have a crush. Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure,” Nicole says easily. Too easily. “At least until Paula gets here. She has questions.”

“Of course she does.” I roll my eyes.

Davis places a new pitcher of frozen goodness and our platters of apps on the table, each of us digging into the mozzarella sticks. We catch up, talking about how the kids are this year. Who the troublemakers are going to be and who our favorites are. What? Teachers have favorites. We didn’t birth them, we’re allowed.

“Have you all heard any rumors about bad stuff going on?” Quinn asks.

“What kind of bad stuff?” I ask. “And I can promise, I haven’t heard anything since no one is talking to me.”

“I heard a couple of kids talking about picking up some stuff for this weekend. You know the first week party out at the field?”

“You mean the party that’s been happening since my grandparents were in high school that we pretend doesn’t happen every year when all the high school kids get drunk and smoke some pot?” I smile, remembering my own years on that field.

“That’s the one,” Quinn confirms.

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