Page 36 of Easton

Back in the locker room, the vibe is high. We’re all laughing and talking, and there’s music on in the background.

Some of the guys are going out to grab a late dinner, but I’m too pumped to eat. Besides, I had a bigger pregame meal than usual, so I’m not really hungry.

Though maybe my real reason for skipping the dinner is that I just want to go home and see Claire.

Whatever the case, that’s exactly what I do.

But when I arrive home, I find the house is quiet.

I’m let down. Claire may have gone to bed. Or what if she stopped somewhere with Madison? Her friend was driving tonight, so the fact that I noticed Claire’s car in the garage when I pulled in is of no significance.

Disappointed, I drop my key fob onto the kitchen counter and head to the front of the house.

That’s when I hear sounds coming from the living room; clearly it’s the TV.

Awesome.

Claire is home after all.

I make a little noise out in the entry hall so I don’t startle her. Then I lean on the door frame and clear my throat.

Claire twists around on the sofa. “Hey,” she says with a smile.

“Hey back at you.” I go in and take a seat next to her. Not too close, but not too far away either. “Whatcha watching?” I ask.

“Nothing really,” she says as she blows out a breath. “I was just flipping through the channels. Why? Do you want to talk?”

“Sure.”

Claire turns off the TV, then leans back on the arm of the sofa. As she pulls her legs up under her, I notice she has on the most vibrant purple fuzzy socks I think I’ve ever seen.

They match what she wore to the game and still has on—black leggings and a black-and-violet Bears hoodie—but damn, they are bright.

Pointing to her feet, I tease, “Wow, those things sure stand out.”

“Heyyy,” she protests. “I wore these to go with the hoodie.”

“Well, they do, for the most part. But, man, I hope you didn’t blind anyone.”

“Ha ha.” She lifts the throw pillow that’s wedged between us and playfully smacks my jean-clad leg with it. “I had boots on over these, so shut up.”

I hold up my hands. “Okay, okay. Since you’re bringing out the big artillery”—I nod to the pillow, still in her grasp—“I give up.”

She drops her weapon, which lands between us, as she murmurs, “Wise choice.”

Looking at each other, we both start laughing. Having goofy fun like this is just so us. It always was, and I’m glad it still is.

“On a serious note, though,” Claire says, “what about that game?”

“Right?” I nod. “It was amazing, wasn’t it?”

She straightens one leg and, kicking the pillow out of the way, nudges me with her purple-sock-covered foot. “Youwere amazing,” she amends.

I give her a humble smile. “Thanks.”

We talk a little about the game, and I share with her, “Man, I’m still feeling pumped.”

“I bet,” she replies. And then she adds, “To be honest, I’m feeling kind of wound up myself.”

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