Page 88 of Jilted

“What’s that?”

“She’s hot for your brother.”

He nodded. “I think the feeling is mutual. But I’ll talk to him when I pick him up tonight, make sure he’s not an ass to her.”

“Thank you.”

He sipped and looked at me over the brim of his mug. “I overheard you talking when I was getting changed. What’s with the answer you gave when she asked if I was your boyfriend?”

“What do you mean?”

“You skirted the question. That’s why I threw out that I’d slept on the couch. Do you think she’s too young to know?”

“She’s fourteen. Half the girls in her grade have had boyfriends already, unfortunately.”

“So why the vague answer?”

“Because… I wasn’t sure how to respond.”

Wilder held my eyes for a few heartbeats before setting his coffee on the counter next to him. He closed the distance between us and locked his hands around my waist.

“We are, sweetheart.” He ducked down so we were eye to eye. “Boyfriend and girlfriend, or whatever you want to call it.”

My pulse raced like I was back in ninth grade and Eddie Anderman had asked me to the spring dance. I smiled. “Okay.”

He pressed a kiss to my lips. “I have a meeting at ten. But I’m going to go visit Coach after. You want to meet him?”

I nodded. “I’d like that, boyfriend.”

He chuckled and kissed my forehead. “My girlfriend is a goofball.”

“Hey, Wilder.” A nurse with a Caribbean accent and long, beaded braids smiled. “He made me do it.”

“Do what?”

She chuckled. “You’ll see.”

Wilder took my hand, tugging me with him down the hall. “That’s Lucinda. She’s great. She’s been here as long as Coach has. He has a big crush on her. The more his disease progresses, the less he hides it. She’s a really good sport.”

Coach’s room was at the end of a long hall. On our way to the nursing home, he’d filled me in a little more about his old coach’s dementia battle, so I walked in expecting to find an old man in hospital pajamas, hunched in a chair with his eyes glazed over. But I wasn’t even close.

Coach wore a Hawaiian shirt and basketball shorts, blasted reggae music, and was dancing all by himself. He also had a full head of gray, beaded braids.

Wilder shook his head. “Now that’s a new look…”

Coach grinned and patted his hair. “You like it? Lucinda’s last boyfriend had braids. I thought it would help my chances.”

“I think you’ve got a better shot at finding rhythm at seventy-five than you do with Luce, and that’s saying something.” He hugged his coach. “How are you, old man?”

Coach noticed me for the first time. His eyes perked up. “Now that’s much better than the shitty pastries you usually bring me.”

Wilder held up his pointer in warning. “Easy. No hitting on my girlfriend. This is Sloane.”

Coach opened his arms for a hug. I was happy to oblige. “It’s nice to meet you. Wilder told me all about you. You’re the only thing he talks about when he calls lately.”

Wilder shook his head. “Don’t believe anything he says. It’s all lies.”

“She must be someone special,” Coach noted. “Never brought anyone with you for your visit before.”

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