Page 17 of Houston, We Have a Problem
“I’m sorry for stealing your breakfast and lying to you about making it. I’m trying to live more deliberately, but clearly I can be kind of impulsive. And stupid. Karma caught up to me quickly.” I give her my best puppy-dog look.
Though she doesn’t smile much, it’s still there, playing at the corners of her lips as she continues to nibble at my pathetic offering. “Karma isn’t a real thing,” she says after a moment.
I raise an eyebrow. “This coming from the woman who thinks throwing salt over her shoulder is going to save her from the scorpions we don’t have.”
“I thought you agreed to save me. But as long as I see you wearing those ugly slippers, I’m going to be on my guard.”
“Hey, I like these slippers.”
“They make you look like an eighty-year-old man, Hou.”
Oh, I like that. I like that a lot. Not the old man part, but the part where she called me Hou. And okay, maybe she called me that because it sounds like an old man name to match my slippers, but the fact that she’s giving me a nickname in the middle of what some might call flirtatious banter is lighting off fireworks inside me.
What would she do if I asked her out? Slam the door in my face, probably. I have a feeling this girl is going to take more than a smile to charm, and I am so okay with that. I hope she makes this difficult for me because if there’s one thing I never do, it’s back down from a challenge.
Chapter Nine
Darcy
October 22
“Houston Briggs made you breakfast?” Connor looks like he’s buffering as he processes that idea. Or maybe he’s literally buffering, since the internet in this house is crap. You’d think Houston Briggs would be able to afford fiber internet. At the very least something faster than six megabits download speed.
Maybe he’s into gambling or something and has lost all his money. He wouldn’t want to be slipping in his career if he was in massive debt from something like that, which would explain his panicked response when Tamlin asked him about getting old. It would also explain why he’s trying to sell my half of his duplex.
I pause my dish washing to double check I haven’t lost the connection with Connor, and he blinks. “Sorry, I’m just trying to imagine it,” he says. “Was it edible?”
I chuckle. “Technically, it came from a restaurant in town, but the thought was nice.” Houston told me about his attempt to make Jordan’s apparently famous waffles before ordering the food and how he nearly set off the fire alarm. The admission was adorable; I love a man who can own up to his faults.
“Hmm.” Connor rubs his jaw, clearly deep in thought. I’ve been here for two days now, and every time Connor calls, I keep waiting for him to give me a more specific assignment when it comes to Houston. Like, what am I looking for? He said yesterday that I’ll know it when I see it, which doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence.
You’d think I would have seen it by now.
I’ve gone over and over that interview, and aside from Houston hesitating slightly when I asked him about being tired, he basically gave me nothing. I doubt that’s anything; anypitcher would be tired after pitching a whole game, even one as skilled as Houston Briggs.
“What is that supposed to mean?” I ask when Connor doesn’t say anything else.
He shrugs, which is a very non-Connor thing to do. He’s the editor-in-chief for a reason, and he usually has all the answers. “I’m curious about why you didn’t mention this breakfast thing earlier,” he says after a while.
It’s my turn to shrug. “It didn’t seem all that important, and I’ve barely seen him since. He sent his friend over yesterday with new light bulbs and to get the internet set up, and I’m not sure if he’s even been home much.” I did enjoy talking to Jordan again, though. He’s a nice guy and one hundred percent in love with Houston’s sister, something he confirmed Houston doesn’t know. That could get interesting, but it’s not interesting enough to be the story Connor is looking for.
“Maybe he’s been busy training,” Connor says, which disappoints him for some reason. “You may need to fake a house emergency to get him over there so you can have some more interaction. We can’t have him forgetting you exist.”
Connor doesn’t know that Houston gave me his phone number, and I’m not sure I’m going to tell him. That seems like pushing things too quickly too fast, and with how much Houston has been avoiding me since the breakfast incident yesterday, he seems a little skittish. Connor would ask me to start texting him, maybe even assign someoneelseto write the texts for me, and I do not want that to happen. If Houston is going to tell me anything, he needs to know he can trust me.
“So, he brought you breakfast, and then what?”
And then he mowed the lawn without a shirt on, though I’m not going to tell Connor that part. Jesse found me peeking out the front window like a creep, and he’s never going to let me live that one down. He hasn’t technically said anything about it,but he’s got that amused look in his eyes every time we cross paths in this little house.
This little house that is starting to feel a bit suffocating. It’s only been two days, but neither of us have gone anywhere or done anything. There’s been unpacking to do, but outside of the stuff it takes to make us look like we actually live here, we don’t have a lot of personal things. Jesse and I are both unpacked and incredibly bored.
“That was pretty much the last time I saw him,” I say, holding back a sigh. “I can try to think of something that would get him over here.”
“Or maybe Tamlin needs to make a little push,” Connor says.
My heart kicks up a notch. “You want to get Tamlin out? Already? But why would she be in Sun City?”
“She could be snooping around for postseason scandals. Following other members of the team who aren’t as squeaky-clean. Trying to get a second interview after Briggs shot her down the last time. Take your pick.”
