Page 57 of Houston, We Have a Problem
“Have you ever thought you might be pretty even without it?”
“I never said I wasn’t.” And then I wink.
He laughs, and the sound boosts my own mood. He hasn’t laughed enough since being around me. There was that moment on the porch with Darcy, when he laughed so hard he cried, butthat was pretty much the only time he hasn’t seemed weighed down by something. I have firm memories from watching past interviews and videos of Houston Briggs, especially the last time they won the Series. This man used to be nothing but smiles, always a secret joke behind his eyes despite his serious approach to the sport. Either something has changed in his life that has nothing to do with me being in Sun City, or I’ve dimmed the undimmable Houston Briggs.
New goal: Make Houston laugh as often as possible so he might survive this thing.
Still chuckling, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. Then he frowns, all of his tension returning. “Sorry, it’s my agent. I should probably take this.”
He shuffles off to the corner of the mostly empty restaurant, ducking his head as if that might help him be quieter. It’s not like I’m trying to listen, but as the conversation goes on, Houston’s voice gets louder until I can hear most of his side of the conversation.
“I know,” he says with clear frustration. “I’m not trying to make this more difficult than it needs to be.” Pause. “No, not yet, but Solano said—” He cuts himself off and runs his hand through his hair. “No, the supraspinatus. It’s not great. Yeah. I know. A few more days, Roundy. That’s all I’m asking for.”
I have no idea what that word was in the middle, but it sounded important and body related, plus he mentioned the team’s physical therapist. For not the first time, I wish I had taken an anatomy class or something when I was in college because I’m always a bit lost when it comes to that sort of thing. I’m great with sport rules and terminologies, but biology is not my thing.
As Houston ends his call with his agent, I add to my mental list of classes I want to convince Connor to pay for, along with lip reading. Definitely an anatomy course, and maybe acooking class in there somewhere for those days I’m on the road a lot or in an undercover situation like I am now.
“Sorry about that,” Houston says, slipping into his chair. I can practically see the weight on his shoulders from that conversation. “No rest for the wicked.”
I grin, hoping my smile filters over to him. “Are you the wicked one in that context, or is Roundy? I’ve heard a lot of things about your agent, and I’m curious to know what’s actually true.”
“I would tell you if I knew. Roundy has always been a bit of a mystery to me, even after working with him all these years.”
Our food arrives a moment later, and we slip into talking about the most recent football games. Houston is a sports fan in general, not just of baseball, so the conversation flows easily. Or maybe it’s just because Houston is easy to talk to. As he settles more and more throughout our lunch, he becomes closer to the version I’ve seen of him in interviews in the past. Lots of smiles, plenty of teasing jokes, and a generally light outlook on life. If I wasn’t already crushing hard, I could see this man being a great friend. I envy his siblings for their chance to have this side of him in their lives all the time.
I highly doubt I’ll get to keep him.
When the afternoon inches closer to evening, cutting down my time to turn back into Darcy, I reluctantly glance at my phone and let out a small sigh. “Duty calls. Thanks for lunch, Houston. I’ve had a really good time.”
I would have preferred a little more protestation from him, but he simply nods. “I’m glad.”
“If I’m still in town for a while, we should do this again.”
As I expected, he tenses a little, giving me the universal panicked expression of not knowing how to turn someone down. “You’re a really great woman, Tamlin,” he says, his intonation indicating there is more to that than what he’s said.
I roll my eyes, making sure my smile is as believable as I can make it so he knows Tamlin is not going to leave the restaurant brokenhearted. “But?” I push.
He seems surprised by my casual response, which is likely why he says what he does next. “But you’re like some fever dream. You’re smart, beautiful, athletic. It’s like you were made for someone like me.”
I smirk. “Some would say that’s a good thing.”
“But you don’t feel real. Maybe it’s just because you don’t want me to see who you really are, but it’s like all I’ve gotten is the surface you. I can’t see what’s beneath. What makes you tick. Does that make sense?”
Of course it does. Everything that makes me real and human gets tucked away when I play this part. The real stuff is the side of me he’s clearly choosing. But even Darcy is only half a person, and I fear sooner than later he will realize that I’ve never been honest with him. It’s a miracle he hasn’t made the connection between Tamlin and Darcy yet, though he’s started giving me curious looks, like he’s trying to figure out why I look familiar. My time is running out, and I know it.
Reaching across the table, I place my hand over his in the briefest of touches even though I want more. “I understand what you’re saying, Briggs. This job means I keep a wall around my heart to protect myself, and it’s not something I can just take down. As long as I am on my current path, that is never going to change. I’m sorry I can’t be real with you.”
But if Connor is serious about this inspirational division, there won’t be the same danger in reporting that there is now. I’ll be telling happy stories, maybe even be behind the scenes a lot of the time, which means I won’t have to hide behind Tamlin. I’ll be able to be fully me for the first time in years.
“What about friends?” I say, shivering when Houston’s gaze softens in relief. He must not have been completely ready to give Tamlin up, which is mildly concerning but also flattering.
He settles back in his chair, more relaxed than ever as his smile grows and shows off those dimples. “You sure you want to be friends with a guy like me? I’m usually the type you take down.”
“Do you have a reason for me to take you down?”
The question was supposed to be a line of banter, but it has the opposite effect that I wanted. He tenses right back up, hard lines forming around his eyes as he fights to hold his grin. “No,” he says.
I don’t believe him.
