Page 14 of Delay of Game
“Thanks. So, how the hell do you relax in here?” I asked as we entered the classroom. “You don’t even have an adult-sized chair.”
She perched on one of the dozens of miniature chairs clustered around coffee table height desks. “You think I relax in a room full of twenty six-year-olds? Impossible.”
“Okay,” I conceded. “That’s fair, but you could maybe set out one of those ball chairs or a bean bag for adult visitors.”
“And listen to the kids fight over who gets to sit on it next? No. I’d rather sit on the floor.”
I folded myself into a chair, but the low groan of metal forced me to pop back up again.
“Maybe I do need a bean bag,” she smiled. “For the parents’ night.”
“So, what do we think?” I asked Mila as I fastened her back into her car seat. “Connor sucks, right?”
Her eyes widened. “Don’t say that about Connor! He’s my best friend!”
Damn it. As much as I wanted Mila to have friends, another afternoon with Connor’s mom might kill me. Spotting the lack ofa ring on my left hand, she spent most of her time back in the classroom trying to talk up her single friends.
“You only met a few of your new classmates. I’m sure you’ll meet someone better. Maybe another princess.”
“Connor’s a cowboy. That’s sort of the same,” Mila said.
“You’re excited though? Ready?” I asked, standing at the open door with my hand on the roof.
She nodded. “Yep. Can I go back tomorrow?”
I shook my head. “It’s a weekend, so no.”
“I hate weekends.”
Considering I worked most of them, I agreed.
I closed the door gently behind her and piled into the driver’s seat. Mila’s school was only a short drive from our house, through residential and county roads rather than highway and main thoroughfares. And on the way to the stadium, which meant only adding a few minutes to my commute.
We pulled up to the house to find Mom on the porch, waiting for our return. Mila’s return, really.
“Gigi!” Mila launched out of her seat as soon as I put the car in park.
“Hey, seat belt stays on until I say to take it off!” I called after her too late. She had her arms around Mom’s knees, talking a mile a minute about Connor and the school and life in general.
“Sounds like a very fun afternoon.” Mom patted Mila on the head, herding her into the house. She stayed behind. “Also, Gracie is coming over this evening.”
“Why?” I asked, clocking the glint of amusement in my mom’s gray eyes and not liking it one bit.
“I’m giving her a key to the studio,” she answered with a wave of her hand. As if she regularly gave out keys to her studio.
I raised an eyebrow. “A key?”
“So she can come and go as she pleases. Pottery isn’t exactly a once-a-week hobby, and we’re all busy. The last thing I want isfor her pieces to get ruined because she didn’t have time to finish them before they hardened.”
Suddenly, I had a vision of Mila’s teacher waltzing through my yard. Hanging out on the front porch. Spending more and more time at my house. And it all made my head hurt. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Why don’t you come up with a time to do pottery together, since you seem to enjoy her company so much?”
“We’re busy women.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “But you might not see her if you don’t know what time she’s coming by.”
“She has my number. Does she have your number? You should give her yours, too. Just in case.”
“I shouldn’t,” I said with a shrug, leaning back on an excuse I’d been using ever since I showed up at the NFL combine with a newborn in tow. My number stayed private. My personal life stayed private. And most of all, my home stayed private.
