Page 32 of Delay of Game
She tapped the name into my phone. Her jaw dropped. “Oh my…he was in your house?”
I nodded. “Last night.”
She enlarged a picture of Rob in a tuxedo at a charity gala. He stood in front of a white backdrop, the name of the charity unreadable. Cameras flashed around him, and he stared at the photographer with barely a hint of a smile. Even just a picture of him sent a jolt down my spine.
Lily still hadn’t picked her jaw off the floor. “And nothing happened?”
“It’s not like he came over in a tuxedo.”
She swiped away to another picture, this one on the field, his face red, sweat on his brow as he squared up against a player. “He looks pretty good in anything.”
I agreed, though I didn’t voice that opinion aloud. “He’s doing me a favor. I’m not going to sit here and objectify him.”
“Honestly, Gracie.” She paused on a picture of Rob holding a kitten, pointing the swoon worthy picture straight at me. “My ovaries are squeeing. This man needs to be climbed and conquered like Mount Everest.”
“His kid is in our class,” I reminded her.
“I’ll be her new stepmom.” Lily shot me a devilish grin before her eyes fluttered back to the phone. “Oh, damn. He’s a brawler, too.”
She tapped a video entitled, “Rob Grant’s Most Vicious Hits.” The first clip showed Rob in a #90 jersey, launching himself at a running quarterback. He wrapped the player up, throwing him in the circle before slamming him to the ground. The crowd groaned as the player bounced off the turf.
“Now imagine him doing that to you in bed?” Lily waggled her eyebrows.
I grabbed my phone out of her hand and closed the video. “Absolutely not.”
As soon as the words escaped my mouth, a vision of Rob stripped down to boxers invaded my brain. His callused fingers warmed my skin, wrapped around my waist and he hoisted me flush against him, my feet pinned into the back of his knees for purchase. Black stubble brushing my cheek and his breath hot on my neck.
“Okay,” I conceded. “But it’s still inappropriate, all things considered.”
“It’s inappropriate that you ended up on his doorstep instead of me.”
I closed my lunch bag and slipped it over my arm, standing up. “Well, great news! You’ll meet him tomorrow.”
“Oh, no,” Lily groaned. “They’re coming back tomorrow? I sort of like the school better without all the kids.”
I grinned as she scooped up her trash. “Kindergarten is officially happening.”
“I should have switched to fourth grade when I had the chance.” She held her wadded up trash overhead, free throwing it into the bin with a satisfying whack.
The classroom presentable and all my paperwork filled out for the coming school year, Lily and I ducked out of school a few hours after lunch. I drove home with the windows down, my favorite radio station playing.
“And this is 88.1, WVBA, the tidewater’s only community-supported alternative radio station. I’m Addy Harlow and I’ll…uh…be playing…well, it’s sort of hard to describe. Like David Bowie but if he played surf rock. Whatever. Enjoy.”
A strident guitar riff took over the airwaves before a quartet of singers blasted into a song about space. I turned up the volume, holding my hand out the window, enjoying the breeze even though the summer heat burned my skin whenever the car stopped.
I turned onto Rose Street, a street synonymous with my favorite aunt and summer fun. She’d been born and raised on the property, inheriting half when her parents died. Grannie sold the land immediately, having already moved out of state to start a family. But Aunt Mercy built a two-story farmhouse overlooking acres of woodlands.
And over the years, those acres of woodlands became dotted with distant houses. And then neighbors, and finally subdivisions. Not that I minded. Having neighbors meant having kids to play with, and I stayed out too late on hot summer nights playing in the creek across the road and hide and seek in what remained of the woods.
And then I moved in with Aunt Mercy, and somewhere along the way, Rose Street became my home too.
But soon, it wouldn’t be anymore.
I bit my bottom lip, turning up the radio to drown out my thoughts as I slowed, anticipating the horde of kids playing soccer or baseball in the middle of the street. Instead, a plume of dust greeted me.
I pulled into the driveway, barely able to see more than a few feet in front of me, and exited the car.
“What are you doing?” I yelled, covering my face with a scarf stashed in the backseat.
