Page 80 of Lovely War
It’s an endless cycle. He annoys me, and then he senses my irritation and gets agitated, and then guilt sets in so I try to be nice, and then he says something like: “This barista’s latte art game is hella on point, man.”
Why am I here? He’s supposed to be interviewing me andhe hasn’t asked a single question yet. I should be back at the hotel, working. We play West Virginia tomorrow, a team that beat us in one tournament game ten years ago. I was splicing together clips from that game early this morning, and I had a rhythm going before a calendar reminder for this meeting popped up to interrupt me.
I work hard to continue to appear interested in whatever JJ is saying while I make a mental to-do list for when I get back to the hotel. Beats I want to hit, effects I want to incorporate—
A face catches my eye. A pale, serious face with dark eyes that does not belong in this coffee shop. I squint past JJ’s shoulder. What is Coach Williams doing here?
He slides into a booth across from someone else whose face I can’t see. And then the other guy leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, and I realize who it is and what’s happening all at once.
I squeeze the gold bar on my necklace. My eyes dart back to JJ. He’s still talking, and Jesus Christ, he’s so into this pointless story that his eyes are closed. Thank god—he hasn’t even realized there’s a real story breaking right under his nose.
Ed Daniels is the athletics director at Meagher University. No one in this half-empty café knows who he is. But I do, and so does JJ. There’s only one reason for Williams to meet with Ed, especially here, far from the madding crowds. Williams is the assistant head coach of the hottest team in the country. Meagher lost in the first round of the conference tournament and their coach was fired before the team plane touched down in Milwaukee.
This is a job interview for Williams. If JJ finds out, that’sgoing to be the headline tomorrow, and the team can’t afford the distraction.
I weigh my options. Under no circumstances can I allow JJ to turn toward the front door. Luckily, the counter is behind me.
I fake a cough. “Hey, JJ?” Cough. “Can you get me a glass of water?”
Thankfully there’s a line. I pull my cell phone out of my coat pocket. I’d be less likely to get caught if I texted, but I can’t afford the risk that Ben will be in a trance watching film and won’t see it until it’s too late.
“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” I whisper with urgency as it rings.
He answers on the third ring. “I’m at the meeting with JJ, and Williams just walked in and sat down with Ed Daniels,” I say quickly. “JJ hasn’t seen them yet.”
“What’s the place called again?” he asks without hesitation.
I tell him. “You have to hurry, I don’t know how long I can—”
“I’m on my way.”
Breathe in, breathe out. I can’t see Williams’s face, but he’s gesturing with his hands, and Ed Daniels is nodding.Williams wants to make a move.It shouldn’t be surprising; he’s qualified. And if he leaves for Meagher or any other school, a coaching slot will open up at Ardwyn.
Ben can get that job. He can stay, even if his current job gets cut. Which means I can stay too. He can coach, and do what he wants to do without leaving Ardwyn, and especially without going anywhere near Arizona.
First things first, prevent a crisis. I slide out of my seat andhead over to JJ. He’s still in line, so I squeeze between him and the person in front of him.
“I was tired of sitting,” I say. “Anyway, finish your story, I want to know what happened after you got out of the bunker.”
The things I do for this team.
When we reach the front of the line, I fumble for ways to stall. I ask for a description of every pastry in the glass case. I scrap the water and order the most elaborate drink ever concocted, even though I have a perfectly good cup of regular coffee back at my seat. The barista sighs and JJ moves to return to the table.
“They’ll call you up,” he says, confused when I stop him.
“I know, but it’s warmer back here. It’s freezing by our table. Let’s just wait. Have you met any other famous golfers?”
Finally, Ben walks through the door with a purposeful stride. Our eyes connect. I tilt my head toward Williams and Ben veers toward the booth. He puts a hand on Williams’s shoulder and bends down, whispering in his ear. Williams rises, and this is the riskiest part because he’s so damn tall, and of course JJ turns to scan the room as Williams walks toward the door. Panic flares in my chest and I send a silent apology to the guy behind the counter and let my drink slip through my fingers.
“Oh shit,” JJ says, peering down at the splatter on the floor. Droplets of my half-caf-ristretto-syrup-syrup-syrup-syrup-extra-whipped-cream abomination dot his loafers. “Smooth move.”
The bell on the door jingles and Williams is gone. I exhale. Ben is still standing by the booth, looking back at me,his eyes triumphant. I want to run to him and jump into his arms for aBeach House–style hug.
An employee appears with a mop, and I hold up an inadequate fistful of napkins. He refuses my efforts to wave him off, and I make a mental note to put a twenty in the tip jar before I leave.
When we’re back at the table, JJ looks at his phone and winces. “Sorry if it seems like I’ve been stalling.”
I almost laugh out loud. If he only knew.
