Page 74 of Hot Four Teacher
I quip, “For your information, even if it had grown back, it would be gone again.”
My sister starts giddily clapping. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more proud! Was it great?”
“Yes, Ronnie, it was great. He was veryunselfish.”
Ronnie opens her mouth to ask something else, but Mom holds up her hand. “While I love the girl talk, I don’t need details about my daughter’s sex life.”
Ronnie looks at me and mouthslaterand then says out loud, “I’m just glad to see you getting some happiness. Nobody in this world deserves it more than you.”
It’s not often that we hear something heartfelt from her unless it’s wrapped in either sarcasm or a joke. It’s a little off-putting.
Mom asks, “Do you see this relationship going somewhere?”
“Geez, Mom, I don’t know. Right now, I’m trying to figure out how to do all of this. All I know is that I like him. And for now, that’s enough.”
Ronnie reaches over and pats my knees as if giving a silent nod of approval.
We sit in silence for about a minute before Ronnie can’t take anymore. “When is this thing supposed to start?”
I look down at my watch. “They should be taking the field any minute now.”
“Let’s hope this game is more interesting than the last.”
“It should be,” I tell them.“They just got a new coach, and all the girls seem to love him.”
“Another parent?” Mom asks.
“No. I guess it’s their new history teacher. Eve says he’s great, and some of the girls even think he’s cute.”
Ronnie looks back at the field. “Okay, well, now, I’m intrigued. Maybe there will be something worth watching after all.”
“Ronnie, why do you even come?” Mom asks.
“Because I love my niece,” she says the words like they should be obvious.
Before long, the teams start to funnel their way onto the field. The opposing team comes out first, and then, our girls come running out. Eve managesto spot us in the bleachers and gives us a quick wave.
“Here comes the coach,” Mom says. “Oh, heiscute.”
“Not you too,” I groan.
But my curiosity is piqued. I scan the field until my eyes land on the large man.
Six feet tall.
Broad chest.
Big biceps.
Tattoos.
Before I can utter a single syllable, Ronnie says, “Oh. My. God.”
“What?” Mom asks, confused.
“That’s Dane,” I say in barely more than a whisper.
“Dane?” She’s even more confused. “YourDane?”
