Page 50 of The Keeper
Chapter Nine
The Atwater High School parking lot is packed when I pull in and I spend nearly ten minutes scouting for a space. Once I’ve pulled in at the end of the lot, I sit in Trusty Rusty for a few minutes in an attempt to calm my nerves. I don’t understand why Mack wants me to be here. But even worse, I don’t understand whyIwant me to be here.
It’s a bad idea.
And yet, I find myself slipping from my car, tucking my card and keys into my front pocket and my phone into my back, and walking towards the stadium entrance.
I see him almost immediately, leaning against the chain link fence that separates the parking lot from the field, and my breath catches. He’s in dark wash jeans and a gray henley, the sleeves pushed up slightly to reveal his forearms. His hair is loose today, the ends curling slightly behind his ears. In a word, he looks phenomenal. His casual stance resting against the fence makes him look like a model, and as I continue to walk towards him, I see a group of high school girls giggle and smile as they walk past.
He runs one finger absentmindedly under that same black wristband, then slips his phone out from his back pocket, checking the screen. He’s tucking it back into his jeans when he looks up and sees me approaching. I couldn’t see his eyes from farther away, but they are glued to me as I get closer. I see them flick from the signature red Chucks on my feet, over my favorite pair of faded jeans, to linger on my black screen print tee that says ‘Fries Before Guys.’ When his eyes finish their shameless perusal of my body and finally reach my face, my stomach flips and my cheeks burn.
“Mack,” I say, as I come to a stop just an arm’s distance away from him.
I internally curse myself at the slightly breathy tone of my voice. I clear my throat and glance around nervously. I don’t think I’ll know anyone here, but the goody-two-shoes inside is secretly terrified that someone will see us together.
He steps away from the fence and rests a hand on my arm. “RJ, you look…” he trails off and removes his hand, running it through his hair. “I’m glad you came. Ready to go in?”
I nod once, and follow him as he leads the way to the entrance. He passes ten bucks to a woman at a table in front of the entrance, palms the two tickets and reaches an arm back to usher me first through the gate.
Once we’re inside, he slips his hand into mine, twisting our fingers together. My eyes travel to our hands, then up to his face. But he doesn’t look at me, instead just giving my hand a small squeeze and leading me forward to the bleachers.
We’re ten minutes into a fairly decent game of high school football before either of us speaks. And it isn’t my pansy ass that breaks the silence.
“I don’t want things to be awkward.”
I keep my eyes trained on the field, following the snap and quick hand off with too much focus. When the running back is tackled to the ground, I look down at my shoes resting on the bleacher below.
“Me either, but I don’t know how to fix it.”
“Well,” he starts, leaning forward and resting his arms on his knees, clasping his hands together, “maybe talking about it will help. You know, get everything out in the open. We can get on the same page and hopefully start over. Or something.”
I nod. “Okay, you first.”
When I glance over, I see him smiling slightly. “Chicken.”
I smile back. “Yup. I’m as chicken as it gets.”
He’s silent for a moment, likely collecting his thoughts. Two more plays get the AHS team within field goal range, but their kicker misses, and there’s a groan from the crowd.
“I like you, RJ.” His statement startles me, and suppressing my smile is nearly impossible. “I like you a lot. And I know I said we should be friends, but I don’t want to just be friends. You’re smart, and funny. I laugh a lot more with you than I’ve laughed with anyone in a long, long time. And you’re beautiful. Like, stop me in my tracks gorgeous.”
I look at his profile and see him swallow hard.
“I hate that I’m your coach. And I hate that the timing is wrong. But more than that, I hate that you’ve closed yourself off from me over the past week. I felt like I got to see the real you at Jeremy’s party and on our date, but that isn’t who talks to me anymore. The woman at practice and the woman sitting next to me now are not the woman who beat my ass on the go-karts and calls me Indy. I really, really like that woman, and I’m afraid I’m never gonna see her again.”
After another minute or two, he stands up, and I’m worried he’s leaving since I haven’t said anything back.
“I’m gonna grab us a snack. Want anything specific?”
I shake my head and give him a small smile before he turns and walks down the bleacher steps towards the concession stand. As I watch his shape disappear around a corner, I allow my blank mind to begin sorting through everything he just said to me.
First of all, his honesty kills me. The guys I’ve gone on dates with, not that there have been many, have always seemed evasive. As if getting them to share too much would be pushing too far.
And then there are the actual words he said. Yes, he called me beautiful. But his first words were about my mind and my humor, things that are far more important in a relationship than looks. His comments hit the mark when he said I’m not myself around him. Which makes me sad, because for the first time, I feel like I’ve met someone who actually gets me and makes me feel likebeingmyself is something special.
When Mack gets back, he’s carrying a soda and a small box of popcorn. He hands the popcorn to me and pulls a bag of M&Ms from his back pocket before he takes a seat.
“You remembered,” I whisper.
