Page 72 of Plays Well With Others

Immediately, I shake my head. I won’t let my QB take the blame. “My fault, not his. I should have been farther downfield.”

We talk about the game for another minute, but when the guy leaves with anext time you’ll win, my mood is right back on the game where I don’t want it at all. Since that also means it’s back on what I’m not telling Rachel.

Like I was with Cafferty, I’m quiet as we stop at a few more stalls. Rachel tries to make small talk, but I mostly grunt till she pulls me to a quiet corner, away from the market, out by the dock. “Hey, it’s girlfriend lessons time,” she says.

I blink, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I think you’re the one covering something up,” she says, gently. “And maybe as part of these girlfriend lessons, you could tell me what it is and see if I can help. Because I think I know what it is.”

I gulp, this close to busted. “Yeah?”

“You’re still bummed about the game,” she says, reading me perfectly, just like Cafferty did. Maybe I don’t have a good poker face.

I wince, feeling stupid. Feeling like a fucking rookie. “It’s nothing,” I mutter.

She sets a hand on my arm in a reassuring touch. “It’s your job. It’s your passion. It’s your love. It’s okay if you’re frustrated about the loss. It was a tough one.”

My jaw tics. It was. And I should not be worked up about it a day later. “It’s fine.”

“Carter,” she says, in a tone that makes it clear she doesn’t buy my denial. “I get it if you don’t want to talk about it. And I don’t want to make you talk. I’m just saying I understand bad days. Mine are different than yours. I don’t have people watching me on TV, but I’ve had them at work and you’ve helped me through mine.”

Ah, hell. She’s right. She opened up to me. I’m shutting her down, and I know why.

I sigh then serve up a slice of vulnerability. “I want you to see what it’s like to have an awesome boyfriend, not someone who’s in a funk over a loss,” I admit.

She presses her lips together and her eyes shine. Shit. I’m making her cry again.

“Rachel, I didn’t want to upset you.”

“I’m not upset,” she says, a little wobbly, but she’s also smiling? What the hell is going on?

“You’re not upset?”

She shakes her head, adamant. “I’m happy you’re telling me the truth. I want to know. I like it when you’re open with me.”

I should have let her in. I shouldn’t have tried to be Mister Happy all the time. I should have told her the truth, even if it’s boyfriend territory. “Sometimes I get moody when we lose,” I admit, then shrug, a little helplessly, a little vulnerable.

Or maybe a lot. That’s new for me too. Opening up like that about my feelings.

“That makes perfect sense. Sometimes I get moody when I have a bad day too,” she says, then looks around at the nearby crowds. “And when I have a bad day, I don’t want to be aroundeveryone.” She tips her forehead to the exit. “So, do you want to get out of here and make dinner?”

It’s like a weight is lifted off me for real. A weight I’ve felt since last night when I shut her down. Since I shutmedown. “I do.”

On the way out, I swing by a flower stall and buy her a bouquet of wildflowers. I hand them to her as we leave. “I love these,” she says, smelling them.

“I know.”

The look in her eyes says we both learned a little something from tonight’s lesson.

* * *

We go to my place and make dinner—the sea urchin thingy, some eggplants and mushrooms, and some rotisserie chicken I picked up earlier. As we cook, I tell her more of what I didn’t say earlier. “I didn’t think you’d want to know,” I admit.

“But I do want to know,” she says.

She doesn’t addas your friend.

I’m sure that’s what she means though. And I’m sure I’m okay with it. Truly. I have to be.

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