Francine smiles, and reaches into her purse, taking out something that she slips into my hand. "And just in case. Be careful, April. I'll be back later to check on Mr. L. He wanted to talk about the new girls on the squad, and how their uniform fittings are coming along, and some of the team promotional stuff. I'll see you later."
It isn't until after Francine leaves that I open my hand, and have to laugh. It's the perfect example of her personality, caring and blunt at the same time. Her sense of humor is also there though, as I see the condom she slipped me is not only ribbed, but supposedly strawberry flavored. I laugh quietly and tuck it in my backpack for later, even though I doubt that's going to happen, but a girl can certainly fantasize.
"A walk?"
I shrug, nodding. "Well, it's a nice day, the lake looks pretty, and I thought you'd like something relaxing, that's all. No need for you to get all dressed up and worn out after practice. Not for a girl like me."
Tyler, who’s starting to smile, stops, his smile reversing before he takes a deep breath and comes forward taking my hand. “You’re exactly the sort of girl that I should get dressed up for. But if you want to just take a walk, we can do that."
I take a deep breath, and I'm lost in Tyler's crystal blue eyes, which twinkle in the lights that are starting to come on. It's nearly eight o'clock, and in the twilight, Tyler looks amazing, even though he's wearing a Fighters t-shirt and just some jeans. "It's been a long day for us both, and the idea of getting dressed up for dinner . . . just isn't that appealing. We can grab some food on the way."
"Mmm, okay. Well, maybe there's a Shawarma truck or something like that around. I read somewhere that Toronto's getting a lot of good Middle Eastern food trucks and little restaurants recently."
"Well, we can see what we find. To be honest, I haven't kept my eyes open on the drives from your apartment to here."
"You should. It cuts down on traffic accidents," Tyler jokes, and even if it's corny, I laugh anyway. "Okay. Let's go."
I go to swing my backpack over my shoulder, but Tyler stops me. "What sort of gentleman would I be to walk along with just jeans while you're carrying a big heavy bag?"
"It's not that big, just my things and my laptop," I protest. "Besides, it's pink."
"That's no threat to my manhood," Tyler chuckles, taking my backpack and swinging it over his shoulder. He reaches out with his hand, and takes mine again, and we start walking, casually and easily. We don't take the direct path along the streets, but instead take the walking path next to the lake, which really isn't all that long still, but does have nicer views. "So how was work today?"
“Good," I reply, thinking how normal and comfortable this feels. I haven't had this sort of nearly instant connection with a guy ever, and it's great. "Since you seem to be coming along well, Mr. Larroquette is happy with my work. The rest of my duties are pretty catch as catch can, so today they were pretty light. What about you, how was practice?"
"Good," Tyler says with enthusiasm. "I'm getting the hang of it now. And . . . not a single football to the crotch."
"That’s an improvement," I say with a laugh, then I look over with a little smirk. "I watched part of practice actually."
"I know," Tyler said easily. "I saw you in the stands. What did you think of it?"
“Well, twenty-four people out there, and it seems like you're just there in the middle of chaos, calm and collected. How do you read it all?"
"When I figure that part out, I'll be able to retire and make a million dollars a year coaching," Tyler says with a chuckle. "Nah, I'll never be a good coach. I mean, I study the game, but that question you just asked . . . I can't explain it. It's something I guess that comes with doing this for seventeen years."
"That's a long time," I admit, then shake my head. "I wonder if I'll ever do anything for that long."
"Oh, there has to be something that you like doing," Tyler says. "Hobbies, something. What do you like to do in your spare time?"
"I'm pretty much a homebody," I admit. "I like to cook, and well, long ago I liked to play basketball. But nowadays, I mostly ride my bike or do some yoga to try and stay in shape." Tyler gives me an appreciative look, and I shrug.
“You’re doing a good job of it,” Tyler says, and we move closer, our arms intertwining. We walk along the path a little longer, until Tyler's stomach unexpectedly grumbles. “Guess I’m hungry.”
I laugh and pat his belly, which is hard and muscular under my hand. "I think we can find something. I see a food truck up ahead."
The food truck turns out to be Korean, and to help cut the spiciness of our spicy Galba sandwiches, they put a ton of mayo and blue cheese dressing on top. We get four, three for Tyler and one for me, and find a spot on the side of the path where there's a little bit of grass and sit down.
"Cheers," Tyler says, raising his sandwich. He takes a bite, and before I know it, he's polished off his first sandwich in three big bites. "Guess I was hungrier than I thought."