“You could have picked Mr. Howell. He’s rich and old.”
My next question was about the expanded definition of the defenseless player penalty. Then it was Brody’s turn again. “Name of your first pet?”
“I actually never had a pet.”
“Everybody’s had a pet at one time or another. Dog, cat, rabbit, snake, lizard, hamster, turtle…something?”
I shook my head. “Nope. We traveled a lot on weekends to see my dad’s games, so we never had any pets because no one was around to take care of them.”
“You know I have the urge to buy you a dog now, right? A giant one, maybe a Newfie or a Great Dane.”
“Don’t you dare.”
We sat on the roof of that church for almost two more hours. Brody’s odd line of questioning found some unusual commonalities between the two of us. Both of our mothers’ middle names were Yvonne, neither of us liked chocolate, and we both grew up in apartments with street addresses numbered three-three-three. I’d skipped over one particular question, knowing I’d have to answer a personal one of my own. It was the only one left. “Last question.”
“Shoot.”
“Available or taken?” I explained the question, trying not to be personally invested in his answer. “Every woman will want to know the answer.”
He looked me in the eyes when he answered. “Neither.”
I wasn’t prepared for that answer, so I had no follow-up question. I nodded and proceeded to pack my notes. Sitting upright, I readied myself. “Go ahead. Ask your personal question.”
Brody stood and offered his hand to help me up. “I’ll reserve mine for later.”
***
We walked two blocks up the street to a diner. Brody had said he was going to order in food for us in his suite, so I hadn’t eaten all day. My stomach growled as we sat.
“What was that?” Brody teased.
“Shut up. You told me you’d feed me and then took me to church instead. My stomach is allowed to complain.”
The waitress did a double-take when she came for our order. “Aren’t you . . . aren’t you . . . Brody Easton?”
“I am.”
“Oh my god!” she shrieked. “I’m a huge fan. But my eleven-year-old son. He’s a quarterback at his middle school. He thinks you’re the greatest.”
“Thank you. How is his team doing this season?”
“They’ve lost every game. But my Joey, he never gets defeated. Kid takes after me in height. He can barely see over the line anymore. But he has more heart than boys twice his size.”
“That’s good. He’s still got time to grow. But you either have your heart in the sport, or you don’t. He’s halfway there.”
“He’s never going to believe I met you.”
“Well, how about if we take a picture together and send it to him?”
The waitress’s eyes bulged with excitement, but her face quickly fell. “I don’t have a phone anymore. Bill gets too high with two lines, and my son really wanted one. Plus, I’m always here, and I like to be able to reach him when I need to.”
“How about we use my phone and send it to Joey then?”
“Oh my god. You’d do that? He would totally flip.”
I piped in, “I’ll take it. You two get together.” The waitress beamed as Brody stood and put his arm around her, leaning in. After I snapped off a few photos and checked that they turned out okay, I gave her my phone, and she sent the picture to her son with a cute note. As she started to hand the phone back to me, Brody stopped her.
“Actually. Would you mind taking a picture of us together?”
“Sure.”
I looked at Brody questioningly. He gave me a sly grin and came around to my side of the table, squatting down so we were at eye level.
“You ready?” the waitress asked.
Brody leaned in and whispered in my ear, “I’d much rather be eating you than anything on the menu here.” He pulled his head back to catch a glimpse of my expression. “Ready,” he called back to the waitress, who captured a photo of Brody’s eyes twinkling as they looked over at my hooded ones.
We ordered, and I did my best to pretend I wasn’t affected. “Tell me something about you,” Brody said, resting his arm casually along the back of the booth.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Anything. Tell me something about you that annoys people.”
“You ask odd questions.”
“Good thing I don’t have your job then.”
I chuckled. “True.” Sipping my soda, I gave his question some thought. “I talk during movies.”
“So? Everyone talks during a movie at some point.”
“No. I talk during movies. Mostly it happens when I like the movie. I get excited and need to retell everything that’s happening on the screen to the person next to me.”
Brody looked amused. “So better to take you to a movie you don’t like, then?”
“Well . . . if I don’t like the movie, then I tend to get bored and daydream a bit and I lose track of what’s going on. Then I ask loads of question instead of retelling you the movie.”
“If you know you do it, and it annoys people, why don’t you stop doing it?”
“I can’t help myself. So what do you do that annoys people?”
“I say what I think.”
“You sure do.”