I nod. Yes he is.
“But, I suspect, so are you.”
I nod. Yes I am.
Coach nods slowly, glancing up behind me.
Zeke has returned to the table, his massive frame yanking out a chair and plopping down in his seat, repositioning himself several times to get comfortable.
“Kennedy Williams High,” he begrudgingly tells us. “He’s a junior. There are eight kids on the team and not enough money for anything.” His arms cross, grumbling. Always grumbling. “We should be having this fundraiser for his team, not—”
He stops himself.
“What were you about to say, Mr. Daniels?” his coach asks. “First you want to give the kid free tickets to one of our meets and now you want to fundraise for him? My, my, a bleeding heart now, are we?”
He’s determined to raise Zeke’s ire.
It works.
Obviously.
I mean, it’s not hard to do. All a person has to do is sniff in his general direction and it pisses him off.
Poor thing; he’s so high-strung.
“Tell you what,” Coach says after a few awkwardly silent moments. “I’ll get your kid tickets for two home matches for his entire team.” He pauses. “Then I want you to give them a tour of the locker rooms afterward, introduce them to our team. Can you do that?”
“I’m not babysitting a group of teenagers.”
Coach squints. Leans back. Nods.
“All right. Suit yourself.”
He goes back to eating from the vegetable tray on our table, crunching loudly on a carrot and smiling. Knowing there is no way Zeke is going to—
“Fine,” Zeke spits out, taking the bait. “Jesus.”
I nibble my bottom lip, biting back a secret smile.
“So, I’m curious, do you have a boyfriend, Violet?” Linda asks. She’s cutting up a tomato and bent on making small talk. Setting down her knife, she rests her chin in her hands, a pleasant expression on her face, like she genuinely wants to know if I have a boyfriend.
“No, she doesn’t,” Zeke answers for me, adjusting in his seat, wide shoulders brushing my slight ones.
I scowl, shifting my weight away. “H-How do you know?”
I’m capable of answering for myself.
For a moment, I wonder if he’s embarrassed that I stutter.
What if he doesn’t want me talking at all? I stare at the polished silverware and the water glass dripping with condensation.
Raise my head.
Coach, Linda, and the rest of our table watch me, expectantly.
I force a smile and shrug. “He’s right. I don’t.”
“Well, no loss there,” Linda jokes. “You’re probably better off without one—the older they get, the harder they are to train.”
“Hey!” Coach bellows jovially. “What’s that supposed to mean? Can’t a man catch a break?” He laughs, the rest of the table laughing along with him.
Linda gives him a tap on the arm. “You know I’m just teasing.” Turns her attention back to me. “I should have had you sit over here with me so we could talk more. We have a nephew your age who’s single, and gorgeous as he is funny.”
Oh god, could this get any worse.
“She doesn’t really have time for dating,” Zeke responds.
“Yes I do.”
“You do?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Of course I-I have time to date.”
Crook my finger to draw him in close—close enough that no one can overhear. Close enough that I can smell his aftershave…see the blue flecks in the corner of his stormy eyes…the new growth of five o’clock shadow at his jawline.
His nearness unnerves me. Jeez he smells heavenly. “You’re being kind of overbearing.”
He opens his mouth. “I am?”
“Can you dial it d-down?”
He pulls away to look at me. Draws himself back in to murmur, “I didn’t realize I was being a dick.”
I shrug, bare shoulders catching a chill from the AC unit above us, then shiver. His gray eyes track the movement, landing on my gooseflesh-covered collarbone. Stare at the column of my neck below my ear.
I lick my lips. “I thought I’d mention it as a courtesy.”
“A courtesy?”
“Mmhmm.” His eyes find my mouth when I hum. Hold there.
“Is this where I apologize?”
“Do you want to?”
His sculpted lips move so close to my ear I shiver—and this time, it’s not from the air conditioning. It’s from his warm breath on my neck, his nose brushing against my cheek.
My eyes slide shut when he whispers, “I’m wasn’t trying to be a dick.”
I nod, lids lifting, my gaze meeting Coach’s stern eyes. He raises his brows and I give him a shaky, crooked smile as Zeke continues whispering in my ear.
“What do you suppose he thinks we’re talking about?” Zeke asks.
“He probably thinks you’re apologizing.”
“No, he probably thinks we’re flirting.”
My neck tilts the slightest degree when I feel his lips graze my earlobe. “Would he be wrong?”
Zeke pulls away, slightly. Reclines back in his seat.
Slowly his head shakes back and forth. “No.”
Maybe there is hope for him yet.
“Did I tell you you looked nice tonight?”
“Sort of.” No, he hadn’t told me I looked nice—he’d told me I looked good.
No mention of me looking nice. No mention of me looking pretty. He’d gone with ‘good’.
“Did I at least tell you you looked pretty?” He’s clutching the steering wheel, staring straight at the road, hanging a right at the stop sign, then left on my road.
“No.” I laugh.
“I didn’t?” He sounds puzzled. “What did I say?”
“Y-You said, ‘You look good.’”
“Good?” He sounds disgusted. “Jesus fuck, I was kind of being an asshole tonight, wasn’t I?”
“I think we muddled through it okay.”
“Well, you did,” he continues, almost to himself, as he pulls into my driveway. Puts the car in park and turns toward me. “You look nice. Pretty, I mean.”
He turns his head toward the driver’s side window, and I swear I catch him rolling his eyes in the mirrored reflection. At himself.
My mouth curves. “Thank you.”
“Did you have fun tonight? I never did thank you for coming with me.”
“I had a lot of fun. Thank you for the invitation.” Oh god, I sound so formal. This is getting so awkward.
“Good, because… So anyway,” he begins. “I got something for you.”
He what? Did I hear that right? Did Zeke Daniels just say he got me something? Like what kind of something? What does that even mean?
“You did?” I’m shocked. “For what?”
“For you.”
“You did?”
“Yes.” His lip curls into what’s probably supposed to be a grin, but in the dark, looks more like a sneer. “You suck at receiving gifts, do you know that?”
“A gift?”
“Are you going to repeat everything I say like I’ve just given you the shock of your life?”
I can see he’s getting frustrated. Know it when he runs a hand through his thick black hair.
“I’m sorry I keep asking questions.” I sit up straighter in my seat, interested. Curious. “What is it?”
Oops, there I go again.
In the dimly lit cab of his truck, with his face shrouded in shadows, Zeke lifts the center console, fishing out a small box. He holds it up in the palm of his hand, and I can see that it’s a black and silver jewelry box.
“Just take it.”