by Brea Brown
As a matter of fact, without thinking the other day, I asked him what his plans were for my favorite day of the year, Super Bowl Sunday, and if he’d be rooting for the Cowboys or the Patriots.
When he answered, “I probably won’t watch,” it took a minute for me to figure out what he meant or how that could be an option.
Then I wanted to smack myself.
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry,” I said. “But… you can’t not watch it, right?”
He shrugged, flipping through the movie options on the TV in front of us.
I snuggled up to his arm. “Hey. You know what you should do?”
He looked down at me, his dull eyes brightening at my mischievous tone.
“You should host a Super Bowl party here. At your house.” Before he could shoot down the idea (I could tell it was coming, based on his dimming eyes and the set of his jaw), I said, “C’mon! You don’t want people to think you’re pouting, right?”
“I’m not. But it’s short notice, don’t you think?”
“It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”
“It would be the most depressing Super Bowl party, ever. Like, I’m downright cheerful about not making it past the playoffs, compared to some of the other guys. You saw it for yourself at the Pro Bowl. They’re bummed.”
“Don’t invite those guys, then. You know who would love to come to your party and would get into the game and make it seem less sad? My brother. And Rae. And Colin. And, I guess, Deirdre,” I tacked on.
He smiled. “You think they’d want to?”
“Uh, yeah! Greg’s been dying to meet you, and you said yourself that you wanted to meet Colin. This would be the perfect opportunity. It’ll be fun.”
“What about Rae? I’m still not sure she likes me.”
“She wonders the same about you. You guys need to get over that. It’s exhausting.”
He laughed at my bluntness.
“What do you say? I’ll help you plan it, and everything.”
Still looking skeptical, he nevertheless said, “All right. If that’s what you want to do.”
“Yes! You won’t be sorry,” I said with a quick, giddy peck to his lips.
Now, on the big night, I’m not as confident in my brilliant plan.
I have to admit, it feels weird to be hosting this party with Jet at his house. It’s so domestic. But I’m trying to go with it. I’m definitely not dwelling on the fact that he’s meeting my two best friends and half of my family in a few minutes. This is simply a fun get-together for one of the country’s biggest sports nights. At the home of all-pro quarterback Jet Knox. My boyfriend.
Meep.
Oh, yeah, it’s official. We have one of those ridiculous couple names. Jetaura has arrived.
Thanks to NFL guest lists, the media learned my real name at the Pro Bowl. When they determined I was a nobody (not a supermodel, actress, internationally renowned human rights lawyer, or reality TV star), they didn’t have much use for the information. I wasn’t worried, because by then, my parents knew I was dating Jet, and Jet’s family knew about me, so it’s not like ESPN would have been dropping a bombshell on any of our loved ones if it had been a slow news day, and the media decided to care who I was.
But Jet’s already warned me that once the excitement dies down after the Super Bowl and before the Draft in May, football-related news is hard to come by, so NFL bloggers dig deeper and reach further for “stories,” usually of a personal nature. Who’s getting married, who’s getting divorced, who’s having babies (and with whom), who’s letting their boredom get the best of them and running into legal problems—you know, the usual.
And now that they have a real name to go with my face, they might be more interested in my role in the dullest of soap operas, The Off-Season. By the time we got back from Hawaii, they already knew where I work, what I do, even where I live. It’s all public record and not that big of a deal, considering they generally leave me alone as long as I’m not with Jet. When I am with him, I understand I’m fair game. It’s part of the gig. I like the gig so far.
Jet’s messing with the settings on his TV, scowling and complaining at the remote, when I bring the finger foods into the room, setting the veggie, meat, and seafood trays on the wet bar. As I’m shooing Torz away from the buffet, I hear Jet say through gritted teeth, “I am pushing the ‘surround sound’ button, damn it. Why isn’t it working? Stupid piece of shit.”
Keeping an eye on the dog, I sidle up to my co-host and ask, “You want me to try?”
He hands me the device. “I guess. Not sure what you’re going to do different—”
I press the “reset” button, then “surround sound,” and the icon pops up on the screen to let us know it worked, in case we couldn’t suddenly hear the obnoxious pre-game show coming from the speakers installed strategically in all corners of the room.
“How’d you…?” Taking the remote back from me, he looks down at it.
“Happens with my TV all the time. You can’t watch action films without surround sound.”
He shoots me a shaky smile, then sets the remote on the end table next to his favorite oversized easy chair. “Well. Okay, then. Thanks.”
“Are you okay? You seem tense.”
Looking chagrined, he turns to face me. “Is it that obvious?”
“To me. What’s wrong?”
Something over my shoulder catches his attention, and he quickly side-steps me. “Quatorze Knox! Get down from there!” he booms, rushing for the meat-and-cheese tray.
The dog hops down and skitters from the room, the tags on his collar jingling all the way up the stairs as he takes cover under one of the beds.
“Son of a bitch,” Jet growls while surveying the damage.
I join him and remove the obviously licked food, then rearrange the untouched stuff. “It’s okay. It’s not like he sheds. A little dog slobber never hurt anyone. Especially if they don’t know about it.” Ew. Not really, but whatever. I smile gamely and continue removing another layer of meat, just in case.
“He’s such an asshole sometimes.”
Finished repairing the tray and disposing of the contaminated food, I grab Jet’s hand. “Hey. Relax, all right? What are you so worried about?”
“What if your brother doesn’t like me?”
I laugh.
“It’s not funny. What if he doesn’t?”
“He will. But even if he doesn’t, there are a billion things he doesn’t like about my life. Hasn’t affected how I live up ‘til now, so you wouldn’t be any different.”
“I couldn’t come between family.”
“Jet.”
He looks pitifully down at me.
“Calm down. He’s going to love you. They’re all going to love you.”
“I’m almost more nervous about meeting Colin, because you do care what he thinks.”
“He already likes you, based on what he’s read about you.”
“By the way, am I supposed to know about that?”
“He doesn’t care, as long as you think it’s funny. Colin’s one of the most honest, upfront guys in the world. Besides you.”
He chuckles nervously. “It’s just this place…” He motions to the room around us. “Sometimes it’s embarrassing. With the guys from the team it’s not, because all of their houses are like this. Well, worse, in most cases. But—”
“When the plebs come over to play, you feel self-conscious?”
“That’s not what I’m saying!”
The horror on his face cracks me up. “Jet. Sweetie. Chill. I’m teasing you. I get it. There were times in Hawaii that the luxury felt perverse. Excessive.”
“Exactly! That’s what I’m saying. Like, what’s the point of one guy having all this? I worry that’s what people think. Like they judge me for having too much when so many people in the world don’t have enough.”
“Well, my brother’s not going to think that. You’re going to be his hero. He’s all about capitalism.”
He
snorts.
“And you earned this. Plus, it suits a purpose for when your family comes to visit. You give back to the community and donate to charitable causes. And, you know what? You don’t owe anyone any explanations!”
He smiles down at me as the doorbell rings. “You’re amazing. Are you available for locker room pep talks?”
I tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “No. All those naked guys would make me giggly. Now, let’s answer the door and get this party started.”
Seventeen
The Big Show
Punctual Greg and Deirdre are the first to arrive, of course, followed by Colin. Rae brings up the rear, arriving alone right before kickoff.
“Where’s Molly?” I ask my friend during the first commercial break as we’re cracking open our first beers in the kitchen.
Rae shrugs. “I didn’t feel like bringing a date to this… whatever it is.”
“It’s a party.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Um, let’s run down the attendees here: a crumpet monkey who doesn’t know anything about American football and keeps calling the field a ‘pitch’; an ice queen who doesn’t care about sports, period, and is only here to scope out Jet Knox’s house—and possibly get some patient referrals from him; a guy who would willingly suck your boyfriend’s dick for season tickets, or maybe just for the hell of it; and you, me, and one of my co-workers. Par-tay.”
I clench my fists and my teeth, and then point out, “You didn’t have to come. At least everyone else wants to be here.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for the world. This is going to be highly entertaining. But it was hardly a date night.”
“If you must know, I suggested this so Jet wouldn’t be watching the game alone, miserable.”
Her expression slackens. “Well, that was sweet of you.”
“Thank you.”
“But he’d probably be better off alone.”
“That’s not true. Plus, this is a nice, casual, relaxed setting for Jet to meet my brother. Greg will be too into the game to interrogate us about stuff.”
“I don’t know why you’re worried. Jet has all the answers Greg would love to hear. He has five-, ten-, and fifteen-year plans that make Greg’s goal-setting look half-assed.”
That’s what I’m afraid of, I think but don’t say. It’s not that I’m afraid Jet will say something unsatisfactory to Greg; I don’t want to hear the plans laid out yet again. I’ve done a great job of keeping Jet off that topic for nearly a month now, and that’s a streak I want to keep alive.
We rejoin the group in time to watch the Patriots’ first drive of the game. I perch on the arm of the sofa, next to Jet, and Rae retakes her seat in Jet’s chair, which she claimed before he could (and he was too polite to ask her to vacate). It’s just as well, since Greg would probably be heartbroken if he couldn’t sit beside his host during the game.
“I hope they trip on their own shoelaces.” Greg glances nervously at his couchmate before checking, “Right? I bet you can’t stand these guys.”
Jet laughs. “Well, I should probably root for my Conference. They’re the best team, after all, the team that probably deserves to win.”
“Yeah,” I pipe up. “Plus, if you lose to the team that ends up winning the whole thing, it makes you feel like maybe there was nothing you could do about it. Like it was destiny.”
Greg looks around Jet at me and tilts his head down. “That is one of the dumbest things I’ve ever heard. Do you think the Cowboys are going to feel that way if they lose today? ‘Well, at least we lost to the predestined winner’? No way. Der.”
Jet grabs my hand and smiles up at me. “I get exactly what you mean. And, I agree. I would feel better about our postseason loss if the Patriots won today.”
Greg’s mouth drops open, almost losing the cheese cube he’s popped into it. After he recovers, he says, “I’m sorry, but I can’t root for New England. They’re dirty.” He points to the TV and yells, “Chop block! Not called, of course. See? I rest my case!”
Smiling indulgently at my brother, Jet says, “Hey, man. I lived it. Trust me. But they’re still the better team, and it’s okay; we don’t have to root for the same guys.”
Behind Jet’s head, I stick out my tongue at my brother and mouth, “So there!”
Greg simply laughs. “All right. Whatever. I guess that’ll make it interesting.”
Deirdre squints at the screen. “Are the Cowboys the ones in blue or the ones in white?”
“White!” we all yell.
Well, all of us except for Colin. He says, “Oh, I’m glad someone else asked. Now, why did that bloke get a yellow card a moment ago?”
“It’s a flag, not a card,” Greg says.
“Yes, but since you insist on calling football ‘soccer,’ I feel justified disregarding your sport’s terminology.”
“Real mature,” Rae grumbles. “And he got a penalty for jumping offside.”
“Oooh! Offside. I know what that means.”
“It’s not the same as in soccer,” she tells him with a withering glare.
“I can still infer the meaning in this instance,” he retorts. “I’m not that stupid.”
After another short series that leads to a commercial break, Jet hops up. “Anyone need a drink? I’m heading that way. Colin? Maura told me you’re a Newcastle man?”
Colin stands. “I’ll go with you.”
I’m dying to follow them, but I don’t want to look clingy, so I continue to hold court in the living room, where I steal Jet’s empty seat.
Greg says, “That’s taken.”
“Don’t worry; you can still sit next to your new best friend.”
He looks around the living room. “This place is awesome. Any chance of a full tour during halftime?”
“Put your eyeballs back in your head, you rube,” Rae mutters.
“How much you think a place in this area goes for?” Without waiting for my answer, he shouts across the room to Deirdre, “Hey, hon. Maybe we should sell both of our houses and move to this neighborhood.”
I slap his arm. “Shhhh! You’re being tacky.”
“Look who’s Miss Cool now,” Greg replies. “Someone goes to Hawaii for the Pro Bowl and hangs out with NFL stars for a while, and she’s suddenly above it all?”
Deirdre laughs at his dig, which encourages him to add, “And you better never give me crap about my house again. This is an eff-off mansion.”
I’m about to tell him to do just that when Jet and Colin return. Clueless as to the topic of conversation while he was out of the room, Jet grins down at me after setting his beer on the coffee table. “Hey. Look what the football fairy brought me.”
I flutter my lashes up at him.
“Tell her to move,” Greg advises.
“Nah. There’s plenty of room for all of us. Especially if…” He sits and pulls me into his lap, nuzzling my neck and tickling me.
“Gaah! Stop it!”
Rae half-turns and rolls her eyes at us. “You two mind over there? Some of us are trying to watch the game.”
“Sorry, Rae!” Jet says, ceasing the tickle torture but keeping his arms wrapped around me. “Having fun yet?” he murmurs near my ear.
“Absolutely. Go Pats!”
He winces. “That’s so wrong.”
I laugh. “Hey, I’m standing by my ‘losing-to-the-winners’ philosophy.”
“Go AFC!” he booms.
I cover my ear.
“There. That felt a little better.”
Greg shakes his head at us. “You two are—”
“Brilliant,” Colin supplies quickly, winking at me. “Now, someone explain to me what the bloody hell is going on in this match. I’m lost.”
For the rest of the first half, Jet and Greg take turns explaining the basic rules, but after about the fifth “Unless…” from Jet, Colin throws up his hands and says, “It’s hopeless. I’m too thick for this game. Too many rules!”
“Hey, if I can learn it and play it, no
body’s too thick,” Jet says with a wry smile as the two teams run into the locker room, and the stadium crew scrambles to set up for the halftime extravaganza.
“You’re not stupid,” Colin replies, “but you may be mad, going onto that pitch every week, with those blokes trying to flatten you.”
“It’s fun! And it’s the only thing I know how to do. So, that’s what I do. I’ve been doing it since I was five years old.” He considers that for a second. “Well, I haven’t been a quarterback all that time, but I’ve always played offense, so yeah. Defensive players have been trying to flatten me for almost twenty-five years.”
Everyone laughs at that.
Greg leans over. “Hey, Jet. Would you mind showing Deirdre and me around the place? Both of our houses are currently on the market, so it’d be interesting to get a look, to see if we’re priced competitively.”
I nearly snort beer into my lap, but Jet keeps a straight face. “Yeah, Maura told me about that. Whichever house sells first is the one you’re letting go of, right?”
Deirdre inspects her French manicure, but Greg replies, “Yep. That’s the deal.”
“I’d be glad to show you around. It’s not anything special. Just big.” He stands and leads the way from the living room. “It’s nice for everyone to have their own rooms when my family comes to visit.”
Greg, Deirdre, and Jet disappear, their voices fading up the stairs.
Rae heads toward the kitchen. “Your brother and his future bride are real pieces of work,” she says.
“Right? For crying out loud, I haven’t been upstairs yet in this place.”
Rae freezes. She and Colin exchange a glance.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing at all,” Colin says firmly.
“Well…” Rae hedges. “Never mind. It’s probably nothing.”
I follow her into the kitchen with Colin on my heels. “No, there was a definite look exchanged between the two of you.”