“We won’t stay over there too late because I have to be back to work the following morning.”
“Not me. Nix gave me that Friday off.”
“I thought he was an asshole,” I tease.
She smirks. “He is, but he does have some nice moments.”
Rowan reaches across the table and sneaks one of my fries. “So you want to rent some movies tonight? Order a pizza?”
Swallowing a bite of my sandwich, I take a quick drink of my soda before replying. “Um... I actually have a date tonight.”
This is a bit awkward but no sense in hiding it.
Rowan glances down at her plate for a moment but when she looks back at me, there is a warm smile on her face. “So, when are you going to tell me all about your mad dating life? I mean... aren’t friends supposed to share that stuff?”
Her smile looks genuine but I think she may be putting on an act because her voice sounds a little shaky. Could it be that Rowan is having second thoughts? Because if she is... she needs to fucking tell me so we can get on with it.
“Hmmm... let’s see. Her name is Jennifer and she lives here in Brooklyn. She’s a few years older than I am and works in a bank. She’s like this really hardcore fitness nut though... I mean, really intense.”
Rowan snorts. “Don’t tell me she only drinks spinach shakes?”
I about spew the soda I’m taking a sip of because she’s pegged Jennifer. “Sort of. It’s actually a bit annoying when we go out to eat and she only nibbles on raw vegetables.”
“Oh, God... I was just joking. She really does that?”
I laugh and nod. “But she’s really nice and she’s gorgeous, and...” I search for other words to nicely describe Jennifer but nothing is coming to mind. “And she’s really successful... she’s a banker.” I throw that last part out because I don’t know what else to say and I feel slightly guilty for even telling Rowan something about Jennifer that annoys me.
Rowan’s smile slides off her face, and I have no clue what I’ve just said to make that happen, but she clues me in. “Wow... banker. You really landed yourself someone great.”
She’s trying to say it to give me a compliment on my new girlfriend, but she’s saying it as a backhanded slap to herself, because she isn’t an investment banker, which in turn doesn’t make her good enough.
I reach across the table to grab her hand and she instantly tries to pull it away. I hold on tight.
When she looks at me, there is moisture in her eyes and my fucking heart cracks. “I didn’t mean anything by that, Rowan. I was just struggling with what to say about her to you and that is the only thing that came to mind.”
Blinking her eyes rapidly, I watch as the tears dissipate and she gives me a smile. “It’s good. I know I’ll never be successful like that. I had my shot at that type of life and I fucked it up.”
“No,” I tell her harshly. “Don’t ever talk like that. You didn’t miss your shot.”
She’s quietly staring at me so I continue on. “And who’s to say what success is anyway? I look at you and your ability to take care of yourself in a very mean city, and you did it all on your own. How many people do you really think could do that without succumbing to things like crime or homelessness?”
Rowan blinks and then nods her head slightly. “You’re right. I hear you.”
“I’m serious about this, Rowan,” I tell her. “You are amazing.”
She smiles at me, and this time it has more light to it. “Thanks. You always know what to say to make me feel good about myself.
The thought that my words make Rowan smile causes happiness to bubble and well inside of me. It makes me realize that I used to feel this way a lot around her, but that I haven’t felt this way in a while.
I squeeze her hand and take a deep breath. “I feel like our friendship’s taken a bit of a hit lately.”
She sighs and squeezes back. The look on her face is one of deep affection and her smile is as warm as a desert breeze. “Yeah... I feel that way, too.”
“Let’s rectify that, okay?”
“Absolutely,” she says, her smile flashing with joy.
21
We’ve completed Phase One of The Caldwell Thanksgiving Day Extravaganza. The food has been eaten and the top buttons on our pants have been undone. Flynn and Nora are in the kitchen, cleaning or miraculously eating another piece of pie, but everyone else has been shooed out to the living room.
Nix and Emily are on one end of the loveseat, with her on his lap, both of them sound asleep. Nix’s dad, Hank, is on the other end with his head tilted back. It took that group only three seconds to fall asleep. Nick is stretched out in his recliner and, every time I glance at him, he’s struggling to keep his eyes open.
Tim ate with us as his wife has Sam for this holiday, and he’s passed out on the floor with Capone snoring softly beside him.
That leaves just Fil and me. We are sitting on the couch and she’s trying to teach me about football.
I absolutely adore Fil. Since meeting her earlier this month when we went clubbing, she and I have developed a good friendship. We’ve gone out together a few times, which ironically seem to coincide with the nights that Flynn has gone out on his dates, and we text each other all the time. She has a hilariously filthy mind and loves to text me shocking photos, usually of naked men. She tells me I’m in a dating slump and wants me to get out there and steam up the sheets with someone, and she figures the photos will get me in the mood.
The other day, my phone buzzed with a text and I saw it was from Fil. It had an attachment that said, Hawt guy in kilt with huge pole!
I immediately scrambled to open the picture, because she has sent me some really hot men before. When the jpeg opened up on my screen, I started laughing. It was a man... in a kilt, and yes, he was hot. But the pole? Yeah... not what I was expecting. He was literally carrying a huge, wooden telephone pole in his beefy arms. It looked like one of those Highland games or something.
“Okay, now pay attention, Rowan, because I’m going to give you a complete run down of all the rules today as we watch this game.”
Fil leans forward on the couch and gazes seriously at the TV. The Raiders and the Cowboys are playing and although I’ve heard of the Dallas Cowboys—I mean, who hasn’t—I have no clue who the Raiders are. Sorry, but hockey is my game.
Fil gives me a rundown of the National Football League and how it’s broken into two conferences with four divisions in each. I look longingly over at Nick Caldwell, who has succumbed to a nap.
“Now, this is important,” Fil says with flourish. “Our team... the Giants... are in the NFC east, same as Dallas. Which means we hate Dallas and so we’re pulling for the Raiders today.”
“Wait... why am I a Giants fan?”
“Because you’re a New Yorker, that’s who you root for.”
“But maybe I’m a Jets fan. That’s who Flynn roots for and besides, he got Capone a Jets collar.”
Capone raises his head after hearing his name and looks around with bleary eyes. When no one says anything further to him, he gives a deep sigh and lays his head on Tim’s stomach.
“Fine... whatever... be a pansy-assed Jets fan, but don’t come crying to me at the end of your pitiful season.”
I’m pretty sure I won’t be doing that because past watching the games today, I have no intention of following football.
After silently watching for a few minutes, I ask, “Okay, here’s a question for you... what’s that yellow line on the field?”
Fil doesn’t answer me so I poke her in the ribs. “Teach me, Yoda.”
She looks at me with frustration and then looks back at the TV. “That splits the field in half.”
“Liar,” I hear from the doorway and I turn to see Flynn there with a plate of pie in his hand.
Fil turns around and looks guilty for just a second, then her face splits into a grin. “Busted.”
“Wait... that line doesn’t split the field in half?” I ask, because that made
damn good sense to me.
Chuckling, Flynn walks in and comes over to the couch. “Scoot down,” he says.
I try to move to the left, but Fil is ignoring me in favor of the football game. I jab her in the ribs again, she moves over a quarter of an inch, and I move along with her. It gives enough room for Flynn to jam his body in between the end of the couch and me, and the heat of his leg against mine sends my pulse dancing.
He takes the last bite of pie and sets the plate down on the coffee table. After he swallows, he says, “Okay... the yellow line represents the first down marker. You do understand the concept of downs, right?”
“Sort of,” I tell him. “Not really. And what’s the blue line?”
“That’s the line of scrimmage,” Flynn says and, before he can explain further, Fil lets out a curse. “I can’t believe he got sacked. The offensive line sucks.”
“What’s a sack?” I ask.
Flynn chuckles. “Slow down there, Speedy. One question at a time.”
He takes my hand and turns it palm up. “Here’s the easiest way to understand it. See these two lines running parallel on your palm?”
I glance down and his fingertip traces two of my lifelines, which do indeed run exactly parallel across my hand. The feel of his skin against mine causes me to shiver slightly and I’m mesmerized by the movement.
“Yeah,” I say and it feels like it comes out in a croak.
“So, this line right here is the line of scrimmage. It’s where the offensive line starts and the quarterback will be roughly in the middle of the line.” Flynn traces the line of scrimmage on my palm and then taps the area where the quarterback would stand.
“And this here,” he says, as he runs his finger across the other line. “This is the first down line. This is the distance, which is ten yards, that the offensive line has to get the ball to be able to advance further. They have four tries to get there... and those are called downs.”
I want to know more, not because I give a shit about football but because I want Flynn to keep holding my hand and tracking patterns on my skin. Which is decidedly not within the purview of a regular friendship.
“And a sack?” I remind him.
He pushes his index finger into my palm and holds it there. “When the quarterback starts the play at the line of scrimmage, he will most times step backward to get some distance from the defensive players that are coming toward him. If at any time they get him behind this line,” and here he pauses to drag his finger across my palm, “that is called a sack. Understand?”
“Yes,” I say but really, no. I don’t remember a damn thing he just told me and could care less. I am, though, trying to think of other questions to ask so he can teach me more palm football.
Sadly though, Flynn releases my hand and props his feet up on the table. He leans back into the cushions with a sigh. I’m sitting almost ramrod straight, trying to follow the game, while Fil sits beside me, alternating between cheers and curses that, funny enough, don’t wake up any of the nappers.
After just a few minutes, Flynn touches my shoulder. “I can’t see the TV, Rowan, with you sitting forward like that.”
Before I can respond, he grips my shoulder and pulls me back into him. As I sink back into the couch, he raises his arm and drapes it over my shoulder. I’m stiff and unsure, but then Flynn leans over and whispers in my ear, “Relax” and I let myself melt into him.
Pressed up against his side, his scent and warmth calming me, I tentatively lay my head on his chest. He responds by giving me a slight squeeze and then his thumb starts rubbing the edge of my shoulder. It is heaven and I close my eyes so I can concentrate on the feel.
When I wake up, I’m completely disoriented. I first take in the fact that the same football game is on so I must not have been asleep long. Next, I immediately realize that I am lying down with my head in Flynn’s lap, and his arm is holding me around my waist.
Carefully, I ease my shoulders up and sneak a peek. His head is tilted back against the couch and he is sleeping soundly. I pick up his hand and move it off my waist, gently rolling off the couch so as not to wake him up. Glancing at Fil, I see she is curled up on the other end of the couch fast asleep, and everyone else is still down for the count.
I step gingerly over Flynn’s legs and head into the kitchen to find Nora sitting at the counter, drinking a cup of coffee and reading a magazine.
“Hey,” she says when she sees me. “I just peeked in a few minutes ago and you were sound asleep.”
My cheeks burn slightly that she found me sprawled on her son. “Yeah... all of a sudden, I was out.”
“Turkey does that to you,” she says warmly.
Walking to the fridge, I open it up and pull out a bottle of water. “Then how come you aren’t sleeping?” I ask.
She shrugs her shoulders. “I guess I just like taking advantage of the quiet when I can. I have plenty of time to sleep later when I’ve gone from this earth.”
My father used to say that very thing when my mom would try to urge him to come to bed late at night when he would still be working. The unbidden memory actually makes me smile and I realize that this is the first time in five years that I’ve had a memory of my parents that didn’t cause me pain.
“Now that’s a lovely smile on your face,” Nora says, her Irish lilt ringing like music.
“I just thought of a nice memory, is all. My dad used to say that very thing... that he would have plenty of time to sleep when he was dead.”
Nora smiles and rests her chin on her hand. “You miss your parents, huh?”
I meet Nora’s gaze and keep the same smile on my face, but I’m honest with her. “Actually... I don’t.”
“I’m sorry, honey,” she says. “I didn’t mean to open up a can of rotten worms.”
“No, it’s okay. It’s kind of funny... but I used to miss them. Even as toxic as our relationship was, I would miss them a lot during holidays. But for some reason... right now, I don’t.”
Nora cocks her head to the side, curious, but she doesn’t ask. I go ahead and volunteer. “Thank you for inviting me into your home, Nora, and for such a great time today. You created a new memory for me that I’ll have to cherish.”
Understanding sweeps across her face and she reaches across the counter to grab my hand. Giving me a squeeze, she says, “You are welcome here anytime. You’re practically like family to us.”
“You treat me like family. It’s... comforting,” I say in a rare moment of vulnerability. This is only my third time in her house but she and Nick have made me feel utterly comfortable in their home.
“Flynn told me you’re not coming to St. John with us for the wedding. I wish you’d change your mind.”
“I’d love to, Nora, but it’s just not something I can afford right now. Besides, it should just be family.”
“You know Nix and Em aren’t doing it this way to be excluding of others. It’s just happening so quick that they know most people won’t be able to come or won’t want to attend a destination wedding. They’re going to have a huge wedding party sometime in the Spring.”
“I know,” I assure her. “It’s not that... it truly is about the money. It’s just not within my budget.”
“But Flynn said—”
Holding my hand up, I say, “No, Nora. I’m not accepting money from Flynn. Now, I’m going to eat another piece of pie. Do you want one?”
Nora shakes her head and takes a sip of her coffee, thankfully dropping the subject. I grab a plate and cut a piece of pumpkin pie, foregoing the whipped topping.
As I go to take my first bite, Nora surprises the shit out of me. “You know... Flynn never brings that girl he’s dating over. I’ve been on him to do it but he always has one excuse after another.”
My fork is poised halfway to my mouth, which is halfway open as well. I can’t think of a damn thing to say.
“Do you have any idea why he wouldn’t want me to meet her?” Nora whispers, sneaking a glance at the doo
rway so we won’t be overheard. “Is she like an ogre or something?”
I lower my fork back down, completely uninterested in pie right now. “I’m not sure. I mean... I haven’t met her either.”
Flynn has always liked to make fun of the fact his mom is dying for him to meet someone special, so I sort of expect her face to fall over my proclamation and inability to provide her with insider information.
Instead, she smiles at me conspiratorially. “I bet I know why neither one of us has met her. I bet he secretly likes someone else and he’s just waiting for that woman to notice him.”
Thank God I had not taken a bite of pie or I would have choked on it. Is Nora making a wild-ass guess or does she know something that I don’t? Has Flynn said something to her, or is she seeing things that I am not seeing clearly?
These thoughts flood through my mind and I mentally try to remember every conversation I’ve had with Flynn in the last few weeks. Does he still feel something for me? Do I still have a chance?
I’m careful when I say, “I don’t know. He seems pretty focused on dating Jennifer.”
Nora just looks at me thoughtfully and I wait for her to tell me I’m wrong.
Please tell me I’m wrong.
“What are you two doing?”
I spin around with guilty color flooding my face to find Flynn leaning up against the doorway, his arms crossed casually over his chest. How much of our conversation had he heard?
“Nothing,” I say hastily, sounding like I had just robbed Fort Knox or something.
“Actually, I was just asking Rowan why I haven’t met your girlfriend yet. I surmised that maybe you had secret feelings for someone else but Rowan seems to think you’re pretty into this girl.”
Oh. My. God.
Does Nora not have a filter on her mouth? I can’t believe she just outed us on that personal, and somewhat inappropriate, speculation we were doing about Flynn.
I raise my eyes to Flynn and he’s looking at me intently. “Is that right?”
“Yes,” Nora continues, even though Flynn’s eyes keep me pinned in place. “So what’s the deal, Flynn? Why don’t you bring her over to meet me?”
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