“Mom, I’m grounded. No friends over,” I say, hoping to save Grey from Dad’s likely interrogation.
“You didn’t invite him, I did. And you’ll come, won’t you, Grey?”
“Of course, Mrs. Rodinsky.”
Mom beams at him and takes the opportunity to press her palm to his chest, which I can tell you is nice and firm and jeez, she is seriously doing this to mess with me. “Call me Ellen. See you at six. Thanks for popping by.”
“Sure thing, Ellen.”
As Grey steps safely onto the stoop, I pull the door in close to my butt and lean out toward him, shielding us from view of Mom, who is totally eavesdropping.
“Your mother is lovely,” he says, and I can tell he means it.
“She is. My whole family is.” I clutch his forearm, hoping he can feel the warning in the press of my fingers. They are lovely, but they’re also going to eat him alive if he’s not prepared. My grip does the trick and Grey catches my eye. “Bring a helmet,” I whisper.
“And obstruct your dad’s view of my face while I explain what a fantastic football player you are? Nah.” Grey winks. “See ya tomorrow, Rodinsky.”
Hands in his pockets, Grey heads down the driveway and I haul myself back inside, feeling warm and fuzzy yet completely anxious all the same. I feel like I need to run it all off—maybe Mom’ll be cool with that. Is it acceptable to jog while grounded?
When I shut the door, Mom is right there, waiting, as expected, wicked smirk lighting her papery skin.
“Well, he is cute.”
Cute and totally toast.
20
I’M ON EDGE THE REST OF THE WEEKEND, RUNNING scenarios in my mind for everything that could go wrong at family dinner on Sunday night. Luckily, Mom seems to think letting me out for a jog is okay under the terms of my grounding—mostly because Dad has disappeared, the case he’s on sucking him away from us every waking hour.
Without my phone, I’m musicless, and so I’m left with my thoughts and my nerves for a six-mile run Saturday afternoon and again on Sunday morning. On Sunday morning, I turn the corner back to our house to see Danielle and Heather, leaving for a run of their own, all sparkly and sweat-free. I wave, sweat sizzling into my eyes.
I’ve managed to avoid Danielle for most of the weekend, and maybe she let that happen, so pissed at me for lying that she didn’t even want to see my face. Might as well cut to the chase before the pair of them literally run away from me. I catch Danielle’s arm before they pass.
“I’m so sorry for lying. I—I don’t know why I did, but I’m sorry.”
Danielle squints back at me, smile incredulous. “You lied because you knew I’d freak about football just as much as Mom and Dad.”
“Okay,” I admit. “That’s true.”
My sister flips her hand around so she’s gripping me as much as I’m holding on to her. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not totally impressed.”
My eyes widen. “You’re what?”
“I’m totally impressed. Coach Kitt wanted you to prove you could be a good teammate. And what did you do? You joined the most brutal, boy-centric sport possible and then you crushed it.”
“We saw a video,” Heather pipes in. “Ryan shot it from the stands Friday night.” She’s grinning—and so is Danielle. “My brother played football for a decade before starting in high school and he could never throw a spiral like that.”
“Really?”
“Really,” Danielle confirms. “You were great—Dad should let you play.”
Tears prick at my eyes, mingling with the sweat crowding my lash line. Danielle squeezes my hand. “We have a plan to convince him.”
“Dani’s making enchiladas,” Heather says proudly, beaming at my sister. Literally the only thing Danielle has ever learned to cook is enchiladas, and somehow they’ve become Dad’s favorite food. If he had a choice of a last meal, that would be it.
A game-day glare slides across Danielle’s face. “And I don’t know this quarterback boy of yours, but if he can’t convince Dad you should play football, you better believe I will.”
“So…” I say, trying to add it all together. “We’re going to lull him into complacency with cheese and enchilada sauce and then attack?”
Danielle’s face breaks into a grin that is seven shades of wicked. “Exactly.”
Sunday afternoon, Danielle’s enchilada sauce is simmering and Dad’s texted Mom to confirm he’ll be home for dinner. He’s missed family dinner night before for a case, but the combination of enchiladas and “Grey what’s his name” is apparently worth pulling strings to get a night off.
Nerves flutter in my stomach, and I have nothing to do. I set the table, including an extra place for Grey, furnished with the rolling chair from Danielle’s desk. I fixed my makeup. Cleaned my half of my and Ryan’s room. Even washed my jersey and game-day tights, because there’s no way in hell I’m returning something grass-stained and nasty.
Finally, around four, the doorbell rings. I jump, thinking it might be Grey, over early. But I know the car in the driveway—Addie.
Ryan answers the door and calls my name before scurrying away. When I see her, it’s clear why he’s so quick to duck for cover. My best friend’s face is puckered into a sour-lemon expression, eyes ablaze, her long arms crossed tightly over her chest.
“Where the hell have you been?”
I pull the door closed and give her an apologetic smile, which only makes her launch into another assault rather than letting me answer.
“I have things to tell you, O-Rod, and you go all Casper on me and freaking vanish. You’re my best friend—there should never be any vanishing. Ever. Especially when boys are involved. There’s a code about that, I swear. You broke the code.”
Addie wants to be a DA like her mom. They’re both hella good at making an argument and I totally gave her all the material in the world to eviscerate me. I automatically feel like an asshole, and I am, because my vanishing was a symptom of my lying and just… ughhhhh. “I’m sorry! I’m grounded. No phone, computer, or car until tomorrow.” This softens her face. I snag her wrist. “What did I miss?” I arch a brow. “Nick?”
At this, she squeezes her eyes shut, face lighting with a smile before they flash back open, all her anger gone. “Yes, Nick. I have so much to tell you—wait, can I tell you?” She glances at the house behind me.
I shrug. “You’re probably the one person my parents don’t care about when it comes to me breaking my grounding sentence. Yes, please, tell me everything!”
“Wait—first, what happened? I mean, why are you grounded?”
“Football,” I say grimly.
Addie’s eyes go wide. “The form?”
“Yep. Never got it signed. Never told them. Dad found out from his boss, who was at the game.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Exactly.”
“So are you just grounded or…?” She trails off, but I know exactly what she’s most worried about.
“Off the team. No more football.”
“But… but you’re good. But softball. But Grey—wait, what happened with Grey? Does he know? Does his mom know?”
“He knows, so I’m sure she knows, and, by tomorrow morning, the whole freaking school will know.”
Tears sting Addie’s eyes. God, I don’t deserve her. “I’m so sorry. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have marched over here. I’m so—”
“It’s fine,” I say quickly. “Grey’s coming to dinner tonight to help convince Dad. Danielle’s even in support of me playing.”
“He’s coming to dinner? On a Sunday? To confront Cop Dad?” Addie’s eyes grow wider with each building question. “He must really like you.”
“Or he’s got a super-bizarre sense of fun.”
Addie’s face melts into a smirk. “Oh, shut up.”
I cock a brow. “And Nick?”
Addie’s smile flashes, her eyes completely dry now. Her voice dips low, glee bursting at the edges. “That boy is hella good, L
iv. HELLA. GOOD.”
We plop on the stoop, Addie hugging her knees with a sigh. I’ve never in all my life seen Adeline McAndry swoon over anyone, but this, this is definitely swooning. It takes her several seconds to compose a sentence that won’t come out like gibberish—which totally thrills me.
“He’s not one for words, but the things he says are the right ones. That cannot be overstated. And in addition to not being shy at all about how much he appreciates my athletic awesomeness, he’s also super thoughtful and a total gentleman.”
“A gentleman?” I arch a brow at her. Seems like super-high praise for a boy who literally may earn a college scholarship for how hard he can nail people into the ground.
“I mean, he held my door! Who does that? And don’t say Grey—let me have my moment. And then today we met at Happy Cow after his practice, and he didn’t get all annoyed and machismo when I forced him to split the check. So after that, we went over to the pedal boats at Shawnee Mission Park—”
“Wait? Pedal boats? You hate the lake. Remember when you took those freshwater mussels home from our freshman field trip there, they killed Beluga the betta fish? You started calling it Shawnee Murder Park and wanted your mom to investigate the marina master.”
“Well, yes, but admittedly my case sucked—Beluga’s demise is on me because I put them in the tank. It wasn’t that guy’s fault I didn’t do my research on deadly ammonia spikes caused by decomposing mussels.”
I do a double take. “Who are you?”
She waves her hands overhead. “I’m a whole new woman, Olive Marie.”
“I’d say so.”
“Okay, so we did an hour on the lake and then we were hungry again, so we…”
I listen as she jabbers away, glad we have two hours until dinner.
Grey beats Dad to dinner, arriving smelling of a recent shower and dressed in yet another Nike polo and khaki shorts. He’s got a half smile and wink for me when I answer the door after checking my makeup for the millionth time. “Hey, Liv.”
“Hey,” I reply, trying my hardest not to blush, the part of me that worked so hard to deny my initial attraction to him now on overdrive with it all out in the open.
“Is that Grey?” Danielle says, wiping her palms on her apron, dirty from her duty today as head chef. She offers him a hand. “Danielle, Liv’s older sister.”
“The Kansas City Star’s Softball Coach of the Year two years running—the youngest since my mom. It’s a pleasure.”
My sister beams. “Liv, I like him.”
“Grey knows how to make a good first impression,” I say, my cheeks burning.
“That’s what I hear.” All our heads swing around to the door off the garage where Dad is standing in full detective gear: button-up, slacks, and his Glock in a shoulder holster. Sweat has plastered all the wave out of his hair, and he looks totally exhausted from so many back-to-back days, but damn if he isn’t dialed in, with his full cop glare aimed at Grey.
To his credit, Grey squares his shoulders, walks right over, and offers a hand to Dad without a millisecond of hesitation. “Mr. Rodinsky, I’m Grey Worthington. It’s nice to meet you, sir.”
Dad checks the grip on Grey’s handshake, but his face is closed up tight, not betraying whether he’s impressed, annoyed, or anything else. All Dad says is, “I’m going to go change.”
He disappears upstairs, and I introduce Grey to Heather. He and Ry have already talked a few times, so they just exchange chin nods. In the kitchen, we somehow squeeze ourselves around the table, Grey sitting between me and Danielle, and across from Mom and the spot we’ve left for Dad.
When Dad appears, he’s wet down his hair and changed into the shirt he got for winning a department shooting competition last year.
Subtle, Dad.
If Grey’s intimidated, he doesn’t show it. He just spreads a napkin across his lap and tucks into the salad Mom pulled together. Across the table, my sister takes a sip of her wine and lobs a verbal grenade onto the table.
“Dad,” she says, with no prelude, “let Liv play football.”
All the breath leaks out of my lungs as I look from Danielle to Dad. Under the table, Grey finds my hand and cups it in his as the resulting silence spreads. Dad doesn’t say a thing; instead, he pops open a beer. No one else has visibly moved except Ryan, who’s fidgeting in the rolling chair, swiveling nervously between Heather and Mom.
Unfazed—though, in reality, she is never fazed—Danielle continues. “I shouldn’t have to explain why she should be allowed to play, but because you seem blind to the obvious, I’m going to lay it out for you, Pops.”
She pauses briefly and I hold my breath.
“First of all, the girl is allowed to make her own mistakes, which you know quite well from what happened in May and how you handled it afterward. Sure, you could’ve taken out a loan or deferred Liv’s tuition or even let us set up a Kickstarter, for God’s sake, but you didn’t want her to return to Windsor Prep for a reason: to teach her accountability for her mistakes. Correct? You allowed her to have real-world consequences for her actions. Why is this any different?”
My gut twists—I don’t want Grey to hear this, even if it’s basically stuff he already knows. But he’s listening like his life depends on it. When my dad stays silent, Danielle shifts to round two.
“Liv made a decision. A much smarter decision than last time, obviously”—I wince—“and had success. She scored three touchdowns in a football game, against boys twice her size. Boys who have been playing for years. Boys who were extra motivated to kick her ass the second she put on a helmet. She’s a freaking Disney movie, Dad.”
I can’t help the grin that breaks across my face. Holy shit, I am a Disney movie.
By the time she finishes, Danielle is breathing hard. Ryan fidgets more in his seat and pulls out his phone, holding it aloft over the salad bowl. “Want to see a video?”
Rather than accept the phone or acknowledge Danielle’s argument, Dad simply takes another long gulp of beer and looks to Grey.
“And what do you have to say?”
Grey doesn’t clear his throat. Doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t drop his grip on my hand. He just greets Dad’s challenge with the same confidence he has when throwing routes.
“Liv Rodinsky is the most natural quarterback I’ve ever seen in my life. You can blame me all you want for recruiting her, but the truth is that our team is better with her on it. I’m proud to play by her side.”
Dad’s lips flatten into a line. He’s still playing a hard-ass, but Mom’s face is so bright and cheery that he softens when she aims all that energy at him and places a hand on the meat of his shoulder. “Oh, come on, Eddy, how can you say no to that?”
He doesn’t respond. Still, hope rolls through my gut, my heart whispering Hail Mary.
We don’t talk about it for the rest of the dinner. Instead, Grey manages to visibly charm literally everyone at the table. Even maybe Dad.
He raves about Danielle’s enchiladas and asks for seconds.
He gamely answers Mom’s nosy questions about what product makes his hair curl like that.
He says yes to literally every topping my family has to offer during postdinner ice-cream sundaes.
He elbows in on Heather and does the dishes for her like a freaking champ.
And while we’re sitting down, watching the Sunday night Chiefs game, he gets Ryan going enough about Premier League soccer that they end up reenacting some botched play for Dad on the living room floor like complete oversugared goofballs.
Which leads Ryan to giving me shit for missing his first game of the season. But to be fair, it was literally all the way across town and started before football practice ended. I guess I won’t have that excuse anymore. Maybe.
When it’s grown dark and it’s clearly time for him to leave, I step out to the stoop with Grey, planning to walk him to the turn of the block. The night is still warm, but there’s a chill in the breeze, and without me even asking, he puts hi
s arm around my shoulders as we hit the sidewalk.
I look up at him. “I have to say, that wasn’t the complete disaster I was expecting.”
“Complete disaster? There wasn’t even a whiff of disaster.” He winks. Because of course he does.
“Well, I don’t know, I was pretty worried when Danielle went all in on Dad right away. Definitely a whiff there for me.”
He waves a hand. “You worry too much, Rodinsky. From the second your sister opened her mouth, I knew it was going to be amazing.”
“Well, yeah. She is amazing.” I place a hand on his stomach and we come to a stop, not yet to the corner. The trees wave in the breeze, and the moonlight flashes across his face as I palm his cheek. “But you were, too. Thanks for coming. Thanks for saying your piece. Thanks for fake side-tackling Ryan to the floorboards and making Dad laugh.”
And then I kiss him.
21
MONDAY MORNING, I WAKE UP TO MY LAPTOP AND phone sitting on my desk. Not charged. No note. No suggestion that this means I can play football—just that my grounding is over.
I plug them in and they both light up like that one huge-ass Christmas light display in our old neighborhood.
Texts. Texts. Texts.
Missed calls.
All from the people who care about me enough to wonder where the hell I went Saturday. Addie, of course. And Grey.
A little flutter flips alive in my tummy when I think of Grey last night—of him grabbing my hand under the table and making a case to Dad, of him saying good night with yet another great kiss. The flutter swells for a faint second before I blink and see a slip of orange in my field of vision.
My game jersey.
Ready for return. The red practice one, too.
The flutter dies a quick death as I collect my stuff for a shower.
An hour later, Grey’s there on the Northland steps as I walk up to school. Foot kicked up against the faded brick, wet hair curling against his temples, signature half smile in place.
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