“You’re too high-maintenance for me.”
“This is true.” ‘Londo nods and looks me over. “I’d most definitely make you shave that beard. I’m not into bears.”
I shrug. “We were never meant to be.”
Johnson rolls his eyes. “I don’t care if I sound like a dick. This whole exchange is bizarre.”
“You always sound like a dick,” Rolondo says. “So we’re used to it.”
He ducks a chunk of bread Johnson pings at him. An older couple across the way turns to stare.
“Ladies,” I say mildly, “mind your manners. This isn’t the college bar.”
“Yes, Mom.” Johnson sits back and looks around. “Why is it that we aren’t in a bar? I mean, yeah, we got money now. But this place is making my shoulders itch.”
“I’m checking the place out,” I tell them. “It’s for sale, and Gray, Drew, and I are thinking about investing in restaurants.”
“Seriously?” Johnson looks surprised.
“We need something to fall back on. We aren’t going to play forever.”
Since the three of us love to eat, we thought about the restaurant business. Gray and Drew have been looking at places on the west and east coasts, respectively.
I glance at Drew. “If a certain QB would get his face out of his phone and taste the food, it would be much easier to do.”
Drew lifts his head. “The atmosphere is a little staid, but the food is good, and the place is packed.”
“Agreed,” I say. “It always is, but I’d make changes.”
Drew nods, then drifts back to his phone.
Rolondo shrugs. “As long as we don’t go to one of Johnson’s strip bars, I’m cool with anything.”
“You’d rather we go to one of your strip bars?” Johnson asks.
“Naw, wouldn’t want you to develop a complex about your shortcomings, man.”
“There ain’t nothing short on me. And when I make a lady come, it takes all night.”
“Takes all night to make her come? Yeah, I’d buy that.”
As Rolondo and Johnson bait each other, I glance back at Drew, who is still eyeing his phone and being awfully quiet. “Seriously, Baylor, I’m about to confiscate that thing.”
He raises a brow at me, and gives me his old, innocent grin—which I am not falling for. “You really are a mom, aren’t you?”
“As I recall, you played the role of Mom. I was Dad.”
“Doesn’t that mean we’re on a date now? And all I get is this lousy dinner?” Drew leans his arms on the table. “Where are my flowers?”
“I’ll make it up to you with sweet talk later. Now answer the question, Battle. What the hell is up with the phone?”
As if I’ve activated it, the damn thing lights up, and Drew glances down. He fights to hide his smile. “What can I say? I’m totally pussy whipped by my wife to be. That’s right, I’m replacing you with Anna.” With that, he presses his palms to the tabletop. “Gentlemen, time to wrap this up. I have a phone date to get to.”
Oddly, the guys don’t go the obvious route and give Drew shit. They glance at me and then at each other—not exactly subtle, though I know they think they are.
“What now?” I ask, glaring around.
“Nothing, man,” Rolondo assures. “Stop being so uptight. It isn’t all about you, D.”
His expression says different, but I let it slide.
Johnson pulls out some bills. “My treat this time, yeah?”
“Excuse me while I take in this moment,” Rolondo says expansively, his arms open wide. “Johnson—punk ass, cheap motherfucker Johnson—is paying.”
“Man, shut the fuck up,” Johnson says with a laugh. “We meeting up for coffee in the morning?”
“Yeah, man,” Rolondo says. “I’ll pay that.”
“Talk about cheap.”
“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, boy.”
“And the cheapest.”
“I’ll pay every meal for the season’s meet-ups if you two will shut up now,” Drew says.
Since graduation, we’ve made it a point to meet up a few times a year. Sometimes there are more of us, sometimes less. Mostly we meet when we’re playing a game against each other. But the Red Dog team will always be brothers.
Drew is hurrying us along, all but pushing Johnson toward the door.
I’ve always envied what Drew has with Anna. Not the sex, but the knowledge that there was someone he belonged to. Even when he was suffering when they first got together, I envied him. Because his emotions with her were real. Honest.
My whole life feels like one long fog of numbness, punctuated by manufactured pain. The tats, the piercing, hard hits on the field—all of them ways to make me feel something other than bland indifference.
But with Fi, I’m alive. I anticipate every single breath because it’s another moment closer to getting back to her.
I follow the guys out, but my mind is on Fi, and the ache around my heart grows. I miss her so much that at first I think I’m imagining her leaning against the side of a black town car.
A balmy southern breeze drifts over the road, lifting the ends of her golden hair and making the skirt of her dress sway. She’s wearing a white sundress dotted with brilliant red cherries. That dress with the little teasing red bow just below her breasts. That dress has haunted me for what seems like an eternity. I’ve dreamed of sinking to my knees and lifting its skirt to find the prize beneath. She’s wearing that dress for me.