I heard myself agreeing. She hugged me again, mostly impaling me on her tummy, and took off. I, myself, had nothing to do because I had the afternoon free. Euna was out of the office at a convention and the tasting room floor was being refinished due to some serious damage that had happened at the New Year’s Eve party. I had claimed that I was allergic to sawdust, but really, I didn’t think it was good for the baby if I breathed in all the stuff they were applying to the wood.
So I had time. Talking about César’s social life had made me wonder what he was up to. He told me about practices, about the meetings they were having, about his workouts, but I knew that he didn’t spend 100 percent of his day on football. Maybe 80, or 85 percent. When the season started back up, even regular team practices in the summer, he would probably be close to all football, all the time—that was how it had been for Warren Wilde, when he had been the Woodsmen quarterback. I hadn’t seen him very much for several months out of the year when he’d been on the team. Besides his own busy schedule, I was gone a lot too, because Soleil had liked to travel with me, even when it wasn’t an actual school vacation. We had taken trips all over the country, following bands, following friends, but mostly following men.
I wondered if César was practicing now, then I took my foot off the accelerator. Was I acting like Soleil, trailing after him? I shook my head, because no, this was totally different. I was going to check in on a friend, not driving seventeen hours straight to Oklahoma City because my ex-boyfriend’s band was playing a gig there, like Soleil and I had done when I was in seventh grade. Yeah, this was different. I pressed down harder on the pedal, but then let up once again when I realized how fast I was going. Dumb speed limit.
They let me past the gate of the Woodsmen practice facility, a huge, sprawling orange building surrounded by snowy fields and frozen metal bleachers. I parked and rushed inside and out of the cold, and I followed the sounds of football into a cavern of a room where a game was going on. I looked around a little, checking to see if Warren Wilde might be there, but the only other non-football looking person was a man leaning against the wall. I waved hello and he looked surprised, but waved back.
“The Woodsmen are playing against each other?” I asked him.
“Junior Woodsmen, the development team, versus real Woodsmen,” he told me. “Not full contact.”
I spotted César, because he was wearing the red shoes that smelled so disgusting. And even in a bunch of big football players, he was tall. I watched him run with the ball, easily skirting a tackle. “Up close, it looks like he flies,” I said aloud.
“César Hidalgo? He’ll be the best tight end in the league next year,” the man said.
I liked this guy. “I agree. He deserves a better contract.”
The man made a face like that pained him, a “lemon juice in my cut” expression.
“He was the best last year, too, but the coaches underutilized him,” I insisted. “Bet they’re sorry now, since the Woodsmen sucked and they all got canned.” The man scrunched up his features again—this time, more “leg in the woodchopper” than just lemon juice. “Wait, are you a coach? Should I be taking that back?”
“I’m with the Woodsmen front office,” he answered. “I’m Dan Dorbeek.”
“Camdyn Riordan,” I said, and we shook. “Are you here scouting or something?”
“Something like that, yes. What do you do here?”
“Nothing for the Woodsmen. I do event planning and I’m waiting for César,” I explained, and we both watched him run again. Wow, all that working out he did really paid off for him. I focused in on his long legs and the ripple of his muscles and decided that he should wear shorts a lot more. Then, at the end of the scrimmage, a bunch of the guys took off their shirts. Including César. That made me start thinking about what Lindy had told me, about her husband sexing her up all the time. “It’s warm in here,” I said to Dan Dorbeek, and removed my coat. And my sweater.
“You look very familiar to me,” he said. “Have we met before?”
“Maybe at Woodsmen Stadium. I’ve been to some games.”
Dan and I spoke for a while as I watched César. He finished up with some stretches, talking and laughing with some of the other players. The one I recognized as Gunnar pointed towards me and César looked up and jogged over. He said hello to Dan Dorbeek and smiled at me. “Hey, Cam. What are you doing here?”
“I’m done with work and I came to say hi and make sure you weren’t getting into trouble,” I told him, remembering the exhaustive list of women’s names.
“Me, trouble? Naw,” he said, and put his arm around me as we walked away.
I shoved it off. “You’re gross!”
“I’m as fresh as a daisy and twice as handsome,” he told me.
“Handsome daisies?” I asked skeptically. I pushed again at his arm but he pulled me closer as he laughed. I did, too.
“The handsomest daisy around,” he assured me. “Did you watch us play?”
I nodded. “You’re no daisy, but you did look like the best tight end in the league. That’s what that Dan Dorbeek said to me, too.”
“Did he? Nice to hear from the CEO of the Woodsmen team. How did you even get in here?”
“I knew the security guy at the gate,” I told him. “I used to give his sister free ice cream. We should go get ice cream now. Superman ice cream and also waffles.”
“Superman ice cream. Are you five?” He laughed. “Let’s go home and
