Colin’s all too pleased to educate me. “He was an absolute star about the whole thing. He mentored his replacements; he kept morale up on the bench when games weren’t going well; he never once said a bad thing about the Jets organization in the media; he didn’t so much as pout on the sidelines. He took it like a hero and was a valuable member of the team, despite the fact that the team didn’t want him anywhere near the pitch.”
I’m too proud of my sort-of boyfriend to bother correcting my friend’s terminology.
“That’s pretty cool,” I mumble.
“Very cool. This guy’s credibility shot through the ceiling for me when I read that about him. He’s classy, Maura. Classy.”
“And this is supposed to make me feel less inferior around him?”
“It’s supposed to inspire you!” He throws his arms wide, almost knocking our arriving beers from the precariously balanced tray in our server’s hand. “Oops. Sorry, mate,” he says, placing his hands in his lap. We order our usuals, and as soon as we’re alone again, he continues, “It’s supposed to prove that Jet hasn’t always been the celebrated hero, but he didn’t let anyone else’s opinion of him affect how he felt about himself. He never stopped believing the possibilities.”
From my purse, my phone chimes with an incoming text. Out of habit, I slide it from the bag and glance at the screen, noticing it’s from Jet.
Colin stands. “Judging by that rosy glow on your face, that must be from the devil of which we speak.” He grins. “Someone’s ears must have been burning. I need to pop to the gents’.”
I have the manners to wait until he’s truly gone before reading the message.
Longest day ever. Have a minute to talk?
At dinner with Colin, I tap back. Call you later?
Gotta hit the sheets early tonight :(
8:00 too late?
Ha! No. Should I be worried about this Colin guy? ;)
The winky emoticon saves him. Because a whiff of jealousy from someone who’s been on one date with me and that’s Game Over. I’ve had my fill of possessive boyfriends; I promised myself I’d never go there again.
No QB controversy here
LOL. OK. Have a nice dinner. TTYL
Later
My phone is securely back in my purse, out of sight, by the time Colin returns. “All’s well?” he checks.
“Very well. Jet wants to know if he should be worried about you.”
He pretends to choke on his latest swallow of beer. “Me? Whatever for?”
I shrug. “Who knows? Men can be so weird.”
Colin rests his hand, palm-up, on the table and wiggles his fingers. “Give me your mobile.”
Wary, I balk. “Why?”
He tilts his head and shoots me a long-suffering look. “Are you saying you don’t trust me?”
Since I do—mostly—I dig out my phone again and place it in his hand. He immediately snaps a silly selfie, complete with lolling tongue, then says aloud while he types painfully slowly, “This. Is. Colin. No. Worries.” He taps “send” and returns the phone to the tabletop between us.
I’m still laughing when the phone lights up with an incoming message. Faster than I am, Colin snatches the device, but while cracking up at Jet’s response, he holds it up so I can see.
I steady his hand and read:
Gay?
Before I can grab the phone back, Colin pulls it from my reach and swipes at his eyes. “No, no. That’s perfect. We’ll let that be the last word for a while. You can explain things more fully later.” Nodding at something over my shoulder, he says, “Here comes our food. Let’s eat and talk about my new job. The ladies are brilliant.”
Twelve
Losing and Winning
When the Patriots do to the Chiefs what they’ve done to every other team this season, it’s safe to say I’m the most disappointed fan in Kansas City. The ride is over, and it had only begun. Plus, now I’m going to have to figure out what to do with Jet. For real.
Or not. Doing nothing is working well so far. Why change my strategy, mid-game? Things will work themselves out. Surely, he’ll tire of me before we get to the point that I have to do something drastic like step in and take control. Surely.
Rae asks me on the phone if I’m going to meet the fallen hero at the airport, but I laugh nervously and say, “Oh, I’ll see him soon enough. When he’s more rested.”
It’s only after I hear her relay this message to him that I realize he’s standing right there with her.
He shouts in the background, “Come on, Maura! Let’s get plastered in the airport bar. Like real losers.”
“Mmmm.” I pretend to consider. “Nah. Tell him I’ll call him tomorrow. Or he can call me. Whichever. The office is closed for Dr. King Day.”
“I’m not your messenger! You two need to work this out without me,” she gripes before going ahead and telling him what I’ve said. I don’t hear his reaction. After a pause, she says with a smile in her voice, “Uh-oh. He’s pouting now.”
“Is he still right there next to you?” I ask.
“No, he walked away. So I can’t be the go-between for any more of your sweet nothings.”
I change the subject. “Have you talked at all to Molly while you’ve been away?”
“Molly?” she asks blankly.
“KCI Molly,” I remind her, laughing. “Gosh! How soon we forget. And you call Jet a player.”
She chuckles. “Oops. Oh, yeah. That Molly. No, I told her not to expect me to be in touch until after our season is over. I knew it’d be crazy-busy on the road, and I didn’t want her reading anything into my silence.”
“Good move. But now the season is over. Are you going to
