The state trooper we passed on the shoulder wishes the same thing.
Jet curses under his breath when the officer flashes his lights, and “bloop-bloops” his siren in greeting behind us. His face matching the paint job on his car, Jet looks over at me as he pulls onto the highway’s shoulder and digs his wallet from his back pocket. “How embarrassing. You mind grabbing my paperwork from the glove box?”
I do as he asks and smile sympathetically as I hand it over. “There you go, Lead Foot.”
He laughs. “Why didn’t you say something?”
I shrug. “I’m not your mom.”
Also, I thought he knew how fast he was going, given that handy gauge called a speedometer, and the fact that we were blowing past everyone else on the Kansas City freeway system like they were standing still. I figured, his ride, his rules, his speeding ticket. If he’d been driving recklessly, that would have been another story. But I never felt unsafe. In fact, I was enjoying the ride.
After he hands the officer his license, registration, and proof of insurance, he sits with his hands on the steering wheel, stares straight through the windshield, and waits for the cop’s next instructions. I watch the trooper, who looks at the license, looks at Jet, and looks back at the license.
“Mr. Knox, do you know how fast you were going?” he asks as a matter of routine.
Jet gulps and grimaces. “Uh, no. Not really, sir.”
This tightens the trooper’s lips. “The posted speed limit through here is sixty. I clocked you going about ninety.”
“That’s fast,” Jet says. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t trying to go that fast. This car… I wish there was an alarm or something on it that would grab my attention when I start to speed. I’m babbling. Sorry, Officer.”
“Let me run all this, and I’ll be right back,” the patrolman says before walking away.
As soon as he’s gone, Jet looks over at me and grimaces. “I’m so screwed.”
I can’t help but laugh at his worried expression. “Maybe you should be more aware of what you’re doing when you’re operating a deadly weapon.”
He rubs his chin. “Wait until the front office hears about this.”
“Ruh-roh. Is this a violation of some personal conduct policy?”
“Not technically. But I’m in for an uncomfortable lecture, at least.”
“Way to go.”
“Thanks.” He reaches over and grabs my hand. “I guess I was distracted. And in a bigger hurry than I realized.”
Before I reply or can do anything but stare at our joined hands while I marvel how a line like that could possibly do to my insides what that one is doing, the trooper returns, handing Jet’s stuff to him through the window.
“Here you go, Knox. Just a warning today. But watch your speed, got it?”
“You bet! Totally!” Jet stumbles over himself in shock.
“Hey, tough loss yesterday, man. Damn Pats. If it’s any consolation, they’re probably gonna win the whole thing. Again.”
Jet’s hands freeze while sliding his license into his wallet, but otherwise he doesn’t show he’s surprised the officer is talking football. “I wish they hadn’t made us look like such amateurs out there. We’ll get ’em next year, though.”
“’Atta boy. Well, you have a nice day.” He nods at me. “Ma’am.”
I wiggle my fingers at him.
As the trooper pulls around us and back onto the highway, he and Jet salute each other. Jet turns to me and grins. “That was a freakin’ miracle. If anything, I thought he’d throw the book at me because of yesterday’s game.”
“No use kickin’ a guy when he’s down, I guess.”
He restarts the car. “You have a point there. Yell at me if you notice I’m going too fast.”
Hmm. I may have a few retroactive violations to address. But I merely smile and say, “Right-oh.”
Fourteen
Fort Knox
Between the gate at the entrance to the driveway, the gray stone, dark wood, and black ironwork, Jet’s place looks moderately medieval. I almost ask him where the moat and drawbridge are, but I don’t want to hurt his feelings, and it is an impressive place. Just not my style. At all. Not at all what I pictured for him, either.
Geographically, it’s a five-minute drive (if that) from Arrowhead Stadium, so close it feels like we should be able to see it from the front porch, but his house is set so far back from the road and burrowed so deeply in mature woodlands that it’s impossible to glimpse any other inhabitants from here, and vice versa. If not for the whooshing of traffic, the illusion of being hours from civilization would be complete.
Inside Fort Knox, he pockets his car keys and opens his arms wide. “Well, this is it. My home. About half the year.”
“Wow. You’re out of town that much?” I ask.
Before he can answer, tinkling tags and clicking claws announce the arrival of a white puff that runs to greet us. Well, not us. Jet. The dog I assume to be Quatorze pays absolutely zero attention to me. Not even a sniff of my shoes. Fine by me.
Jet lifts the oversized cotton ball and cradles it like a football, then cranes his neck to keep his face away from the dog’s lapping tongue. “Yeah, when you add it all up and include time I spend out of town for other stuff during the off-season, that’s about right.” He laughs. “Torzi, cut it out!”
“That’s a lot of time away from home.” I nod at the fluffy pooch. “He must miss you.”
Meanwhile, my hopes soar. I can handle a part-time boyfriend. Yeesss. This could work.
“He misses me when I’m gone for a couple of hours, as you can see. That’s why I take him with me whenever I can. Don’t let him fool you, though. When I’m not here, Jacob’s his best bud. Right, Torzi?
