Jet grabs my elbow before I get too far.
“Maura, wait!”
“Let me go.”
He does but keeps up with me. “I’m sorry.”
“No apologies, remember?”
“But I owe you one.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Jet.”
“Just don’t be pissed, okay? I… I’ll stay in the room with you tonight and watch a movie. You’re right; tomorrow’s a big day. I’ll probably only feel like shit all day if I go out with the guys. Especially if you don’t go with me. I want to spend time with you.”
“You already told the guys you were in.”
“So? I’ll text Keaton and tell him we changed our minds. They’ll understand. They’ll think we’re, you know…”
I can’t help but laugh, so he relaxes but quickly adds, “Not that we have to. I’m just saying…”
Threading my arm through his, I rest my cheek against his triceps. “They’re going to think whatever they want to think.”
“Exactly. You were right before. Who cares?”
“I don’t.”
“Me neither. Now which movie are we going to watch? I’ve been dying to see that Jane Austen thing you mentioned on our first date.”
“Beautiful liar.”
He laughs and musses my hair as we stroll within view of the resort, then drops my arm and trots ahead. “Race ya.”
Now that I’m back among average-sized people, I find myself starting every conversation looking over the other person’s head. The first time I met Colin for lunch after returning from Hawaii, he kept looking over his shoulder and finally asked, “What’s going on back there?” When I explained my new social affectation, he laughed. “Oh, great. As if I needed to feel shorter than I already am.” He pointed to his face. “Eyes right here, Lady Maura.”
That wasn’t the only adjustment upon our return. Escaping the Kansas City winter was amazing; coming back to it sucked. Although we were gone less than a week, the frigid temps have been a major shock to the system since we stepped onto the tarmac at KCI. I thought I was being a wuss about it, but Jet squinted into the wind, hunched his shoulders, and said down at me, “This is the pits. Back to reality, I guess.”
In more ways than one. It’s unbelievable how quickly one becomes accustomed to luxury. I’m not only talking about beautiful hotel rooms and great service at nice restaurants. I’m talking about flying in a private jet. I’m talking about never having to ask twice—or sometimes at all—for anything. Having your every want and need anticipated is a heady experience. I understand better now how some of these guys become spoiled. It took me five short days to take it for granted. If that was my life all day, every day, it might be hard to stay grounded. It’s given me a greater appreciation for Jet’s down-to-earth demeanor.
But easily the worst part about being back is each morning.
Nobody wakes me up with breakfast and calls me “Beautiful” here at home. When I open my eyes after blindly swiping away the alarm on my phone, I see nothing. Nobody. It’s awful.
I’d get a cat or dog if I thought I simply needed to see another face in the morning. But not any face will do. I want to see Jet’s.
Which is crazy. It’s too soon, too fast, too… everything. Damn you, Hawaii!
Maybe he didn’t turn out to be a psychopath, but he murdered your independent spirit in less than a week, Creepy Dateline Guy intoned that first lonely morning.
I hate that guy so much.
The more I get to know, Jet, though, the more I like him. That’s not always a given with guys and me. He’s finally coming down from the constant adrenaline high he must have been on going into the postseason, so he’s less manic and more relaxed than he was when we first met. It’s been a relief to get to know the real him. Sometimes I can forget he’s, well, who he is. Sometimes.
As a matter of fact, without thinking the other day, I asked him what his plans were for my favorite day of the year, Super Bowl Sunday, and if he’d be rooting for the Cowboys or the Patriots.
When he answered, “I probably won’t watch,” it took a minute for me to figure out what he meant or how that could be an option.
Then I wanted to smack myself.
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry,” I said. “But… you can’t not watch it, right?”
He shrugged, flipping through the movie options on the TV in front of us.
I snuggled up to his arm. “Hey. You know what you should do?”
He looked down at me, his dull eyes brightening at my mischievous tone.
“You should host a Super Bowl party here. At your house.” Before he could shoot down the idea (I could tell it was coming, based on his dimming eyes and the set of his jaw), I said, “C’mon! You don’t want people to think you’re pouting, right?”
“I’m not. But it’s short notice, don’t you think?”
“It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”
“It would be the most depressing Super Bowl party, ever. Like, I’m downright cheerful about not making it past the playoffs, compared to some of the other guys. You saw it for yourself at the Pro Bowl. They’re bummed.”
“Don’t invite those guys, then. You know who would love to come to your party and would get into the game and make it seem less sad? My brother. And Rae. And Colin. And, I guess, Deirdre,” I tacked on.
He smiled. “You think they’d want to?”
“Uh, yeah! Greg’s been dying to meet you, and you said yourself that you wanted to meet Colin. This would be the perfect opportunity. It’ll be fun.”
“What about Rae? I’m still not sure she likes me.”
“She wonders the same about you. You guys need to get over that. It’s exhausting.”
He laughed at my bluntness.
“What do you say? I’ll help you plan it, and everything.”
Still
