He smiles down at me as the doorbell rings. “You’re amazing. Are you available for locker room pep talks?”
I tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “No. All those naked guys would make me giggly. Now, let’s answer the door and get this party started.”
Seventeen
The Big Show
Punctual Greg and Deirdre are the first to arrive, of course, followed by Colin. Rae brings up the rear, arriving alone right before kickoff.
“Where’s Molly?” I ask my friend during the first commercial break as we’re cracking open our first beers in the kitchen.
Rae shrugs. “I didn’t feel like bringing a date to this… whatever it is.”
“It’s a party.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Um, let’s run down the attendees here: a crumpet monkey who doesn’t know anything about American football and keeps calling the field a ‘pitch’; an ice queen who doesn’t care about sports, period, and is only here to scope out Jet Knox’s house—and possibly get some patient referrals from him; a guy who would willingly suck your boyfriend’s dick for season tickets, or maybe just for the hell of it; and you, me, and one of my co-workers. Par-tay.”
I clench my fists and my teeth, and then point out, “You didn’t have to come. At least everyone else wants to be here.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for the world. This is going to be highly entertaining. But it was hardly a date night.”
“If you must know, I suggested this so Jet wouldn’t be watching the game alone, miserable.”
Her expression slackens. “Well, that was sweet of you.”
“Thank you.”
“But he’d probably be better off alone.”
“That’s not true. Plus, this is a nice, casual, relaxed setting for Jet to meet my brother. Greg will be too into the game to interrogate us about stuff.”
“I don’t know why you’re worried. Jet has all the answers Greg would love to hear. He has five-, ten-, and fifteen-year plans that make Greg’s goal-setting look half-assed.”
That’s what I’m afraid of, I think but don’t say. It’s not that I’m afraid Jet will say something unsatisfactory to Greg; I don’t want to hear the plans laid out yet again. I’ve done a great job of keeping Jet off that topic for nearly a month now, and that’s a streak I want to keep alive.
We rejoin the group in time to watch the Patriots’ first drive of the game. I perch on the arm of the sofa, next to Jet, and Rae retakes her seat in Jet’s chair, which she claimed before he could (and he was too polite to ask her to vacate). It’s just as well, since Greg would probably be heartbroken if he couldn’t sit beside his host during the game.
“I hope they trip on their own shoelaces.” Greg glances nervously at his couchmate before checking, “Right? I bet you can’t stand these guys.”
Jet laughs. “Well, I should probably root for my Conference. They’re the best team, after all, the team that probably deserves to win.”
“Yeah,” I pipe up. “Plus, if you lose to the team that ends up winning the whole thing, it makes you feel like maybe there was nothing you could do about it. Like it was destiny.”
Greg looks around Jet at me and tilts his head down. “That is one of the dumbest things I’ve ever heard. Do you think the Cowboys are going to feel that way if they lose today? ‘Well, at least we lost to the predestined winner’? No way. Der.”
Jet grabs my hand and smiles up at me. “I get exactly what you mean. And, I agree. I would feel better about our postseason loss if the Patriots won today.”
Greg’s mouth drops open, almost losing the cheese cube he’s popped into it. After he recovers, he says, “I’m sorry, but I can’t root for New England. They’re dirty.” He points to the TV and yells, “Chop block! Not called, of course. See? I rest my case!”
Smiling indulgently at my brother, Jet says, “Hey, man. I lived it. Trust me. But they’re still the better team, and it’s okay; we don’t have to root for the same guys.”
Behind Jet’s head, I stick out my tongue at my brother and mouth, “So there!”
Greg simply laughs. “All right. Whatever. I guess that’ll make it interesting.”
Deirdre squints at the screen. “Are the Cowboys the ones in blue or the ones in white?”
“White!” we all yell.
Well, all of us except for Colin. He says, “Oh, I’m glad someone else asked. Now, why did that bloke get a yellow card a moment ago?”
“It’s a flag, not a card,” Greg says.
“Yes, but since you insist on calling football ‘soccer,’ I feel justified disregarding your sport’s terminology.”
“Real mature,” Rae grumbles. “And he got a penalty for jumping offside.”
“Oooh! Offside. I know what that means.”
“It’s not the same as in soccer,” she tells him with a withering glare.
“I can still infer the meaning in this instance,” he retorts. “I’m not that stupid.”
After another short series that leads to a commercial break, Jet hops up. “Anyone need a drink? I’m heading that way. Colin? Maura told me you’re a Newcastle man?”
Colin stands. “I’ll go with you.”
I’m dying to follow them, but I don’t want to look clingy, so I continue to hold court in the living room, where I steal Jet’s empty seat.
Greg says, “That’s taken.”
“Don’t worry; you can still sit next to your new best friend.”
He looks around the living room. “This place is awesome. Any chance of a full tour during halftime?”
“Put your eyeballs back in your head, you rube,” Rae mutters.
“How much you think a place in this area goes for?” Without waiting for my answer, he shouts across the room to Deirdre, “Hey, hon. Maybe we should sell both of our houses and move to this neighborhood.”
I slap his arm. “Shhhh! You’re being tacky.”
“Look who’s Miss Cool now,” Greg replies. “Someone goes to Hawaii for the Pro Bowl
