“I am a man; the lookout man. Carry on.”
Rae defends herself, “I only mentioned it seemed out of character. For both of them.”
Colin pokes his head around the door frame. “Maura’s right. This is none of our business.”
I bite the inside of my cheek but say, “Drop it, okay? There’s no story here. We’re taking our time, letting things progress organically. If you want to know the truth—”
“No, we want you to keep lying to us about organic sex. Like we were born yesterday,” Rae says.
“Why are you being so terrible about this?” Colin asks, returning more fully to the room. “That’s not how friends act. You don’t bully someone to confide in you, then interrupt them with sarcastic asides when they seem like they’re about to open up.”
She shoots him a middle finger. He responds with the two-fingered English equivalent.
“Enough!” I hiss at the bickering pair and glance nervously at the kitchen doorway I expect Jet, Deirdre, and Greg to walk through at any second. “The truth is, I’m scared. There. Are you happy?”
Rae scoffs. “Scared of what? It’s not like it’ll be your first time.” She laughs but quickly sobers. “Oh, Lord. Did you tell Jet it would be your first time? He’s stupid enough to believe that.”
“He’s not stupid. And no, I haven’t lied to him. But the thing is, he’s not just another piece of ass, all right?”
“Romantic,” Rae grumbles under her breath, earning her another murderous look from Colin.
I ignore both of them and continue, suddenly needing to say it out loud, but needing to do it quickly, before I lose my nerve. “Every relationship I’ve ever had has fallen apart, and most of the time, I haven’t cared, because I wasn’t serious about those guys. But this time, I’m actually afraid of screwing it up. Like, lie-awake-in-the-middle-of-the-night scared. I care what happens next, despite being unsure what I want to happen next. So sue me if I’m delaying the inevitable for a while. I’m paralyzed, worried that whatever decision I make next will be the one that sends Jet running.”
“Lady Maura, take my breath away! That’s quite a statement.”
“Well, it’s true,” I grouch at the floor. “And you know what? It sucks to feel this way. So if you don’t mind, shut up about it.”
Colin claps a hand on my shoulder. “You’ve got it. Not another mention of it. Didn’t mean to upset you. Sorry, mate.”
Eyes wide, Rae mutters, slightly less contrite, “Sorry. Geez.”
Before I can accept either apology, the others arrive. Jet grins at Colin, Rae, and me. “Hey, guys! The second half has started. What’s going on in here? Looks like a meeting of the minds.”
We mumble separate things at our feet.
Greg saves us by saying, “That bed is incredible! I’m telling you, Deirdre and I are going to get one of those. It goes on for miles!”
Jet pulls beers from the fridge and passes them around. “Like I told Greg, I need a California King because I’m too tall for standard beds. But it’s also come in handy for other things.” He turns, closes the refrigerator, and wiggles his eyebrows at us. “Torzi’s kind of a bed hog.”
Everyone laughs but me.
The party’s over, the leftovers are in the fridge, and the guests are gone. Jet and I lie on our backs on separate couches, recapping the game. Well, Jet recaps the game. He’s still stunned—and not as disappointed as he thought he’d be—that the Cowboys did what hardly any other team, including his, was able to do this season, and on the biggest stage possible: beat the Patriots. By a field goal. In overtime.
It was an epic match. But after halftime, I wasn’t as interested as I normally would be. My kitchen conversation with Rae and Colin left me queasy, and the couple of beers I’d had until that point made me sleepy. For the rest of the game, I sat on the floor at Jet’s feet, where I could doze, unnoticed, with my head against his legs. Occasionally, a roar from the others would rouse me, and I’d animate long enough to figure out what was happening, but for the most part, I didn’t care.
And when I don’t care about the Super Bowl, that’s telling.
As the guests were leaving, Rae was too busy yammering at Jet about what a great game it turned out to be—“Much better than I anticipated, and—hey!—revenge for the injuries those a-holes gave us. How’s that shoulder doing, by the way, Knox?”—to notice I barely said goodbye to her.
Greg and Deirdre were falling all over themselves to try to secure their next invite to Casa de Knox.
Colin, however, pulled me in for one of his three hugs of the day and said, “Tell him. You’ll sleep better tonight for it.”
I nodded my agreement, but I’m not sure I have it in me right now to have that conversation. Plus, Jet’s in such a good mood. It would be a shame to ruin that with heavy talk about feelings.
More than anything, I’d like to go home and go to bed. But the thought of moving right now seems like an impossible task. Nodding and grunting at the right times during Jet’s enthusiastic monologue is much more doable.
“And we’ve talked about it so many times, but the field goal kicker,” he says from the other couch. “That’s what it came down to tonight. Dallas’s kicker was clutch; New England’s guy had a great night but missed that one in regulation that would have won the whole shebang for them. Bam. Most important guy on the team. Not the quarterback. The kicker.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Awesome. I still think New England was the better team—they lost a single game in the regular season. But Dallas showed up today, and that’s all that matters.”
“Yep.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say the Patriots underestimated their opponent.”
“Totally.”
“And when
