“What theme are you going for, then?” he asks, not moving from the chair.
“Uh,” I take a stab at coyness when I say, “It’s a surprise.”
“A surprise theme?”
“No. I mean, I’m not ready to unveil it yet. I still have some details to work out.”
Like all of them. This girl knows how to procrastinate.
“Remember, your budget’s not that big,” Arnold-the-killjoy points out.
“I’ll skip the food cart and serve cookies and lemonade. Hey, Arnold. Uh, I have to go.” I shift from foot to foot.
He rises slowly from the chair. “Sorry! Thought you’d be making up for coming in later than usual this morning.”
I blush, remembering the reason for my tardiness. “Oh. That. Yes. I’ll skip lunch tomorrow. But thanks for reminding me.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles on his way from my office.
I follow closely behind him as he crosses the threshold into the waiting area. Without warning, he turns to face me, so I freeze, to prevent running into his pot belly, and smile expectantly and politely.
He rubs his neck. “Out of curiosity, do you think your boyfriend might be interested in showing up at the spring fair to sign autographs? That would be something fun I could incorporate for free.”
Buh-rother. My relationship with Jet has been a major distraction at the office. The part-time receptionists and job counselors, both male and female, hound me about him every chance they get.
“Is he ripped?”
“Is he, like, totally a perfect gentleman? Because he seems so nice at the press conferences, and one time, my baby cousin was in the hospital with dehydration from the flu, and he came up to the floor to visit the sick kids, and my aunt said he was, like, totally nice.”
“What’s his house like?”
“How many cars does he have?”
“Does he, like, hang out with all the other players, like, all the time?”
“Where does he take you on dates?”
And the football fans quiz me constantly about the Draft and the team’s upcoming offensive and defensive strategies. Like Jet and I sit around and talk about that stuff. Okay, sometimes we do, but I’m hardly going to repeat it.
Now, to Arnold, I say, “I can ask. But off-season training will have started by then, so I can’t make any promises.”
“I appreciate your asking for me. Thanks.”
I nod and smile. “Of course. Good night. See you tomorrow.”
He leaves the building, raising his hand in a final (finally!) farewell without turning, which leaves one other counselor and me in the suite. Before she can engage me in the latest round of “What’s it like to be Jet Knox’s girlfriend?” I close my office door and jog for the exit.
Nineteen
Reconnecting with Rae
I’ve become one of those hideous people who neglects her friends when she’s in a serious relationship with a guy. This is a first for me, since I’ve never been in a serious relationship with a guy, much less an all-consuming guy like Jet. I underestimated how much time we’d be spending together in the early off-season, when there’s virtually nothing to keep him busy except staying in shape, doing his volunteer work, and occasionally spending a day or two fulfilling obligations with his endorsements. It leaves several unfilled hours in his week, hours he wants to fill with me, when I’m not at work.
For the past month, ever since the Super Bowl, Jet and I have enjoyed relative solitude, basking in each other’s company in a cozy bubble where only the two of us exist—in our minds, anyway. It’s not that we never socialize with anyone else, but the outings don’t last long. Without realizing we’re doing it, we tend to ignore everyone around us, until they give up and abandon us. Or vice versa. Not that anyone wants to be around us right now. We’re admittedly toothache-inducing, with our snuggling, murmuring, and gazing, not to mention all our giggling at inside jokes.
It’s been heady and fun, but I’ve started to feel guilty about my lack of input in my friendships with Rae and Colin.
Colin’s easier to appease than Rae, of course. Once a week, I meet him for lunch. He regales me with stories about the Blue Rinse Brigade, and I tell him about the latest things going on in my life, and we’re good. Rae needs more than that from me. I have to carve out real time with her, time that could be spent with Jet, or she doesn’t feel I’m giving enough.
For the past several weeks, and the first time in my life, I’ve been asked by many different people to juggle many different things. Work stuff, friend stuff, Jet stuff, family stuff. I’m assuming it’s something I’ll eventually get used to and possibly master, with enough practice, but as of now, I suck at it. Hardcore.
Today, Rae emails me at work:
Do you remember what I look like? Because you’re going all fuzzy in my head, that’s how long it’s been since we’ve hung out. Do you have plans tonight? Or any night in the next month? Year?
Able to hear her saying all of that in my head, I smile and type back:
I’m free as can be tonight. I’ll call you.
It feels a bit cheap, because I won’t be sacrificing Jet time to hang out with her (he’s out of town, filming a razor commercial and making a quick stopover at his parents’ for a couple days’ visit), but it’s better than nothing, right?
By the time Rae shows up at my house, I’m in one of Jet’s countless castoff Chiefs hoodies and a pair of yoga pants, my hair hanging in two braided pigtails against my shoulders. She takes one look at me and says, “You’re wearing each other’s clothes now?”
I roll my eyes at her. “He’s not wearing anything of mine, obviously. But I like his stuff. It’s comfy, and it smells good.”
“And makes you look like a little girl in her daddy’s clothes.”
“Ew.”
“Exactly. Where do you want this jug of
