The Boyfriend League (7 page)

“Trust me. We didn't.”

I wasn't so sure, though, when we walked
into the kitchen where Dad was giving Jason pointers on driving in the rain, as though Ragland offered challenges he might never have encountered before.

Their jaws dropped.

Mom had been taking the lid off the tub of tonight's dinner—fried chicken. Even she looked stunned.

I felt a need to explain. “My eye turned black. I asked Tiffany to cover up the bruising.”

“Well, she did an outstanding job,” Mom said.

“Took me three hours,” Tiffany said. “I need to get ready to go to the hospital. Have fun at Dave and Bubba's.”

She left, and I wondered if I should go back upstairs, step into the shower, and wash everything off. Display my bruised face with pride.

“Do I need to put on a suit for this place?” Jason asked. “'Cuz I thought anything named Bubba's would be casual.”

He was wearing a black T-shirt tucked into jeans. And his baseball cap.

“No, you're fine. I'm fine,” I said, because I was sorta starting to enjoy that everyone was
looking at me. “We can leave whenever.”

“Let's go then,” Jason said.

“Here, take this,” Dad said, handing him a bright red umbrella that four people could stand beneath. “I know it's not raining at this precise moment, but the weather channel promised more rain later in the night.”

“Thanks,” Jason said, although he looked embarrassed, like maybe he was the kinda guy who preferred collapsible umbrellas. And who could blame him?

Thank goodness it
had
stopped raining. I was wearing sandals, and my feet got a little wet as we made our way to the car, but I could live with it.

Once he started the car, I said, “I just want you to know I'm paying for my meal, because I know it'll be full price, and I didn't want you to think I was expecting you to pay for it, because this isn't a date. It's just the team and the host sisters, brothers, whatever, getting together to have some fun tonight since it's raining…or was raining…it's obviously not raining now. And you're just giving me a ride, not a meal.”

Shut me up! Shut me up! Shut me up!

He shifted into reverse, then backed out of the driveway. “I'm buying your dinner.”

“No, really—”

“Dani.”

It was the first time I could recall him actually saying my name. I loved the way it just rumbled, his voice so deep, so perfect. I wanted him to say it again, over and over.

But he'd stopped in the middle of the street. I figured any minute Dad was going to come barreling out of the house to find out what was wrong. I looked over at Jason.

“I'm buying your dinner, as my thanks to you for convincing your family to host me. Just accept it, okay?”

I nodded. “Okay.”

He drove, and I settled into my seat, wondering what other surprises the night might hold.

N
o surprise. I was the only one at Dave and Bubba's not wearing a Ragland Rattlers cap. Talk about feeling disloyal. And uncomfortable.

My discomfort must have shown, because while we were waiting in line to get our food, Jason took off his cap, folded it, and stuck it in his back jeans' pocket.

“You don't have to do that on my account,” I said.

He shrugged. “I was taught not to wear a hat indoors.”

I wasn't sure I'd ever met anyone who did things with so little fanfare. I thought about telling him to put his hat back on, but the truth was, it made me feel less self-conscious not to be the only one.

Like most barbecue places, Dave and Bubba's had a very rustic feel to it. The wooden walls were decorated with old license plates and the jukebox in the corner offered only country songs. The tables were covered in red-and-white checkered tablecloths, and the chairs were almost as uncomfortable as the ones in the ER waiting room.

The place was noisy and packed. Once we got our food—chicken, pinto beans, potato salad, and coleslaw for me, and the same plus beef and sausage for Jason—we went looking for a place to sit. Fortunately, Bird had saved us seats at the table where she was sitting with Brandon.

“Whoa! Where'd your black eye go?” she asked as I set my tray down and sat beside her.

“Tiffany covered it up for me.”

“I'll say. I hate to think how much she damaged the ozone with all the hairspray she must have used on your hair.”

“Thanks, Bird. You look nice this evening, too,” I said.

The waitress dropped off a basket of hot rolls. I grabbed one and started slathering butter on it.

“Sorry. It's just a shock to see you looking so…”

“Pretty.”

“You've always been pretty.”

“Oh, please. Can we move on to another subject?” I glanced over to see Jason eating and talking with Brandon.

“Yeah, I think we better. I've heard of head injuries changing people's personalities—”

“Bird, you don't live with a beauty queen, okay? I know when it comes to appearances, I'll always fall short. And if you want to know the truth, I'm a little self-conscious about the whole makeover.”

“Sorry,” she said.

“Subject change?”

“Right.” She looked around as though searching for a subject.

I hated being so irritable, but I just didn't feel like me tonight.

“Sorry,” I said.

“Not a problem.” She smiled, either because I sounded like my old self or she'd thought of a subject. “Hopefully the rain will end tonight and the games will start up again
tomorrow. Three away games in a row. You interested?”

“Of course. I can't believe you even asked.”

“After last night's experience, I'd understand if you wanted to stay away for a while.”

“No way. What are the odds of it happening again?”

She leaned near and whispered, “No game Sunday. Brandon officially asked me to go to the summer concert with him. Our first date.”

“What's tonight?”

“Tonight's a team thing. Anyway, do you want me to…you know?”

Set me up.
I shook my head. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Bird, they haven't even been here a week yet. I'm okay with you having a date and me not.”

“If you're sure.”

“It's not a big deal.” Not unless we made it one.

As soon as we finished eating, we went to the back room where Dave or Bubba had set up half a dozen pool tables. Along the walls were pinball and old video game machines. I'm
talking original Pac-Man. It was like this was where old games were put out to pasture. As a result, beside each machine was a bowl of tokens, which you used to play. They made their money on the beer people bought while playing.

Not that we'd be doing any beer-buying tonight.

“Do you play pool?” Jason asked.

We were standing against the wall, waiting for something to open up, watching as Bird and Brandon played at a table that had become available right after we walked into the room.

“A little,” I said.

“There's a table. Want to give it a shot?”

“Sure.”

We walked over and took the cue sticks from Chase and Ethan.

Ethan did a double take as he handed me the cue stick. “Whoa. I didn't recognize you. How's the head?”

“Not bad. Just a little bruised.”

He grinned. “Glad to hear it.”

Chase smiled broadly at me as he walked by. Was this how Tiffany felt, with guys always
noticing her? Was it the makeup and hair, or were they just all glad to see I'd survived the conking on the head?

Jason racked up the balls and let me break. The balls scattered, but none slipped into any pockets. He gave me one of his rare slow, sexy smiles before bending over to the task at hand. He pointed to the red ball and then the corner pocket. Then he proceeded to make it happen.

Actually, I didn't mind watching him, watching him move around the table, watching his concentration.

“I think you can beat him.”

I glanced over my shoulder and smiled. Mac was standing there wearing a jersey. Not his team jersey. This one had Mickey Mouse written across it, obviously a souvenir from a vacation at Disney World. “Hi.”

“How's the head?”

“You know, I'm thinking about making a sign that says, ‘I feel fine' and hanging it around my neck.”

“So it wasn't an original question?”

“No, but it was nice of you to ask.”

“Hey, I'm a nice guy.”

“Your turn.”

I jerked around. Jason was standing there. His smile gone, his expression serious.

“You missed?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, then.” I went to the table. He hadn't missed much. Other than the white one, the table had one solid ball remaining. The others—mine—were striped. I leaned over the table.

“Want me to help you beat him?” Mac asked, his arms coming around me, his hands resting over mine. “Loosen up.”

I wasn't sure how I was supposed to do that with him being so close, with me being able to feel the heat from his body. I swallowed hard, barely aware of anything other than his directing the cue stick. We hit the white ball that hit a yellow striped ball that sent an orange striped ball into the side pocket.

“See? Easy,” he said in a low voice near my ear.

“Think I've got it,” I said, not entirely comfortable with him being so close. I didn't know why. Maybe because I was acutely aware of Jason watching us.

Mac backed off, and I moved around to hit another ball. But I must not have lined everything up properly, because again nothing went into any pockets.

Jason moved into position and promptly pocketed the last solid ball, then all the striped ones.

“How about letting me have a turn at playing Dani?” Mac asked.

“Sure,” Jason said. “No problem.”

He handed Mac the stick, then walked toward me. When he got near, he pulled the cap from his back pocket and settled it on my head. “It'll keep the light out of your eyes. Improve your game.”

Then he walked out of the room, probably to get something to drink. I lifted his hat up, settled it back into place. It did help with the light, but I wondered if there was more to it than that. If maybe he was staking a claim.

“You can break,” Mac said, as though my wearing Jason's hat held no significance whatsoever.

He beat me almost as soundly as Jason had. When we were finished, he handed off the
cue sticks to two guys waiting to play.

“Listen, some of the guys have been talking about this free concert on Sunday night. I was wondering if you want to go.”

“You mean with you?”

He laughed. “You see anyone else standing here asking?”

I nodded. “Yeah, sure, I'd like that.”

He flashed a big grin and tugged on the brim of my cap. “Great. I'll see you Sunday.”

He strode to the far side of the room and started talking to some of the other players. I realized we hadn't discussed details, like time, place, dress, but then I figured it would work out. And I'd see him at the game tomorrow. I looked around for Bird, but I didn't see her anywhere.

I walked out of the room and spotted Jason sitting at a table, drinking from a brown bottle. Was he drinking beer?

But when I got closer, I saw it was root beer.

“Hey,” I said, wondering why I was either short on words or babbling when I spoke to him. I touched his hat. “Didn't help. I still lost.”

The game, anyway. I'd won a date.

“Mac's pretty good at pool,” he said.

“You're no slouch, either.”

“It didn't look like you were paying attention.”

In the beginning, until Mac had shown up, I'd been riveted.

“When I was looking at the program last night, I noticed you and Mac play for the same university,” I said, doing our usual change-the-subject thing. “You must know each other pretty well.”

“Pretty well.”

“He seems really nice.”

“He's a pretty good guy.”

Not exactly a resounding endorsement. But then guys probably didn't spend a lot of time complimenting other guys.

He's the best. He's the greatest. If I were a girl, I'd definitely go out with him.

“Have you seen Bird?” I asked.

“Yeah. She and Brandon left. Something about catching a movie.”

“Oh.” I looked around, wondering what to do now.

“Are you ready to go?” Jason asked.

I nodded. “Yeah, I'm really kinda wiped out. I guess I'm not completely recovered.”

“Takes a while.”

He finished off his root beer in one long gulp. I was mesmerized watching his throat work. He set the bottle on the table and got up. “Let's go.”

We went outside and stood on the covered porch. It was raining again. Hard.

“Crap, I left the umbrella in the car,” he said. “Let me go get—”

“Don't be silly. I won't melt.”

“You sure?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Okay, then.”

He grabbed my hand—his was so warm, so large—and we made a mad dash across the puddle-filled parking lot. He had his keys out and was beeping the locks before we got there. We both jumped inside, through opposite doors, at the same time.

Laughing, drenched, and cold.

“I'll get the heater going,” he said, cranking up the car.

“It's June, in Texas.”

“I know, but I'm cold.”

I was, too. I was shivering. Still, it seemed odd to use the heater in summer.

Warm air blasted up through the floorboards. It felt so good. Wishing I had a towel, I used my fingers to wipe the raindrops off my face. My wet face that had been partially protected by the brim of his cap. Which would have worked if the rain fell straight down. This had been slashing across.

“Oh, no.”

“What?” Jason said.

“Turn on the light.”

He did. I lowered the sun visor, looked at my reflection in the mirror, groaned, and slapped the visor back into place. “Turn the light off.”

“What's wrong?”

I didn't look at him, didn't want him to see. “The makeup ran.”

Not as badly as I'd expected, but I had dark smudges beneath my eyes and my bruising was more visible.

“So what?”

I leaned my head back. “I look worse than I did the night you met me.”

“I thought you looked fine.”

I rolled my head to the side, so I could see him. Hoping the shadows made it so he couldn't see me. “What are you talking about? I looked like a Cirque du Soleil performer.”

“What are
you
talking about?”

“The black dots around my eyes?”

He shook his head. “I'm lost.”

“You were staring—”

“Oh, yeah.” He gazed through the windshield. “Sorry about that. I've just never seen eyes as green as yours. I was trying to figure out if you wore contacts.”

“You were looking at my eyes?”

“Yeah.”

“Not the makeup?”

He turned his attention back to me. “I didn't realize you were wearing any. That night, anyway. Tonight it's pretty obvious.”

“Oh.” Didn't I feel silly? “I thought—” I shook my head. “Never mind.” On second thought…

“You don't like all the makeup?”

“I just don't think you need it. I mean, you look pretty without it.”

Oh, really?
That was totally unexpected.

He started tapping the steering wheel like he was listening to a rock concert, or suddenly embarrassed, maybe wishing someone would shut
him
up. “Sorry I don't have a towel in the car.”

Subject change. He
was
embarrassed. How cute was that?

“That's okay. We should probably get home, anyway, and we have plenty of towels there.”

“Right.”

He shifted into reverse and did that thing guys do where they twist their whole bodies and put their arm across the back of the seat. Only his car had bucket seats, and his fingers grazed my cheek and then jerked as though they'd been stung, before he grabbed the back of the headrest.

He was staring at me, really staring at me, and I wondered if he wanted his fingers to touch my cheek again, because I wanted them to. I wanted to feel that spark again, that little
spark I felt every time he gave me the slightest accidental touch.

“Do you like Mac?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah,” I said really quickly, too quickly.

He nodded, looked over his shoulder, and backed out of the parking spot.

As we drove home, a heavy silence filled the car. I began to wonder if maybe he hadn't really been asking if I liked Mac.

If maybe he'd been asking something completely different. Maybe he'd been asking if I liked
him.