"Not particularly. Especially not when I have to navigate them by myself."
A pigeon lollygags around in front of me, not caring that he's in my way. As I always do, I speed up without picking my feet up, to create a loud shuffle that scares the feathered fiend into the air.
"What was that about?"
"I was afraid he wasn't going to move." It seems a better answer than telling him about my ornithophobia. He'll find out all the crazy details about me soon enough.
"I'm fairly confident he would have."
"I'm not that confident."
"Birds hardly ever run into people. Moving vehicles, well that's another story." Xavier shakes his head somberly. It's almost like he has sympathy for these harbingers of doom.
"Maybe where you're from. Here, Boston pigeons are like drivers. Full of moxie and sick of everyone's shit. Where are you from, by the way? I feel like a good wife should know this."
"A good wife should. I'm from Gloucester."
I nod like I know where that is. The only one I know about is about forty minutes north of here, and it's a good place to get lobster. I make a mental note to look up the Gloucester he’s referring to later, so I don't seem like an idiot.
More of an idiot.
He continues. "I originally played football for the Bristol Bombers, which is practically my hometown team. They're part of the BFL. The British Football League. It was tremendous, being able to play for the team I grew up watching and idolizing. A real dream come true." His voice is wistful, and he looks as if he's a million miles away.
"Then how did you end up in Baltimore, and why are you so desperate to be traded to Boston?"
My words are enough to snap him out of his reverie.
"That's a story that needs to be told over a pint."
We walk the next block in silence and head to the first bar we see, which happens to be the Sam Adams Taproom. I'm not much of a beer person, so I'm thrilled to see a fruity hard seltzer on tap. Xavier orders some beer. I have no idea what he picks. He seems content with it.
"Okay, you've got your pint. Now spill the tea."
"Right." He takes a long pull from his glass and then proceeds to fidget with his phone without saying anything. As I take a sip of my drink, Xavier snaps a picture.
"What was that for?"
"Instagram. Seemed like a good candid moment." He taps away and then my phone pings with the notification.
Truly lovely. @opheliaxoxo
My heart skips a beat. Then I realize what he did. A pun on my beverage, Truly seltzer, with the location tagged. It's not a bad picture. I smile back at him. "Flattering me on social media won't get you out of the story."
"Right. Okay then." Xavier looks out the window at the busy Quincy Market as he speaks. "A little over five years ago, everything was coming together. I was a starter on the Bristol Bombers, and I think I've already mentioned how chuffed I was to be playing for the hometown team. But also, I'd been named to the British National Team for the Global Games. This was it. Everything I'd ever dreamed of. Every sacrifice was worth it because I was living it finally."
I try to mentally commit his expression to memory. I can see the hero in my book with the same look—wistfulness, pride, hurt—as he confesses something, though I don't know what yet, to the heroine.
He continues. "Edmund Jones is the president of the BFL and responsible for the National Team. You do not want to get on his bad side." Xavier raises an eyebrow.
"I'm guessing you got on his bad side? How?"
Xavier takes another sip of his beer and then offers me a weak smile. "Jones's daughter, Phaedra, was a frequent participant in official BFL activities. A real socialite if you will."
I get a pit in my stomach even imagining where this is going. Xavier's not mine, and this is all in the past anyway, but hearing about him and a woman makes me feel uncomfortable. It shouldn't, but it does.
He continues, "You know how big football is at home, so she liked having her face seen at all the parties. Perhaps a little too much. And apparently, she'd developed quite the pill problem. This was the last big party before our National Team debut. As I was preparing to leave the party, Phaedra was also leaving. She was quite despondent, not at all acting like herself. When I stopped to ask her if she was okay, she said, 'I'm leaving because no one will miss me if I'm gone.' The way she said it, I was afraid she wasn't just talking about the party."
Now, instead of being jealous, the feeling in my stomach intensifies to full-on worry. This can't be good.
