“Yes, sir. I’ll save you a piece.” I knew he’d say no, but a quick, friendly one-on-one with a guy like Brian Atkins could mean the difference between winning and losing the Heisman. And there’s nothing I want more this year than to take home the most prestigious award in college sports.
After saying goodbye to Brian, I head back to the tailgate, wanting to hang out with Minnie a little longer before I go home for a nap and some solo time. But she and Cam are alone by her SUV, Minnie holding him at arm’s length and smiling up at him as he talks, pride radiating from her.
Hanging back, I busy myself by grabbing a sparkling water from Gina’s cooler and asking Lorenzo’s dad about his summer. I know I’m welcome to interrupt Minnie and Cam anytime. I never question that I’m part of their family. But maybe Cam wants a few minutes alone with his mother sometimes; I know I would.
Lorenzo and Cash join me, and we shoot the shit for a while, recapping the highlights of the game, but suddenly I don’t feel so chatty. Something about thinking ahead to the Heisman ceremony in December after our regular season ends and looking around the parking lot at my teammates and their families brings on a wave of nostalgia.
It’s the last time we’ll ever do something like this. There will be tailgates at every game and I’ll probably see all these faces again at one point or another, but this is the last time we’ll celebrate a home opener. Next year, our team will be spread across the country. Actually, we won’t even be a team anymore, except in our own minds. Only a small percentage of us will even be playing football by then.
I probably have the best shot at it, and I know that makes some of the guys a little envious, but they don’t get that it doesn’t fill me with pride or even a sense of security to know I’m the most likely to go pro; it sends fear running through me. Yeah, it would be a dream come true, but it’s also all I have. Literally. My grades suck, I have no internship experience, and my résumé is blank. My degree will get me nowhere. And I don’t have the family business—or family, period—to fall back on like the other guys. I don’t have choices.
This right here is my family. And next year? All I know I can count on is football.
SIX
jade
Tuesday isa slow night at work so I alternate between ignoring Reeve and watching him. It’s hard not to let my eyes linger when he strides across the restaurant floor, his formidable size made even more striking next to Somerset’s delicate furniture and froufrou clientele. But I’m mostly watching so I can judge all his newbie server mistakes.
Infuriatingly, he doesn’t make very many, and when he does, the charm that he wears like armor is always there to save him. Guests turn to stare at him every time he sweeps through the restaurant, and the number of bar napkins I’ve had to fetch so His Royal Highness can scribble down his signature has got to be costing the restaurant. I should tell Cecily.
Halfway through the night, Reeve’s serving a table of six fiftysomething ladies and good god, it’s sickening to watch them smiling and laughing at his every word and gazing at him like they’re ready to pick up a spoon and devour him. I’m just waiting for one of them to ask whether they can orderhimfor dinner. He doesn’t pay much attention to me, but I swear, every time he catches me watching him, it’s when he’s coming offsome stupid joke that has his table laughing like they’re at a comedy club with a three-drink minimum.
It’s after one of these moments that he walks by me and smirks as I bag a take-out order. “Got a pen?” he asks on his way to the kitchen. “I smell an autograph signing coming on.”
God, how can a smirk be so maddening and so sexy all at once? I grit my teeth, searching for a comeback. “That’s the smell of your own bullshit,” I manage, but I have to say it quietly, and by then he probably doesn’t even hear me. I’ve always thought I’d be kinda funny if I could think on my feet.
Just once do I catch him without his cocky smile locked in place. I’m in search of a new box of ballpoint pens when I spot him in our server station, the little alcove where the clean tableware is kept out of sight of the customers. He must think no one is watching, because he shuts his eyes, takes a breath deep enough to puff up his already-broad chest, and then slowly opens his eyes again before turning to the stack of clean white plates on the shelf.
It’s so out of character with his usual self-assuredness that it feels like a private moment. But instead of turning away and pretending I didn’t see, I find myself stepping inside the alcove. I need to reset a table anyway.
“All good?” I ask, reaching into the basket to get four sets of silverware.
He stiffens and looks at me like he’s surprised by either my words or my mere presence in his private space. “I’m fine,” he says flatly. Which is how I know he’s not. I’ve never heard him say a single word without confidence, exuberance, or boasting. I should be glad; I’ve waited all night for him to encounter a single struggle, but I get no satisfaction from it.
I could nod and walk off, but something makes me stay. I reach for two appetizer plates that I don’t really need. “Good.My first few nights around here sucked.” I glance over my shoulder. “Cecily totally gets off on watching her staff sweat.”
He laughs softly. “You sweat overthesepeople?” He nods toward the floor, which is almost entirely elderly, buttoned-up, and reeking of old money. “Can’t picture it.”
I shrug, caught between wanting to maintain my image in his eyes and wondering why the hell I care.
“Jade!” Cecily’s harsh voice cuts through the air. “What are we doing here, folding swan napkins? There are people waiting up front.”
I shoot Reeve a quick told-you-so look, leave my plates and silverware on the counter, and head for the hostess station. When I reach it, I peek over my shoulder at the alcove, but Reeve is gone.
Later, I’m seating a party of four in his section when I notice him show the couple at his table an expensive bottle of wine.Big tip coming his way,I think, not without bitterness. But on my way back to the hostess stand, I see him struggling with the cork. He’s got most of it out, but there’s a chunk missing. He examines the bottle, looking uncertain but calm. I walk on by. At the front, I look back and see that he’s poured some wine into a glass and he’s holding it up. Even from here, I can see the crumbled remnants of cork floating in the glass. He picks up a spoon.Oh no. Don’t do it.
I watch in shock as Reeve tries to fish the pieces of cork out of the wineglass with the spoon.What the hell is he thinking?The stunned looks on the faces of his two guests are more than I can take. I book it to the back of the restaurant and grab a decanter with a screen, then hustle back to his table, slowing down before his guests can see I practically ran here. I smile, trying to hide my secondhand embarrassment for Reeve.
“You were looking for this?” I say, presenting the decanter to Reeve. But instead of being relieved, he looks at me quizzically.Take it, you idiot!I want to yell. I nod, silently urging him to play along. Does he enjoy looking like a complete fool in front of his table?
He clears his throat. But with help finally at his side, his confident demeanor fades, and for the first time, he looks annoyed. “Thanks,” he mutters and takes the decanter from me, avoiding eye contact.
Seriously?I want to give him a dirty look for being such an ingrate when I just saved his ass, but then I remember that I’m good at my job—unlike certain other meatheads who shall not be named—and I give his guests a reassuring smile, then turn on my heel and head back to my station.
The night picksup and guests are waiting. I have to deal with a loud, unhappy mom who thinks she should be able to jump the line because her three-year-old twins are starving. I’d like to suggest her hangry monsters might be happier at the McDonald’s down the street, but instead I smile and make her wait like everyone else. I can already see it: She’ll be a shitty tipper and her kids will drop buttered noodles all over the floor and she won’t apologize for it. I feel bad for whoever has to serve her, but then karma kicks in: A table opens in Reeve’s section, and I seat her and the twins in it. It’s a good night.
It’s just after closing and I’m clocking out when Reeve walks into the office. He leans over the desk, spreading his hands on the surface, so his head is above the computer where I’m signing out.
