To Make You Feel My Loveby Billy Joel
“I’m pretty sure I just ate my weight in fried chicken.” I pushed back a little from the dining room table and exhaled. “It was so delicious, Ellie. Everything was. Thanks so much.”
Ellie Iverson beamed at me from the other side of the table. “Good. I’m glad you enjoyed it. Now maybe you’ll come over more often.”
Next to his wife, Corey laughed and brought her hand up to his lips, turning it to press a kiss to the palm. “Nothing fires up my woman more than the thought of a single man living alone and going hungry. If she had her way, she’d feed all the bachelors on the team every night.”
“Hey.” She swatted at him playfully. “That’s not true. I just like to cook, and I love to see people enjoy what I’ve made.”
“Nothing wrong with that.” I crumpled up my napkin. “I’m more than happy to enjoy it. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get over here. Moving down here and getting settled has taken me some time.”
“Well, now you know your way here. Don’t be a stranger.” She stood up and reached for my plate. “How do you feel about cherry pie?”
I grinned. “I’m not a man to say no to any type of pie.” I rose, too, and pulled the plate away from her. “But I’m also not a man to come to someone’s house, have them make me a wonderful meal, and then let them clean up, too. My mom would beat me if she ever heard about me doing that.”
Ellie laughed. “Your mom and mine would get along. Corey’s mom, too. Okay, then. You two gentlemen handle the dishes, and I’ll make coffee and dish up some pie. Does that sound fair?”
“More than.” I shot my teammate, who was still seated, a pointed look. “Are you a scraper or a dryer, Iverson? I can handle either job.”
He groaned. “Fine. Fine! You know, if you’d left well enough alone, you and I could’ve sat here and let El serve us dessert. If you’d stayed long enough, she’d have had the dishes done, and I would’ve gotten off clean-up duty for once. But no. No, you have to go and be all polite, which now means I’m stuck.” He mock-glared at his wife, and she stuck out her tongue at him.
“Sorry, dude. But you know us bachelors. We have to make sure you married men keep up with your game.”
He flipped me off good-naturedly. “You rinse. I’ll load the dishwasher. El’s particular about how it’s done, and I know what she likes.”
Ellie waggled her eyebrows. “You sure do, babe.”
I winced. “And this is why the single guys don’t hang out with the marrieds more often. There are some things you just can’t un-hear.”
Corey hooted with laughter as I followed him into their kitchen. I set up shop in front of the sink and began rinsing off the plates, depositing the silverware in a bowl and filling it with hot water.
“Look at you. I can tell you have experience with dishes.” Ellie carried over a few pots and pans. “If you’re up to it, these get hand washed.”
I shot her a look of incredulous pity. “If I’mup to it? Please. We didn’t get a dishwasher in my house until I was eleven. And since I’m the youngest of three boys, I always got the shit job of washing, while Simon and Danny did the fun stuff, like drying and putting things away. I can wash circles around these dishes.”
She backed up, holding up her hands. “Calm down there, buddy! I’m not doubting your ability. Not one bit.” As she passed by Corey, she patted his ass and mock-whispered, “Watch out for the psycho rookie! Don’t let him wash any knives.”
Corey cracked up, and then we fell into a companionable silence, Corey and I working together and Ellie over at the coffee maker, adding water and scooping in the grounds.
Our conversation at dinner had centered mostly around the team, our season—which was winding down—and our slim chance for a wildcard spot in the playoffs. We’d had a fairly decent year, but there was no doubt our team was still in its building stage, and other teams had performed better. Corey had pointed out that two years ago, we would have clinched a spot by this far into the season, but this year, the good teams were just playing better.
We hadn’t gotten into anything remotely personal, but now as Ellie hummed quietly to herself and began taking out small round plates for pie, I could almost feel the curiosity coming off her in waves.
“So, Leo.” She was playing it cool, trying to act as though this was nothing more than an innocent question. “How in the world did a hot piece of man meat like you get this far without some lucky woman snatching you up?”
“El, seriously?” Next to me, Corey shook his head and cast me a half-apologetic, half-speculative glance. “Man meat?”
“Babe, it’s what all the girls say. And believe me when I say that they use that exact phrase and worse when they’re talking about Leo the Lion here.”
I sighed. “Not the Lion. Please. Anything but that. It’s been following me around since high school, and I’m tired of it.”
“Sorry.” Ellie wrinkled her nose. “I get it. My sisters used to call me Ellyphant when we were growing up. They still do it to be mean now and then. I hate it.”
“Who knew I had a veritable zoo right here?” Corey snickered. “Now me, I never had any nicknames. Just plain old Corey Iverson.”
His wife ignored him. “So no more Lion, but still. Answer the question. Why are you still single, sweetie? I’d assume it was just that you enjoy the playing the field—and I’m not talking about the big G Game here, but I noticed that you haven’t been a party boy so far this year.”
“Yeah, I’m not much into parties and bars. Don’t get me wrong. I like to have a good time. But I saw what too much of that could do to a person, and I don’t want to slip down that particular road.”
