Wildcat: I’m around this weekend
“If that’s Teddy hitting you up again, I’m gonna knock some sense into that boy with my—” Jamie leaned over to look at my screen. “Emmeline, my sweet, my heart, my love, who the hell isWildcat?”
“A friend from high school,” I said, laughing. “It’s his birthday today.”
“And his name is Wildcat?” She laced her fingers together under her chin. “How have you never mentioned this to me?”
I kept laughing. It felt strange. Rusty. Like my body had to teach those muscles how to move again. I guess I hadn’t laughed much recently. “He played football at the University of Arizona. They’re the Wildcats. I had opinions about him going to Arizona so I passive-aggressively called him Wildcat. That’s how he’s stored in my phone. His real name is Ryan.”
“I’ll be honest, I was expecting a more amusing story. Something about growing up in a survivalist cult’s wilderness compound. Or maybe shape-shifting. That would’ve been a lot of fun.” She returned to her Diet Coke with a hearty purr. “Tell me about this Ryan fellow.”
I grinned at my screen as I shot back a quick response. “He plays football. Quarterback. For the Boston team. Or, New England. Whatever it is.”
“You’re on a birthday-text basis with a high school friend who went pro?”
I propped my feet up on the small chair beside me. I wasexhausted. And I was wearing pants with an aggressive waistband-and-button situation that dug into my belly since I was painfully bloated. I should’ve remembered I was headinginto the half of the month that necessitated soft, forgiving fabrics. “Yeah.”
“Again, I have to ask—you’ve never mentioned this to me?”
I motioned to my phone. “This is the most I’ve heard from him in the past few months. Usually we send birthday texts and maybe a random thing about back home. He has a million things going on. These days, I barely see him once a year.”
“But he’s been thinking about you.”
That could mean anything. He could’ve heard one of the songs we used to listen to on repeat while sharing earbuds or a line from a movie we’d quoted to death. He could’ve spotted some tangerines in the grocery store—if he even went to the grocery store for himself anymore. He probably had people for that. Most likely, he could’ve crossed paths with my current stepdad. Or any of the previous ones.
I reread the messages. I knew Ryan. It meant nothing.
“Is he a friend from high school or aboyfriend from high school? Are we talking about some kind of first love situation?” she asked.
“Friend,” I said. “We were always friends.”
Friendship had always been a fragile, fleeting thing for me. Moving a lot as a kid meant I didn’t have many lasting connections. Just as soon as I’d get settled and find my place in a social ecosystem, we’d pick up and leave. For a long time, Ryan was my only friend. Only true friend. And the only one who’d lasted after we’d finished high school and moved away from home. There were people I knew, people I’d hang out with, but no one else like Ryan. Not until I met Grace in college. Jamie and a few other teacher friends came along later.
Jamie gave me an assessing glance. “Are you going to meet up with him?”
“Yeah,” I said, automatically. I’d really wanted to rot in bed all weekend, but I’d always make time for Ryan. Putting realclothes on and acting like a human for one night wouldn’t kill me. “Even in the off-season, his schedule is go-go-go.”
“In that case, I’m going to need to conduct a background check.” She reached for her phone. “For your well-being but also mine, you’re not allowed to mix and mingle with anyone who hasn’t been preapproved. This is part of my research-based post-breakup rehabilitation plan so I’ll accept no back talk about it. What’s this Wildcat’s last name?”
“Ralston,” I said, going back for the popcorn.
“Ryan…Ralston? Why does that sound familiar?” Her brow wrinkled as she typed. “No, no, no. That can’t be—no. You didn’t casually go to high school with one of the most famous players in pro football, Emme.”
She showed me a headline about Ryan’s contract extension making him the highest-paid player in the League. I nodded. “Yeah. He’s done well for himself.”
“I’m never not fascinated by your life, Miss Ahlborg.” Jamie huffed out an incredulous laugh before turning back to her screen. “There’s also the matter of this.”
She enlarged a photo of Ryan, completely naked save for the football loosely held over the juncture between his legs. He’d been part of a special feature in a sports magazine where all the athletes were tastefully nude. When it came out, he’d texted with a link and asked how much shit everyone from high school would give him about it. A lot, we’d agreed.
The hometown loved him, of course, but at their core, they were ballbusters.
“Someone’s entire job was rubbing oil on him for this photo,” she said. “They went to work one day, were handed a jug of the finest oil in the land, and sent in the direction of this naked, hulking man-beast. And they got paid for it.” She shook her head. “I’m in the wrong line of work.”
“Honey, they would’ve fired you the second you dropped to your knees and said,Yes, Daddy.”
She thrust the screen toward me. “Can you blame me?”
I held a hand up to shield my eyes from the dark whorls of tattoos running over his glistening shoulders, down his arms, over his chest. The impossible indents of his abs and the cuts that bracketed the football. “I don’t need the close-up.”
