While Dad is camped out on the couch, I start to freshenup. I got hot and sweaty in the stands, so I decide to take a quick shower. I’m not sure if I should wear his jersey tonight. What’s the correct protocol for jersey-wearing girlfriends? I decide to change my tank top for a clean one and put on the jersey again. I hope that’s the right way to go. While I get ready, Dad calls Mom to check in and to tell her he’s having pizza with Alex and his parents.
I can hear him talking to her.
“Candy, yeah, I’m staying for dinner, so I’ll be a little later than I first thought. Yeah. What? What’s wrong? Your head hurts? Do you want me to pick anything up for you on the way home? Yes, I’m still staying for dinner. It’s just pizza. I won’t be too late. I think you’ll be okay until I get there, Candace. Right. I’ll call you on my way home to see if you need anything. Great. Goodbye.” He hangs up and sighs.
“Everything okay, Dad?”
“Sure. Your mom has a migraine again.”
“Has she been having those a lot?”
“Only when she isn’t getting her way,” he mutters under his breath, but it’s loud enough for me to hear.
“Thanks for coming today, Dad. I’ve really enjoyed having you here. We need to do it more often, just you and me.” I make a point of saying that last part because it wouldn’t have been nearly as fun with my mom here.
"Yes, we certainly do.”
Chapter Seventeen
STELLA
At exactly five, Alex knocks on the door. The boy is prompt; I’ll give him that. He introduces himself to Dad, again, calling him sir. Dad tells him how impressed he was by the game and his stats. They continue to talk football on the way out as Alex guides me to the elevator with his hand on the small of my back.
We all ride together in the Emerson’s Suburban. It’s big enough to hold all of us. When we walk into the popular pizza place, I can see that it’s packed with people. A lot of the customers are from the team. The hostess sees Alex and, without a second glance, grabs menus and motions for us to follow her. My first thought is there’s no way there’s an available table, but I’m wrong. I hope they didn’t kick anyone out to make room for all of us.
When we reach a large round table, Alex holds a chair out for me, and I sit. Alex sits to my right, my dad to my left next to Jill.
Alex leans down to whisper, “I missed you, Pix.”
I whisper back, “I missed you too.”
“You look perfect in my jersey, babe.”
“Thanks.”
As we place our pizza and salad orders, the conversation turns to today’s game and Alex’s performance. They also talk about the NFL combine––whatever that is—and the NFL draft. I try to pick up new pieces of football knowledge, but my mind has turned to mush ever since Alex started rubbing little circles on my thigh with his finger. It’s very distracting. To make things fair, I place my hand on his inner thigh and rub it back and forth. He immediately stops touching me and pulls his hand back. His eyes are closed, and his breathing has picked up speed. I snicker. He turns toward me and gives me that sexy, heated look. His lids are hooded, and his eyes have turned to a stormy blue. I gently pull my hand away from his leg. I don’t want to give him the wrong idea when my dad is sitting to my left.
He nods and whispers in my ear, “Later, Stella. Paybacks are a bitch.”
My breath hitches, but he just chuckles. The pizza and salads arrive, and I try to stick to just my salad but, of course, that doesn’t fly with my guy. He reaches over me to grab two huge pieces of pizza and puts them on my plate, giving me a look that tells me to eat some damn pizza.
“Alex, please, I can’t eat all of that.” And I mean it.
“I’ll eat what you can’t finish, sweetie.”
Blushing, I look over at my dad. I’m waiting for that look of embarrassment that I’ve seen my whole life, but he’s smiling. First at me, then at Alex, then back to me. He nods and digs into his pizza. Alex’s mom is watching too. Jill and my dad make eye contact, and they smile courteously at each other. The pizza is delicious. I really can only eat one piece because it’s about the size of my head. Alex grabs the other one off my plate and eats it in three bites. He’s already eaten an entire pizza by himself. My goodness the man can eat.
“Stella, what’s your major?” asks Jack Emerson.
“Well, it’s business, sir.”
“Really, do you want to be a small business owner someday?”
“Actually, Dad,” Alex interrupts, “Stella wants to be an artist or an art teacher.”
I take a deep breath and hold it. My dad is going to burst a blood vessel. I look over at him, and he’s grinning at me. Maybe he’s going to wait until we’re alone to let me have it.
“Art, really? What media do you prefer?” asks Jill.
