At this, she pulls Edward from a glittering yellow-and-white-sequined purse shaped like a ram’s head. “Look!”
My heart squeezes in tenderness, then seems to swell within my breast. There upon his froggy head and poised at a no-nonsense game day angle, is a tiny team ball cap.
He gave it to her anyway.Because he knew she’d love it. Because he wanted to make a fan happy.
“And it’s signed! He signed Edward’s hat!”
Sure enough, a small “AL” scrawled in black ink graces the bill.
Monica coos and exclaims over Edward.
As for myself, I focus on the brilliant green grass before me. A hundred yards. Fifty each way. Two sets of shining yellow uprights. With my whole heart, I want August to win.
Because he loves it. Because it will make him happy. And just maybe he needs someone to look after his happiness too.
August
“The proper temperature to roast a chicken is four-fifty for the first fifteen minutes to crisp the skin and seal in the juices. Then lower it to three-fifty for the remainder cooking time so it doesn’t dry out.”
Down on the sidelines isn’t all football, kids.
I bite my lip to keep from smiling as Carter and Williams discuss the best way to make chicken. So far, Carter appears to have the method down pat. Williams takes mental notes. We lost the coin toss and our defense will start. Now, however, we’re on a commercial break.
Guys deal with the adrenaline-filled nerves of waiting in different ways. Some talk smack. Others?
“You’re saying a cast-iron pan is better than a roasting pan?”
“My mama uses cast iron, so I use cast iron.”
“Valid.”
Jelly snorts as he walks past. He’s keyed up, striding back and forth to keep loose. “Just make the damn chicken and invite me over to eat it.”
I do practice throws with my arm to keep it warmed up and limber. Inside, however, I’m struggling to find that focus Penelope urged me to remember. Ironically, the fault lies with her. I kissed Penelope Morrow. The thought rolls round and round like those records her roommate favors. I kissed her, something I’d imagined far too many times. I’ve had dreams about that sweet bud of a mouth, wondered how she’d feel, how she’d sound, how she’d taste.
I still don’t know that last question. Not really. Because even though I’d finally got my mouth on hers, it had been for show. And I’d be damned if I’d invade her mouth with the kind of kiss I really crave under false pretenses. But it had been a very near thing. Multiple times during that soft, sweet kiss, I’d almost slipped, almost grabbed on and simply gorged.
A quiet shiver dances over my skin. Having fought off a hard-on since the moment I got my hands on her, I can’t let it rise here of all places. Frowning, I pull my head—both of them—away from thoughts of Pen and her succulent mouth.
“Did you know there’s a fungus that turns ants into zombies?” I ask no one in particular.
“Say what now?” Carter leans forward, intrigued.
“The ant is infected by the fungus and the fungus then compels the ant to latch onto the underside of a leaf until the ant dies. The fungus grows within its host and eventually shoots spores out of the dead ant’s head to propagate.”
“Get the fuck out,” Jelly exclaims.
“It’s true,” Rhodes puts in. “Heard it on NPR.”
“You listening to NPR?” Carter finds this amusing.
“Helps me relax on the way home.”
“Put your ass right to sleep on the road, is what it’ll do.” Carter smirks.
Jelly makes a sound of wonder. “And here I thoughtThe Last of Uswould never happen.”
“Better watch yourself. If they can come for the ants...”
