I need Fletcher tonotsmile at me while his face is in this temporary hot stage.
Especially since I might be here to offer him an opportunity that would be a favor to me.
“Never mind. Not sorry,” he says. “You ruined my life. The cheese is poisoned.”
I gulp it down. “We all have to go sometime. Wait. You meanI’ll be chained to my toiletpoisoned, orcall my niece and tell her I love her one last timepoisoned? Both definitions ofgofit there.”
“How are you so funny and your brother is such an ass?”
“I didn’t leave any funny genes for him. I was in that womb like,funny gene! It’s all mine! Screw any future siblings! Oooh, another funny gene! Grab that one too!You know. The normal way.”
Fletcher Huxleyapologizedto me. That’s unexpected.
And nice.
He digs into the hummus with his finger, and I think he’s once again trying to stifle a smile.
I take another slice of cheese. Only one this time in case he says something else unexpected, such asyour brother and I have called a truce. “How long have you had Sweet Pea?” I ask him.
Safe topic to ease him into what I need to ask next.
Probably.
“Three years.”
“Did she find you, or did you find her?”
“She found me.”
“Aww.”
He rolls his eyes.
“She’s my favorite thing about you.”
“Same.”
“If you ever need a dog sitter, let me know. A friend of a friend’s husband’s cousin dog-sat all through college here, and she still does on occasion for extra cash. Very discreet. You wouldn’t be her first pro athlete client.”
He nods and takes another swipe of hummus with his finger.
Such a bachelor. I wonder if he’d be eating cucumbers or carrots with it too if I weren’t here. Gnawing right off the end of the vegetable without cutting it.
Probably not, I decide.
Mostly because I think he’d do that with me here if he were going to do it.
“So, why rugby?” I’m here. I’m curious. I love people’s stories. Wouldn’t be good at my job if I didn’t.
And yes, I’m still warming him up.
He eyes me while he licks his finger, which does something it’s not supposed to do to my lady regions and simultaneously makes me glad I’m leaving the country in barely over two weeks.
“I’m good at it,” he answers.
“How old were you when you started playing?”
“Six.”
