“Are you ready?” she asks, indicating that I’m to invite her to join me for a meal at a fine restaurant, even though it’s just the dining room of the reform school.
I nod, fortifying myself. I can turn the charm on when I want to, but my style is more casual and less committal, like,Do you want to grab a bite to eat?Knowing that won’t satisfy her proper sensibilities, I say, “Want to go out to eat?”
She narrows her eyes as though evaluating. “Good start, but add a little more. Perhaps, ‘I enjoy your company. Would you like to join me for dinner?’”
“It sounds too formal. Too stuffy.” I want to say,too emotional. “I don’t tell women I enjoy their company because that would make them think I want to spend more time with them. Next would come requests for dates, trips to the movies, sporting events, concerts.”
“Is that so bad?”
“Obviously.”
She exhales through her nose and singsongs. “This only confirms that you’re a caveman.”
An annoying question floats into my mind. Do I enjoy Cateline’s company?
She clicks her tongue. “To you, that may sound like too much, but to a lady, you’re indicating that you’d like more than to satisfy your basic needs for food and spend time with her.”
“Exactly. Would you like it if a man said that to you?” I ask.
The question is off-script and must catch her off guard because she tilts her head as though thinking about it. Then she snaps out of it and says, “Moving on.”
“So about that dinner? I’ve never been told no.” My lips quirk.
She practically rolls her eyes.
Part of me wants to appease her and say what I ought to, but I’m Connor “the Wolf.” Rules are more like guidelines and theonly lines I follow are the yards on the football field. Plus, it’s mildly amusing to see primly put-together Cateline so flustered.
As the evening continues, the server brings various courses of the meal. I alternately behave myself and act naughtily just to keep her on her toes.
Sometimes my pinkie is in. Other times, it finds its way out.
I slice each bite of my steak and take a polite bite. Then I’ll stuff my face with mashed potatoes.
I’ll sip my drink and then slurp.
My hands will rest on my lap and then I’ll plant my elbows on the table.
Cateline breaks in and out of character, correcting and instructing me. I wonder if it’s giving her whiplash, or if she realizes I’m toying with her.
When the server removes our entrée plates, I say, “A lot of people think football players are all dumb jocks. What separates those who are professional and have a long career from those who are a flash on the field and then disappear isn’t all skill and strength.”
“Let me guess, it’s endurance?” she asks after daintily wiping her mouth. Her lipstick has faded from the meal, yet I cannot stop staring at her lips.
“Yes, but it’s also intelligence. The long-term successes observe things, don’t rock the boat too hard, learn when to toe the line and when to prank their fellow players to have a little fun.”
“I see you’ve given some thought to your future,” she says, self-satisfied, given our conversation earlier.
The truth is, I haven’t. The words just came out of my mouth, a truth I didn’t realize I’d known all along.
“I’m not dumb. I’ve learned how to play the game on and off the field. I can schmooze and make small talk meaningful whenI want to.” Turns out, all along, I knew what I was doing, yet telling her this out of the blue makes me feel out of control.
She taps the air. “And yet, there is a rebellious streak in you.”
“I prefer to think of it as independence.”
She nods as if she understands this intimately. “Like a cat.”
“Lone wolf.”
