I don’t mind that. Not one bit. She could look at me all day, which means I can return the favor.
Is that cracking inside attraction, or lightning striking down the notion?
Or perhaps she’s doing everything in her power not to get ruffled by my immature behavior. Maybe she’s testing me. After all, she did say it’s an evaluation. She gave me a do-over. Perhaps I’d be wise to heed it. Certainly, I don’t want any of this to get back to Coach Hammer or the commissioner. I check my watch.
“Have somewhere to be?” she asks.
I don’t, but I also don’t want the evening to end.
The server asks if we’d like dessert. Maggie quickly declines as though she’s only tolerating the meal with me because it’sher job. This is something I’ve never encountered before with a woman, no less my purported best friend. It throws me off my game. Sure, something passed between us in the hallway, but other than that, she’s as frosty as the snow on the peaks of the Concordian mountains, even now, during summer.
I straighten in my chair. “Listen, I want to apologize again for the water earlier. That was immature of me.”
“Says the guy who knows which utensils to use for the various parts of the meal, but repeatedly talks with his mouth full, slurps his drink, and has been waving his fork around while talking like he’s conducting a symphony.”
“A symphony of delicious flavors,” I say with a smirk.
Her nostrils flare.
My eyebrow arches. “So you noticed?”
“Are you purposefully making this difficult?”
My smirk deepens as I lean back in my chair. “Difficult? Well, it is becoming cumbersome to think of ways that I could get your attention, but I have a few more up my sleeve.”
“Are you experiencing a delayed case of the terrible twos?” Her eyes flash as if she’d like to drop character and put me on the naughty step. “Why would you want to annoy me, Mr. Printz?”
I lean in close and say, “Because I’m being me. That was the plan, right?” Then, louder, I say, “Because this is ridiculous. I shouldn’t have to suffer through etiquette lessons. I’m a grown man. We pranked the rookie. So what?”
But what I don’t mention is that, minus a few details, this is the best possible thing that could’ve happened. Granted, Maggereeno and I could’ve met up in Paris or some other city she loves, but we’re together again—two peas in a pod, like Aunt Maureen used to say, even though she never met my Mag-ceptional best friend.
“So what? There are consequences to your actions.” She looks me up and down.
Well aware of consequences, I draw attention to my outfit, courtesy of one of the many designers who send me clothing to wear in public as free advertising for their garments.
“What do you think of the neon yellow suit, black suspenders, and blue shirt with the cardinal print?” It’s loud and ridiculous, and I only wore it because, well, I wanted to know if the designer label would impress Maggie.
Plenty of women want nothing more than to get swag for themselves through me. Has she changed, or is she still the kind of woman who could not care less about the latest styles and trends? I used to know the answer, but she wasn’t wearing her usual jeans and T-shirt look that I remember when I hosed her down with the squirt guns.
Without hesitating, she says, “It’s hideous. Not something a grown man should wear.”
I love her even more for that answer. “The stylist who outfitted me before I left Boston said it brought out the warm tones in my hair.”
I’ve discovered that people treat me differently depending on whether they want something from me or not. Mag-Mag seems only to want to get me to behave. After my Aunt Maureen pulled me from the gutters in Dublin, she taught me manners and more, but maybe I forgot a few of them in favor of fame and the game—not the one on the football field. The one that has consumed me as I climb as far away from my past as possible.
I roll my fingertips on the table. “I would much rather have met up with you during the offseason under different circumstances.”
“We’ve both been busy,” she says, dropping character. Maggie clears her throat as if remembering she’s not supposed to know me. “We’re going to have to work on these things until you can demonstrate that you know how to behave yourself in good company.”
“Are you good company?” I ask, but I already know the answer. Yes, she is.
A sudden but adorable growl comes from her throat. It’s an unexpected sound. Primal, intriguing, and far from Maggie’s girl-next-door placeholder in my mind.
Playbook, playbook, playbook, I repeat in my head. I have to walk the tightrope between flirting and falling...
“Pretty much everything you did at this meal was whatnotto do. We’re going to have to review until you learn the skills and you get it right. When eating and drinking, pace yourself at meals so your dining companions feel welcome and at ease.” Maggie’s tone is robotic as if she reads from a script.
I rock back in my chair and my eyes slide over her.
