“Both of those sounds terrible.” I set the cruise control, and my lips twitched. “Sports Facts 101? What would that even mean?”
“I don’t know. Like, who invented football? Why was the ball brown? Why is there only like ten minutes of action the entire game yet fans go wild for it?”
“I’m sensing some attitude around football over there.”
“You’re so bright,” she deadpanned.
I laughed. God, she was amusing. “You think soccer is more fun?”
“Oodles more fun. I say that without an ounce of bias.”
I snorted and let myself study her for a second. She had a small smile, her eyes twinkling with joy, and my chest tightened. The sun hit her hair and lit up her face, and damn, she was pretty. “I’ve never been to a game before.”
“What.” She glared at me. “That is unacceptable.”
“I know. I’ve never deviated from my plans, and Sundays are for—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, some routine you have. I understand you, but dude, you can’t talk shit about something you’ve never seen! Soccer players are so much fun and aggressive. Like, people assume football is rough, which yes, with the concussions and injuries it is, but girls’ soccer? It is a different kind of vicious. No pads, no helmets, just the drive and grit to win at all costs.”
“Yeah, I saw a bit of this when we tied at our shoot-out.”
“Hey, I would’ve won if we kept going!”
“You’re fun to play cards with, I bet,” I teased.
She growled, and I smiled again. With her, smiles came easier and easier. I wasn’t thinking about the ways I could fail and let my grandma down. Instead, I was playing calendar Tetris on how I could attend one of her games. Dean went to every other game or so, and it’d be easy to tag along with him. He always invited us, and Callum went from time to time.
Just thinking about Callum made me roll my eyes. He’d flirt with her, probably.
“No need to roll your eyes at me. I understand I’m a lot to deal with.”
“What? No. I was thinking about something else.” I frowned at her. “You’re not a lot…to deal with.”
“Thanks, I am, but it’s okay.” Her voice lost a little zest, and that wouldn’t do.
“No, you’re not. You’re you, and that’s…I like how competitive you are.”
“Well, thank you, Monroe.” She hummed. “Now tell me your favorite memory of your grandma. I want to get a backstory on this incredible woman I’m about to meet.”
“Ah well.” I cleared my throat. I wanted to spend more time on telling her she was perfect, but that probably crossed the friends-only line I kept drawing in permanent marker. “She loves pranks to the point it’s maddening. Most of them are terrible, but every once in a while, she gets you really good.”
“Okay, I love her. I adore this woman. What type of pranks?”
“Cans with stuff popping out, hiding balloons in closet, switching up furniture in the room when you leave. My favorite memory though was when I was eight and really sad because it was my birthday. Being the kid without a mom and dad was hard, so she wanted me to be surprised. She invited my entire elementary school class to a park that night and filled water balloons. She declared war on the kids, and we just went bananas. She’d saved up for weeks and called off a shift at the restaurant to fill up those balloons. It was just the biggest gesture ever. So, when we were done, she told me she couldn’t afford any presents, and I didn’t care. The balloons were enough, but when we got back to our apartment, she’d bought me football posters of my favorite players. It was…” I trailed off, the story reminding me why I fought so hard for a future. “Amazing.”
Lorelei sniffed, and my gut tightened.
“Are you crying?”
“Yes.” She laughed and sniffed again. “That is quite a story, my goodness. What an icon of a woman.”
“She is. That’s why I focus so much. There is no margin for error.”
“I get it.” She whimpered.
I slid her a look.
“I am a crier. I show emotions for everything. Good, bad, great. Like, I cry when I’m angry and happy and sad. It’s annoying. And, when I win or lose, tears come too. It’s just a part of my personality at this point.”
