She snickers and shakes her head. “Maybe you’re right, but I’m still nervous. I need beef jerky to calm my nerves. Buc-ee’s stop?”
“Hell yes. I need to pee too, and they have the best bathrooms.”
We arrive in Houston two hours later, our backseat crammed with goodies and our wallets quite a bit lighter. My eyes lift to the tall buildings as Carrie drives.
“I’ve never been to this part of Houston,” I say.
“That’s the medical center over there,” she says, pointing at a huge complex of buildings that spans many blocks. “I’ve been there a couple times when my mom was guest lecturing for orthopedic residents. Oh, and there’s Hale Cosmetics.”
I dip my head to look up at the building we’re passing. It’s tall and reflects the city in its blue mirrored surface, and the curly crown logo sits near the top. “It’s really pretty. I’ve never bought any of their stuff because I don’t wear makeup much.”
“You’re gorgeous enough without it,” Carrie replies. “Hale has a lot more than just makeup though, like perfumes and skincare products. And we definitely have to take care of our skin since we’re out in the sun so much. You should try their moisturizer and tinted lip balm.”
“I love lip balm,” I say. “I can’t stand for my lips to be all dry and flaky.”
She reaches into her console and pulls out a sealed package. “Here, you can have this one.”
I take it tentatively, noting the gold logo, like the one I’d just seen on the Hale Cosmetics building, set on a glossy black background. The packaging is elegant and looks way more expensive than anything I’ve ever purchased.
“I don’t want to take your stuff, Carrie.”
“Pshh, whatever. That one’s pineapple, and it’s not my favorite. I really like the vanilla one best.”
I giggle when that reminds me of something. “Hey, do you know what an upside down pineapple means?”
Carrie pauses, and then her eyes widen. “Oh my god, Jordie, are you into the swinging lifestyle?”
A snort escapes me as I open the package. “Uh, no. Not at all. But I have a funny story about my sister.”
Her voice pitches higher. “Juliette is a swinger?”
“No, goofball. At least I don’t think she is. She writes some pretty freaky stuff in her books.” I pop the top off the lip balm and sniff, inhaling the supple scent of pineapple. “Anyway, earlier this summer, Jules decided to go on a writing retreat to this island to finish her book and, get this… she accidentally booked it at a swingers’ resort.”
Carrie howls with laughter. “No she did not.”
“She did,” I confirm with a grin, sliding the balm over my lips. It’s smooth and slick without being greasy, leaving behind a rosy tint on my lips. I rub them together with a pop. “Wow, this feels amazing.”
“Told ya. Now, finish the story about Juliette.” Carrie bobs her dark eyebrows up and down. “Did she… partake of the forbidden pineapple?”
I cackle. “No, but she blushes like a nun in a cucumber patch whenever she talks about it. All she would tell me was she met a guy there and they had a fling. Onlyoneguy,” I specify.
“This is the best story I’ve ever heard. She needs to write a book about it.” Carrie turns into a parking garage and finds a spot for her Jeep before letting out a shaky exhale. “Okay, we’re here. Let’s see what the WNFL wants with us.”
“I guess you’re all wondering why you’re here,” the woman on stage announces, and Carrie, who’s seated to my left, gives me a sly look. “First of all, let me introduce myself. I’m Belinda Benedict, the commissioner for the newly formed Women’s National Football League.”
Cheers go up around the large conference room in a fancy downtown hotel. There are about fifty attendees in padded seats, and the tall woman in a well-tailored taupe suit and heels smiles at our enthusiasm. When the noise dies down, she continues.
“Thank you, thank you. My staff and I are just as excited as you are to get this league kicked off.” Her eyes roam around the room offemale athletes. “Three years from today, I hope the majority of you will be preparing for your first season playing in the WNFL.”
Cue more whistles and clapping from the women who are seeing their dreams of playing professional football finally come to fruition.
Three years.
“That will be right after I graduate from college,” I whisper to Carrie, and she bobs her head up and down.
“Me too. Even though it’s my freshman year right now, I took a lot of advanced placement classes in high school, so I should be able to graduate in three years, same time as you.”
We share a warm look, and I pray we end up getting drafted by the same pro team. We haven’t had much time to spend together during practices and team meetings this summer since I’m on offense and she’s a safety on defense, but I can already tell we’re going to be good friends.
