“Diet Coke?” he says, remembering my order from the date with Reggie.
I nibble on my lip. I am parched, and that bar has a “cash-only” sign while I’ve only got cards in my pocket. I roll my neck and, in the turn, I see Fran filling trays for her friend. She waves at me, grinning. I like Fran. And Callum. I was hoping to spend some time with a friend tonight. A friend who isn’t my nephew, sister, or mother. And she said she thought she’d be finished soon.
“Fine. You may buy me one Diet Coke. I will answer your questions for the duration of my drink, and then you need to find someone else to bother.”
Lucca grins like he just won a championship game. Gosh, he’s doing that a lot tonight. “I assure you, I bother no one.” He lifts one shoulder as if amending. “Except for you.”
And yet, I’m the lucky person he wants to talk to. It doesn’t make sense. But a few questions for a Diet Coke while I wait for Fran is a price I am apparently willing to pay.
Twelve
Maggie staresat the wall of ceramic plates—all created by Stella—while I try to conceal that I’m looking at her. Her hands are clasped together behind her back, and her eyes focus on the glossed black plate with gold cracks spread throughout. She sips on her Diet Coke, reminding me that I’m on a time constraint.
“So, where did you play?” Am I really using my limited time to ask questions I already know the answer to?
Her eyes drag from the plates on the wall to me. “You don’t know?”
I swallow. But I refuse to be caught. I give her a charming half-grin and a one-shoulder shrug.
“How do you know I played after college at all? Maybe I just like the game and officiating was for me.”
“But your?—”
“Right. The rainbow flick. That’s just a trick. You know?”
“And you know it’s more than that.”
She drags a long sip from her cola.
“That isn’t exactly fair. I bought the Diet Coke. You said you’d talk. You’ve told me nothing.”
Maggie pulls in a breath before audibly exhaling. “Fine. I played in college. My senior year, I moved up to the U.S. U-23 team.”
“Impressive,” I say, as if I didn’t already know. “And your position?” Another question I already have an answer for.
The girl was an attacking forward. She can run like the wind and kick a ball more than half the length of the field. I know all these answers. Half that coke is gone, and I haven’t asked my real question yet.
She stares at me—like maybe she can read my mind. But she simply says, “Forward.”
Finally, I break. “Why’d you quit?”
“How do you know that I quit, Cruz? Maybe I tore my ACL. Maybe I got lazy. Maybe I couldn’t hack it and they cut me.”
My eyes lock on hers, but I don’t say anything. We both know none of those things happened.
After a solid sixty seconds of no one speaking up, I cave. “Fine. I googled you.”
Maggie laughs—but she doesn’t sound amused. No, once again, I am testing her patience.
“I was curious after our Little League practice.”
“So?” she says.
“So.” I drag out the word. “So, what?”
“What do you really want to know, Lucca?” Her pink lips wrap around that straw one more time, and she takes another long drink as she walks to the next display.
My head spins. I can’t look away from her lips. I can’t blink. This maddening woman takes control wherever she is, no field or uniformrequired.
