He smiled softly. “You could say that.”
“So, you played in high school, college, all that?”
He nodded. “All that.”
“Offense or defense?”
“What do you think?”
I looked him up and down, appreciating the opportunity to truly gawk at him.
He was wearing a dark gray jogging suit in a lightweight material. The logo looked familiar—like one of those brands that sold one-hundred-dollar T-shirts. But by the way the material stretched across his body, it was clear that he was solidly built and muscular. His broad shoulders and perfect posture led me to believe that even though he was big, he was agile.
I was only five feet five inches, and my feet dangled on the final rung of the stool I was sitting on. His feet were comfortably planted against the floor, so I guessed he was over six feet. I took account of the size of his hands and the way the burger almost looked small incomparison. My eyes traveled back up his face, and I realized how long I’d lingered, taking him in.
“Defense,” I said definitively.
He turned his body toward me, leaning his elbow against the bar. “And why do you think that?”
“Your size mainly,” I told him. “You’re probably six-three—”
“I’m six-five,” he interjected.
“Close enough,” I teased. “But the biggest giveaway for me was when you tried to wave down the bartender. With your broad shoulders and long arms, your wingspan has got to be incredible.”
“Wingspan?” He nodded. “Okay, I’m impressed. So, instead of playing with dolls, you were in front of the TV watching the game.”
“Meand my dollswere watching the game. They were also fans.”
“You’re funny.” He snickered before he took another bite of his burger.
We ate and watched the game together, making comments about the plays as the seconds ticked down in the quarter.
He made me laugh.
He made me think.
He made me forget.
“Can we get another round?” Lamar asked the bartender.
We talked about players, stats, coaches, and games. We made jokes and laughed heartily. We had something to say about every commercial that came on, every commentator’s commentary, and every referee’s call. We were on our second round of our respective drinks, and it felt like time was just flying by. It wasn’t until the bartender cleared our plates that I realized that we’d gone from strangers to friends within two and a half quarters.
“Hm,” I mused under my breath as I looked at a man with a bouquet of roses. The mirror caught his image behind us, so I didn’t even have to turn around to be nosy.
Following my eyes, Lamar asked, “You like that?”
“Flowers are nice, but…” I shrugged and returned my attention to the TV screen. “Those are gas station ‘forgive me’ flowers.”
Lamar craned his neck to get a better look. “How do you know?”
“Look at the way she’s pushing him away from her. She’s not feeling it. Look at the way her friends are side-eyeing him. He did something, and he’s trying to get back in her good graces.”
“Yoooooooo! I didn’t even notice the way her friends are looking at him.” He shifted his attention to the play on the screen. “He’s fucked.”
I snickered, nodding in agreement. “What would you do?”
“For the woman I love?”
