Ricky nods. “Yeah.”
We slip into silence again, and I know his wheels are turning too—maybe doing the same thingI’mdoing. Going through a mental list of who one of us might’ve pissed off enough to do some shit like this.
The silence is broken when my phone rings, and I glance down. “It’s Coach. I’ve gotta take this.”
“For sure. We’ll talk later,” Ricky says, then we walk in opposite directions toward our trucks as I take the call.
“Hello?”
“I was just about to hang up. Thought you might be busy,” Coach says with a laugh.
“Sorry about that. I was out with a friend, but I’m about to head home now. Everything okay?”
I unlock my truck and finish the conversation there.
“All good. Just following the wife’s orders. I’ve been ordered to extend an invitation to you and Blue for dinner at our place tomorrow, and I’m not to let you off the line until you accept.” He laughs again, but I’m not nearly as amused.
“I—uh. I’ll have to see what Blue has on her schedule.”
“I’m afraid that’s not good enough,” he teases. “You know Meg, but I know her better. If I don’t get a solidyesbefore we’re done here, I’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight, son.”
Another jovial laugh leaves him, but I’m starting to sweat. Pandora’s made some very pointed threats lately. Threats that directly involve Coach Wells. There’s little to no chance Blue and I will make it over to the Wells’ residence withoutsomeonereporting back, and who knows if that’ll be what triggers her.
“She’s making meatloaf, homemade mashed potatoes, broccoli, and her famous dinner rolls. Trust me, you don’t want to miss out on that,” he adds.
He’s damn-near begging, which makes me feel like a piece of shit, because he and his wife have been nothing but good to me. Under normal circumstances, accepting the invitation would’ve been a no-brainer. But here I am, stammering like some ungrateful asshole, trying to find a way out of this.
“You still there, son?”
I swallow deeply, close my eyes, and give the only answer I can, seeing as how I’m backed into a fucking corner.
“Sure. Of course, we’ll be there.”
Damn it. Damn it all to fucking hell.
“Perfect! We eat at six, and don’t bring anything but your appetite.”
I force a tight smile. “Sounds good. See you at six.”
The call ends, and I squeeze my phone, questioning whether I’m more angry or scared right now.
Angry because decisions like this shouldn’t feel like life or death. Scared because… the future of my career could be shot to hell by one simple post.
And by dinnertime tomorrow, I might be completely screwed.
Fucking great.
*
@QweenPandora:
Well, hello, #KingMidas and #SexyBeast. Looking for me?
How’d that go?
Actually, I think I can sum it up on my own. You visited a ghost from the past, made a few empty threats, only to discover you’re no closer to uncovering my identity than you were when my first post went live.
Sound about right?
