‘No, ma’am.’ A smile tugs up on the corner of his mouth. ‘Was about to go to the sheriff and tell him I had a stalker.’
‘What? Oh my gosh, I would never,’ the words tumble right on out. ‘I hope you know. I wouldnever.’
‘That why you ran the second you saw me at Eddie’s?’
Oh. So he evidently hasn’t gotten to the part where he gaslights himself. Must just be me. I wince, tugging on the chain of my gold Our Lady of Guadalupe necklace in a nervous tell. ‘Yeah, that … wasn’t my finest moment.’
‘Noted.’ Rod scratches his stubbled cheek in amusement. Those chiselled biceps popping out of his rolled-up sleeves flex. My eyes unwittingly follow well-outlined veins down his forearms. ‘I know we don’t know much about one another, but can I say … you’re one hell of a wild card.’
‘Well, I’ve heard quite a few things, and that’s a new one.’ I take a swig of my water. Hold it down, Jordan. Just one-on-one conversation with your celebrity crush. You’ll survive. ‘I’ll take it as a compliment.’
‘I respect it.’ He smiles wryly, adjusts his cap. Anyone who watches lacrosse knows Rod’s got endless energy, camaraderie with every teammate, hell, even the rivals, but it’s interesting to properly interact with him in real life. It takes me right back to having him around at practice back in Oklahoma. His voice is a calm drawl, his demeanour more laid-back, as if simply being home grounds him. I can get behind that. ‘Either way, this’ll be an interesting summer. Our biggest camp to date. You feel ready?’
‘Yes. Just. Quick question.’ I extend a hand in ‘pause’. ‘This camp is yours?’
‘Not technically.’ Rod looks a little taken aback, like my singular question was one more question than he was expecting. He picks up his water bottle from beside the goal and takes a sip. ‘Uh … kind of? I started it so the small-town kids could get more exposure to big-time New England lacrosse. Couple years now.’
‘Phenomenal. Love it. Also,’ I continue, ‘what is the peanut-butter policy here?’
‘The what?’
‘Peanut-butter policy. Like, on the peanut table. Do y’all have a peanut table?’
‘Um, let me check.’ Two questions in, and I’m watching this guy take hits. Is Hot Rod Wilson secretly an introvert? He swipes at the lead coach tablet, squinting against the glare from the sunlight. ‘No peanut allergies this summer, so nope.’
‘Solid. Also, one more also.’ The highly caffeinated chai I made this morning is definitely hitting hard. I’ve been told I can come out the gate ‘a lot’ at times, but whenever someone says you’re ‘a lot’, it’s usually a sign to change nothing about yourself.
Rod’s eyes widen slightly. ‘Sure.’
‘Do we take them canoeing?’
He’s giving me the same face he’d made back at the convenience store.
‘No canoeing?’ I guess.
‘It’s a lacrosse camp.’
‘But you’ve seenCamp Rock, haven’t you? That was a singing camp,’ I point out. ‘And I think they canoed in it. Anything’s possible. I just need to check. I don’t do at all well in large bodies of water.’
He blinks. ‘I’m pretty sure we won’t go canoeing, if that’s any reassurance.’
‘Great. And before I forget. I lied. There is one more question.’ Yikes. I’m not so sure he’s going to answer it. His face is all confused, and he looks like he’s about to pass out.
‘Go ahead.’
‘What does rubbing the duck mean?’
Rod’s mid-sip of water, and he quite literally stops to near choke on it with a shocked sputter. ‘What?’
‘Rubbing the duck. I read that it’s a thing you do here.’ No wayLonely Planetlet me down. I’m going to come off as a real idiot if he doesn’t tell me what this duck business is soon enough. ‘Whittaker, Massachusetts is known for rubbing the duck’ printed in size twelve font on a travel blog isn’t going to cut it for me.
‘Oh.’ His surprise calms as he sets his bottle down. ‘That duck. Um, you’re not supposed to rub it. You just touch it, you know.’
‘Like … but why?’
Rod’s jaw goes slack. Okay, so maybe that was a dumb question, but I had to.Lonely Planethad already told me why, of course; it’s just more fun bothering real people for answers. Especially this person, apparently.
‘Supposed to symbolize immortal love or something.’ Rod waits a beat, as if expecting me to shoot a whole new volley of questions his way, but I decide I’m satisfied.
