“Oh, someone knows my stats by heart,” I teased, clueless as to whether she was a fan or a hater.
It was impossible to tell.
“Only because you were on my fantasy team,” she replied, but she was smiling.
“And how’d you do?” I asked, not surprised in the least that she played.
“I won the championship, of course,” she said with a huge grin, looking cocky as hell.
I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “Well, you’re welcome, Distefano.”
“Oh, thank you so very much, Man-Doing-the-Job-He’s-Paid-to-Do,” she said, and even as she rolled her eyes, I could tell they were sparkling with mirth.
“Seems like you should have to buy me dinner or something,” I said with a laugh, “since I’m basically responsible for your win.”
“Down, boy,” she scoffed. “You were important, but it was actually thekickerwho sealed my dub.”
“But you don’t want to go to dinner with a kicker, do you? I mean, I don’t even think they eat meat.”
“How do you knowIdo?” she replied, tilting her head like she’d scored a point.
“Oh, she eats meat,” her father interjected. “The kid loves a T-bone so much that I have to remind her to take small bites.”
“Really,” I said, unable to look away from Duffy. She was watching me with a smartass grin. “The kid inhales her food, does she?”
“Like a lion on a wildebeest,” her dad replied.
“Kill me now,” she said with a helpless laugh, and I couldn’t stop myself from joining her.
“Wait, wait, wait—back up,” Kel said into the microphone, standing up and holding out her free hand, silencing the audience. She looked like she was about to break the story of the century when she looked at the crowd with wide eyes and said,“Connor Cunningham, did you just ask Duffy here out on a date?”
That made Duffy’s mouth close and her eyebrows knit together in confusion. I don’t think she meant to say it out loud, but as she looked at me, I heard her quietly mutter, “Didyou?”
Holy shit.
I looked back at her and shrugged helplessly.
Did I?
3
Duffy
“You need to take shorter showers.”
“Good morning to you, too,” I said as I opened the fridge and reached for the orange juice. “And that was, like, five minutes.”
I shook the carton, and it was about a third full. I made a mental note to go grocery shopping soon.
“Sixteen, actually,” my dad said, not looking up from the newspaper.
“You timed my shower?”
I mean, of course he did.
“Hot water costs money.”
As much as I loved my dad, the memories of the apartment I’d lived in last year beckoned to me like the sentimental recollection of a past tropical vacation. College and the year of independent life that’d followed graduation felt like a glorious fever dream now.
