The Relationship Pact: Kings of Football

by Locke, Adriana

  I touch my fingers to my cheeks, mimicking his hold on me.

  My brain replays the past few minutes just as I told him I always do. His touch was gentle yet strong. His kiss was sweet but still utterly suggestive. But as I sort through each touch, each sensation, my mind settles on one thing.

  She’s the one who burned me.

  “What the hell does all of this mean?” I ask out loud.

  With a final look at the empty street, I step back inside and close the door.

  Eleven

  Hollis

  A man smiles my way as we pass each other on the sidewalk.

  “Good morning,” he says, giving me a friendly wave.

  I nod. “Good morning.”

  I hunker down in my jacket, my hands stuck in the pockets, and make my way across the street.

  The sun is brighter than I expected before lunchtime, and I squint as I look up into a cloudless sky. Air moves breezily around me, ruffling the storefront canopies along the sidewalk.

  The shops are still dressed for Christmas. Wreaths still hang on doors. Tinsel is draped around windows despite the holiday having passed. It reminds me of the little towns in movies that some girls in the sorority houses watch after Thanksgiving. I’ve only seen a few minutes of them at a time, and that’s enough for me.

  I venture along the road and feel the fresh air on my face. It helps to wake me up out of the fog from last night.

  Sleep never comes easy for me. Last night, though, it was pointless to even try.

  I take out my phone and check to see if River texted me back.

  As if I didn’t have enough to worry about last night, River was more upset than I’d ever heard him, and I fucking hate I can’t be there to help him. Not that I can cure cancer and fix his mom. But I know it helps him to see our faces in the morning, and he’s up in Vermont without Crew or me.

  The screen is blank. No missed calls or texts from River or anyone else.

  I shove my phone back in my pocket and continue down the sidewalk.

  My brain skips over all the things that have taken up space over the past twenty-four hours.

  Like kissing Larissa.

  Fuck, that girl is more than I bargained for.

  She just worms her way inside my head and makes me do and say shit I don’t do or say. I don’t kiss—not like that. Not like I want it.

  And I don’t talk about my mom. Ever.

  “What the fuck came over me?” I grumble.

  A mix of emotions has flooded my psyche since I opened my damn mouth to Larissa. Frustration at opening that Pandora’s box, irritation with myself for admitting that shit out loud, and a sadness that hit around three in the morning that only further pissed me off.

  A part of me wants to say to hell with sticking around and just head back to campus now. It’s the simple answer, and it’s probably the right one, too. Anyone that has ever known anything about my life’s history has done one of two things—pitied me or judged me. It just depends on how much they know.

  And now Larissa knows the start of it.

  If I thought she was nosy before, what’s she going to do now?

  What would she do if she knew the truth?

  Why did I open my mouth?

  I clamp a hand against the back of my neck and try to squeeze the stress out.

  A little building with a bubblegum-pink door is ahead of me. A woman exits the shop, and a spicy, cinnamon-y aroma fills the sidewalk in front of a sign, also in pink, spelling Judy’s. It redirects my attention from my fuckup with Larissa to my growling stomach.

  A bell jingles as I open the door.

  “Good morning,” a woman says happily from behind a stack of boxes. “Welcome to Judy’s.”

  I give her a nod and look at the various knickknacks and displays.

  Clothes hang on hooks, and bags in bright floral prints are showcased on stands. Shelves are stocked with little jars, books, and pottery.

  “Can I help you find anything?” The old woman comes out from around the boxes. She has silver hair puffed up on top of her head, and she’s as wide as she is tall. “We have something for everyone in here.”

  “Nah. I’m not looking for anything, really. Just killing time.”

  I pick up a small jar of sunflower honey—something I didn’t even know existed. It has a little yellow ribbon around it that starts to slip off as I handle it. I secure the ribbon and set the jar back down.

  The woman takes off her glasses. “What are you killing time for?”

  I’m taken aback a little bit by her forwardness, but her sweet little grandma vibe disarms me.

  “I have a date,” I tell her. Even though it’s only partially true, it’s the easiest answer.

  “I bet you do. You’re a cutie pie.”

  Laughing, I turn to face her. “Well, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. You remind me of one of my grandsons. I have seven—and three granddaughters. But,” she says, whispering conspiratorially, “if I was your age, your girlfriend better watch out because whoo-wee.”

  She winks as she walks in front of me and heads toward the back of the store.

  “You’ve left me speechless,” I tell her with a laugh.

  “Story of my life. I’ve been leaving men speechless for seventy-five years.” She motions for me to join her by a large glass case. “Are you hungry?”

  I walk toward her and look around. The back of the building is a sandwich shop decorated in flamingos, of all things. It’s pink and white with a bright pink neon sign spelling out her name like you’d see in a bar.

  It’s so random and so … eclectic. It seems to fit her.

  “See anything in there that looks good?” she asks, rapping on top of the glass with her knuckle.

  I peer inside the display. Cookies, cakes, and the reddest cherry pie I’ve ever seen sit behind the glass. Perfectly squared brownies are arranged on a plate. Cupcakes with tie-dye swirled icing are piled on a stand.

  It looks like heaven.

  “Everything looks delicious,” I tell her. “Did you make all of this?”

  “Sure did. Been cooking all my life. My mom was the best cook and baker I’ve ever known. I’m not as good as her yet, but I still have some time.”

  I smile at her. “I didn’t know your mom, obviously, but I can’t imagine that she could have done much better than this.”

  She beams, wiping her hands on the hem of her purple apron. “I’m Judy. What’s your name?”

  “Hollis.”

  “Well, Hollis, get your butt in a seat and let me get you something to eat.”

  I sit in a booth along the paneled wall. “Do you have a menu?”

  “Only for paying customers.”

  “Well, that’s me.” I get situated on the plastic seat. “What do you serve here?”

  She busies herself behind the counter and doesn’t bother to look up. “Do you like bacon?”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “Exactly. That’s the right answer.”

  I sit back and watch her work. She whistles softly while she heats up bacon on a small grill. The sound is simple and melodic, and I strain to hear the words. It’s a beat I’ve heard before, but I can’t place it.

  “Tell me about your girlfriend,” she says.

  “Ah, well, she’s not really my girlfriend.”

  Judy looks at me over her shoulder. “I get it.”

  I read the look on her face.

  “No. It’s not like that.” I laugh. “It’s really not. We are more of a situational, convenience-based, and probably a little hormonal-based thing, if I’m not lying.”

  “It’s okay, sweetheart.” She looks back at what she’s doing. “I’m not going to say a word.”

  “It’s really not.”

  “Okay. It’s not.”

  There’s something about the way she just agrees with me that makes me want her to believe me. I need her to believe me.

  “I’m helping a friend out,” I tell her as if it
matters. “We’re going to an event of some sort together. So it’s a date, but it’s … not. We’re playing pretend, I guess.”

  The words aren’t all the way out of my mouth before I taste them. The idea Larissa is pretending when she’s around me—that her kindness and caring are just an act—tastes bitter.

  “Well, I played house with my husband for fifty years, and it always felt like we were playing pretend. He was always so much fun, my dear Ronnie. You just never knew what that man was going to say. I woke up every morning for fifty years, and every day felt like the first one.” She glances at me over her shoulder. “That doesn’t mean there weren’t fights because, God love him, he got on my nerves some days. But being married to him never really felt like work.”

  “You are the first person I’ve ever heard say that.”

  She laughs. “Marriage is always work. Don’t let me fool you. But aren’t all relationships? I mean, look at you and me. I’ve had to work on getting you to talk and stick around for a little while. Had I not done that, you might’ve turned around and walked out of here.”

  She has a point.

  “You’re right,” I admit. “But marriage seems like it’s on another level. Like once you get married, you’re thrust into this life with another person and connected to everything they do—good or bad. And then you have kids and not only have to feed and clothe yourself but them too …”

  I shrug as if that proves my point.

  Judy walks toward me, holding a plate. “You’re absolutely right, Hollis. It is another level, and my, oh my, is it hard.” She sets a sandwich in front of me. “My Ronnie and I had five kids, and it was the hardest and longest years of my life. But I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

  I consider her words as I pull the plate across the table.

  “This looks great,” I tell her. “Thank you.”

  I smile at her.

  “Of course. You’re very welcome.”

  Relaxing back in the booth, I stretch my legs out in front of me. It’s the first time since our last football game that my head didn’t hurt at least a little bit in the back. This morning is also the first time that I haven’t felt like my insides were sawed into a hundred little pieces, and I had to piece them back together like a jigsaw puzzle and hope they fit.

  Judy starts to sit down across from me. She groans a little as she bends.

  “Can I help you?” I ask, starting to get up.

  She motions for me to sit down. “I’m fine. It just takes me a little longer than it used to. Oomph.” She drops into the seat. “There we go. All is well now.”

  “I’m glad.”

  I take a bite of my sandwich. It’s bacon with an egg and some kind of white cheese and practically melts in my mouth. It’s much better than the Ding Dongs I had for a midnight snack and an early breakfast.

  “Not sure I should believe you, Judy.”

  “About what?”

  “That you say that you’re seventy-five.”

  “Not a day older or younger,” she says, pride ripe in her tone. “Still looking pretty good, don’t you think?”

  I swallow. “I was just wondering if you’d let me take you out to dinner.”

  She tips her head back and laughs. “Oh, child. Because that’s what you are—a child. You couldn’t handle this old woman.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I tease. “I’ll have you know that I’ve handled my fair share of women.”

  She lifts her chin. “That’s what my last boyfriend said. He couldn’t keep up with me.” She leans forward. “I think he thought I was old and done. Heck, there might be snow on the roof, but that doesn’t mean there’s not a fire in the furnace if you know what I mean.”

  Somehow, I swallow my spit, and it goes down the wrong pipe. My cheeks turn red as I sputter.

  She watches me try not to die with amusement written all over her face.

  “Sorry,” I choke out. “You, uh, caught me a little off guard there.”

  Instead of responding, Judy takes a napkin out of the dispenser and wipes it across the table.

  I go back to my sandwich.

  “You don’t sound like a Georgia boy,” she says, wadding up the napkin. “You sound like a Midwestern.”

  “Good ear. I’m from Indiana. The good ole Hoosier State.”

  She nods. “What are you doing down here?”

  “I have a football thing in a few days,” I tell her. “I decided to come a little early and … kill some time.”

  “Sounds like you have a lot of time on your hands.”

  She says it like she’s just making conversation. But she’s not. She’s curious.

  I take the last bite of the sandwich and sit back in the booth while I chew. Judy pins me to my seat with a sharp yet kind eye.

  “What’s a college kid supposed to do on winter break?” I ask her. “Kill time.”

  “I think most kids are home with their families during winter break.”

  I narrow my eyes. She narrows hers. We have a battle of the wits that I’m not sure I can win.

  Finally, I shrug.

  “Well, if you haven’t noticed, I’m not a normal guy,” I say. “I do the whole path less traveled kind of thing. Keeps me mysterious.”

  She senses something is amiss, and I can see the wheels turning in her head. I stay calm and act as though I’m here to chat when, in reality, I’m trying to find a segue out of here.

  “When is the last time you had a home-cooked meal?” she asks.

  I laugh. “That’s what you’re worried about?”

  “Well, heavens yes. Now answer the question.”

  “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me,” I tell her, already regretting saying anything. “Can I get a check?”

  “No, but you can answer my question.”

  I lean forward. “What if I don’t want to?”

  “Then I’ll swat your behind.” She grins. “Go ahead and don’t answer me. I might like it.”

  Our laughter blends together as we get to our feet. I hold out a hand and help her stand. She presses her free hand against the top of our joined grasps and pats it.

  I look down into her face and feel the warmth she’s radiating my way. I appreciate it.

  “You just never know who this old world is going to throw in your path. Do you believe that, Hollis?” she asks.

  “I don’t know. Should I?”

  “Yes. You should.” She takes her hand off mine and releases my other one. “I have to think that seeing you today wasn’t random.”

  “Wasn’t it?”

  She shakes her head.

  “No,” she says. “The world put you here so I could feed you.”

  Judy’s eagle eyes watch every move I make. There’s something about women—the older they get, the more refined they get. You can’t get anything past a mother. I know this for a fact. But a woman with grandkids? A woman who’s seventy-five? If she wants to read me, she will. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

  I think back to just a few days ago, to the last day of the semester when I took off from campus. Crew was gone, and I knew River would be going too. I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t even want to be the last guy there. It always feels worse if you’re the one left behind. I know.

  Sure, I could’ve gone with River. If he knew I really didn’t have anywhere to be on Christmas, I’m sure he would’ve demanded it. I lied to him and told him I was meeting up with someone and would be fine.

  “How long are you here?” she asks, looking up at me with the bluest eyes.

  “Just a few days.”

  “If you need anything, you come by and see me. You hear?”

  I smile at her. “Only if you let me pay for that sandwich.”

  She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “I won’t hear of it. You’re one of mine now. You may call me Grandma.” She squeezes my hand before letting it go. “You wait right here.”

  It takes her a moment to get her feet under her and steady h
erself. Then she shuffles through a doorway behind the counter.

  I watch the spot she just vacated and replay her words. You’re one of mine now.

  The sentence pokes its way through the shield I put up to keep people away … just as she did.

  Even though I’m sure her words were a Southern slang or term of endearment kind of thing, they still feel good. And despite my natural reaction to shrug them off, I let what she said sit with me for a minute. Because no one has ever laid claim to me like that.

  “Judy, you’re something else,” I mutter as I look around the shop.

  Racks of shot glasses and bells with pictures of the beach painted on them are for sale near the cash register. I walk around the corner until I see a rack of little bracelets. They’re obviously not actual gold or silver, but they’re dainty and have little charms on them.

  I finger through the line of dangling chains until I see the third one from the end. It’s a pinkish-gold color and has a tiny little succulent charm hanging from it.

  “I prefer rose gold. But I really don’t love expensive jewelry. I’m always afraid I’ll lose it, and the stress isn’t worth it to me.”

  My jaw works back and forth as I replay Larissa’s words to Danielle last night.

  “I’m actually graduating in May with a degree in landscape architecture. I was afraid I’d end up hating it by now, but I think I love it more every day.”

  I lift the bracelet from the display and turn it over in my hand. It’s silly and costs a whopping fifteen dollars, but it reminds me of Larissa. It’s delicate and pretty and makes me smile when I hold it.

  “You’re fucking stupid,” I mumble to myself.

  “Where did you go, Hollis?” Judy calls.

  I walk around the corner and see her standing by the cash register. She’s holding a box.

  “I’m right here,” I say.

  “Here.” She presses a box big enough to fit an entire cake into my hands. “I made you a snack for later.”

  “You didn’t have to make me a snack.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Judy …” I look at her warily.

  She shushes me with a wave of her hand. “You call me Judy again, and we’re going to have a problem. I’m Grandma. I told you that. Don’t make me get a switch.”