Eyeful (Gladiators of the Gridiron Book 2)

by C. R. Grissom

  “You’re too much.” She tips her head to the side. “It’s a sweet tradition, Tiago. Thanks for inviting me today.”

  I lean into her. “Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t received the third degree from the community mamas.”

  “Come on. You’re exaggerating, right?”

  I wish. Many mamas are generally nice people. Overly curious for the most part, but good-hearted. Some mamas weren’t born with necessary filters. “You’ll see.”

  She shoots me an exasperated look while she shakes her head. “I refuse to believe you. I’m keeping an open mind.” She drills her finger into my arm. “Right this minute I’m enjoying my first Portuguese parade, so quit trying to ruin it.”

  “You’re right. Sorry.”

  I vow to protect her from mamas who might dig too deep. We sit, watching the parade go by. We’re alone for the moment. I should finish the conversation about Aubrey. I take a few deep breaths while I figure out what to say that won’t screw this up any worse.

  “Hey, one thing to remember. Any woman who is not our age should be addressed senhora. It’s like using Mrs., only Sra. doesn’t always mean married woman. It’s simply a way to address a woman who is older than you with respect, rather than a peer who you’d call by name.”

  “Good to know, thanks.”

  I nod. “Phoebes, I’d like to talk to you about Aubrey.”

  She tilts her head, and she squints at me. “You made yourself clear.” Her lips curve, but the shape can’t be confused with a smile. “Enough said,” she states firmly.

  Well, fuck. Way to miss the uprights again.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Phoebe

  The tiaras sparkling in the sunlight lulled me into a sense of parade-gazing bliss. Aubrey again. I don’t want to hear it. He had to ruin this fabulous moment by bringing up his past girlfriend. The pillar of fortitude who had her eye on the Biomedical Engineering ball and not the placekicker currently sitting next to me wearing his Sunday best: dress slacks and a button-down shirt doing his best impression of a Calvin Klein model.

  “Please. I’ve botched this twice. I didn’t get a chance to explain.”

  “I disagree. You shared with me that your relationship with Aubrey had an end date from the start date. Totally clear. But we’re just friends, so I’m not sure why you want to keep kicking this deflated ball at me.”

  “Kicker humor.” He points at me. “Good one. Except I’m sure neither one of us wants to just be friends. Unless I’m way off?”

  My heart slams against my chest and my hands go shaky. Damn him. This is so unfair. “Okay, Tiago. Tell me about Aubrey.”

  “I already told you that I loved her. What I didn’t get a chance to say is that she had the kind of personality that drew people in. If you were around her, she made you feel special and included. Part of her inner circle.”

  I’m conflicted, mostly I want to cover my ears. I don’t want to hear about her perfection. Why he feels this is necessary is a tough pill to swallow. But Tiago reaches out and cradles my hand between his palms.

  “That said, she is not someone who allows herself to feel deeply. Her emotions remain on the surface. She loves people and is incredibly social. We were together for two years, but she wasn’t in love with me. While I did love her, I held myself back, too.”

  Huh. This is definitely unexpected.

  “I’ve surprised you,” he scoffs. “Look. I don’t know what my future holds. No one does. You know about Dad. His accident. He refuses physical therapy because it’s out of pocket. So the stubborn fool won’t do it.”

  “I’m sorry, that’s awful.”

  He blows out a breath. “It sucks. I have priorities and an obligation to my family. But I care about you. And you need to know that I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

  My brain short-circuits when he says he cares about me. Aside from Grams, no one else has. The unforgivable truth is Mom never once said she loved me. Oddly enough, she needed me to reassure her all the time. Growing up, how many times did she ask, You love me, right? Say it, she’d demand. I can’t count the times I was forced to say I love you to her. I mean, I did love her. She’s my mother. But after years of her bullshit, I came to realize she’s incapable of loving anyone but herself.

  The bitter irony of our relationship in a nutshell.

  Her idea of love poisoned me. Her neediness and lack of the most basic of parental emotions almost ruined me. If it weren’t for Grams, I would be broken. By the age of ten, I stopped trying to earn Mom’s love. Instead, I learned to guard against the hurt. Those three words marked our relationship and taught me what manipulation is all about. Promises are both given and broken easily. I’m so relieved he didn’t offer me one.

  “It’s okay, Tiago.” I pat his knee. “I don’t believe in promises anyway.”

  A set of younger girls, who can’t be older than six, walk in front of us. The queen’s crown has to be six inches tall and this little girl wears it with pride. It’s like she already knows she’s earned her spot in the sunlight dazzling people. She strides by with her blue velvet cape. There’s an embroidered sequined dove—wings spread out mid-flight—set among pearls dotting the fabric trailing eight feet behind her.

  “Nope. I’m still screwing this up,” he groans. “Your friendship is important to me. Regardless of all else. I won’t take it for granted or lose you. And I never break a promise. When I make one to you, believe it because it’ll be real.”

  This might be the most honest any guy has ever been with me. My nerves spin like a roulette ball circling the wheel, wicked fast at first, and then thudding to a halt to drop into a numbered slot. Pop. It’s exciting and fills me with a warmth I didn’t expect to feel when he brought up Aubrey.

  It’s like he’s trying to apologize in advance for not offering a guarantee on what might happen between us. It’s odd he takes on this kind of burden, but also super sweet. Unless it’s a deck full of lies. But somehow, I don’t believe that’s true. He’s staring at me with an expectant look on his face.

  “Tiago, relationships haven’t ever been a safe bet for me but, we’ll keep the friendship no matter what.”

  “Excellent. The tail end of this parade will pass in a few minutes. We’ll head over to the café for coffee. Wait out Mass.”

  “We can also go to Mass if you want.”

  He snorts. “Um. No. The gossips will have us engaged before Communion.”

  “Sounds a bit archaic.”

  “Sure, it can be. Some people are stuck in the time they immigrated to this country. Their language, even customs get frozen at that time. They’ll use words or phrases from the generation or generations before because that’s how they spoke when they left the old country.”

  Huh. “That’s interesting.”

  “Words and phrases have trends there, just like they do here. Some of these people came thirty or forty years ago. They left in the seventies and eighties. Which makes their language out of date. Or the meaning changed.”

  “Wow.” I’m fascinated. “Like what?”

  “Let’s see. One time on vacation Avó asked her sister-in-law if she ever wore pants, since she’d only worn dresses during our visit. It offended my great-aunt because the word calças or pants refers to underpants there, like in the UK.”

  “That’s hilarious, so she basically asked if she went commando?”

  One side of his mouth lifts. “Yup. They learn the Queen’s English.”

  There’s such animation in his expression when he talks about his family. Clearly he loves them.

  “Tell me about your dad.”

  “He hasn’t spoken to me since the accident. The stubborn fool, I miss him.” He sighs.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  So many people walking in the parade wave and smile at Tiago.

  It’s been such an eye-opener to see this side of him. His community away from football and his teammates. I wonder how it would feel to be
a part of something so much larger than your core family. It must be like having access to your own private village in the middle of suburbia. It’s mind-blowing for someone like me.

  When I was eleven, we had to study marsupials in school. I picked the quokka for my report because they’re adorable. But I found out that when threatened, babies can fall out of the pouch during the mother’s retreat, which in a sense, protects the mother.

  From that moment on I realized Mom has a lot in common with female quokkas. She’d keep me with her as long as things were good, but she’d leave me behind to get eaten by a predator to save her own ass.

  “Samantha is this year’s queen, and her younger cousin Teresa, is the junior queen,” Tiago says.

  Both sets of girls walk between poles formed into a square. Held by proud daddies in suits for the junior queens and by tuxedoed escorts for the senior queens. Like prom, only squared.

  The parade only lasted about forty minutes from start to finish.

  Tiago stands and offers his hand to help me up. “Let’s get coffee, my treat.”

  We walk two long blocks west and turn the corner. The little café has a couple of bistro tables outside. One is occupied by a guy our age with a laptop.

  “Phoebes, why don’t you grab the table, and I’ll place our order.”

  “How about my treat? You’ve paid for boba tea.”

  “Nah. You’re my guest. How do you take your coffee?”

  “Sweet and light. Lots of half-and-half and three sugar packets stirred forever until the sugar dissolves. But I can do that if you bring me a spoon or stir stick.”

  He curls his arm, making his biceps flex. “I’m fully capable of dissolving sugar.”

  He’s also capable of destroying my willpower. His eyes are that bold gold capable of peering into my thoughts. Or maybe that’s my overactive imagination. Regardless. He makes my pulse tap under the skin beneath my jaw. “Without a doubt.”

  His eyes crinkle, and his slightly less than perfect smile pops. I’m a goner. Who could resist his charm, that smile, and his gorgeous eyes? His abdomen that looks like an Olympic mogul course. If he were just a pretty face, I’d lose interest, especially if he acted like heaven’s gift to humanity. Good looks are a product of lucky DNA.

  But his love for his grandma, and dedication to his parents shine through. And then there’s the way he takes care of me. The Gatorade and cooling towel he brought me while I danced on a corner. He went out of his way to make sure I wasn’t dehydrated or sick. By giving me the towel, he made sure I’d have a way to stay cool anytime I wear the costume.

  It’s bone-deep with him. He’s the real deal. An all-around caring person. If whatever we’re headed toward ever stops, I’m going to be flattened.

  No. Damn it. I have to stop preparing for an end date while ruining all things in between. Things change. Life changes whether you plan for it or not. I don’t remember ever allowing myself space to just absorb emotion at the moment without checking for possible downsides to hedge my bet. Gambling pundits say the house always wins, that odds are stacked in the house’s favor.

  Spending with Tiago, and discovering the kind of person he is, makes me consider the fact love might not be the proverbial roulette wheel. Maybe it’s more like the craps table. As long as you don’t make sucker bets, the odds are almost even.

  Huh. Something to obsess over later while I crash at Gavin’s tonight. He’s offered his place again. Maybe this time the guards won’t intervene. They didn’t dare mess with Agnes. After fining her for smoking nearly two months ago, they showed the good sense to back off.

  And I’ve made a deal with her. No more cigarettes, and I’ll use the CaraCara app on all her pics. She agreed once I used filters and smoothing on her first pic and showed her the difference it made. The way to Agnes’s cooperation is through her vanity.

  Tiago places a mug of coffee on the table in front of me. He also sets a napkin next to the mug and a spoon on top of that. He passes me another napkin for my lap. This! It’s no wonder my heart melts.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. What were you thinking about just now?”

  I’m not telling him about my liquefying heart. “My friend, Agnes. The one in the photo on KickBack?”

  One side of his mouth lifts. “I remember hearing something about that pic.”

  “You never asked me why we bought a boatload of condoms that day.”

  “Well.” He huffs out a breath. “None of my business.”

  He says one thing, but his expression tells a different story.

  “So, you’re not curious?”

  “Of course, I am,” he concedes. “But I don’t need to know.”

  Cutie pie. “Grams and Agnes live in a retirement community with rampant unprotected sex.”

  The coffee he just sipped sprays out of his mouth and dribbles down his chin. “What?”

  I use the napkin from my lap to mop his horrified face. I didn’t realize how fun it would be to drop this tidbit in someone else’s lap. And I laugh. “You heard me.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “I shit you not, Simba.”

  “But you had a couple of hundred condoms in that basket.” He takes a distracted sip of his coffee.

  “Uh-huh. I’m going to play nice and wait to tell you the next bit.”

  He sets down the insulated to-go cup. “There’s more? My brain can’t process more.”

  “Agnes asked me to teach them how to use them.”

  His expression is priceless. His face looks like a frozen scream mask. I bite my bottom lip to maintain a straight face.

  “You. Did. What?”

  “We used the arts and crafts room. There’s good light in there.” I’m vague on purpose because he’s the perfect audience; his shock eggs me on.

  I take a sip of my coffee. It tastes perfect, and the caffeine zips through my veins. “We had a full house. All seats were taken.”

  A hint of color makes its way up from his neck to infuse his cheeks. “How?”

  “We used bananas, silly. How else?”

  “Come again?”

  “I taught them how to roll on condoms by using a banana to demonstrate.”

  “I can’t imagine it. I don’t want to imagine it.”

  “Hey, did you know they’re the fastest-growing group contracting sexually transmitted diseases?”

  “No. And now I need brain bleach to get the thought of senior sex out of my head.”

  “Safe senior sex, thanks to me.”

  “We are changing the subject now. We will never speak of it again.” He wipes his mouth.

  “Yeah. Yeah. Scaredy-cat.” I grin at him.

  He points at me. “I don’t think I can handle that mental picture forming in my brain again.”

  I laugh. “Okay, promise. Do we have to pinkie swear, too?”

  He shudders. “No.” Glancing at his watch, he says, “Let’s head over to the hall. Get in line for sopas. Otherwise, we won’t get in once Mass is over and the parade gets there.”

  “What exactly are sopas?” I ask while we dump our empties into the trash.

  He places his hand against the small of my back. The warmth of his touch seeps through my lightweight sweater and makes my skin tingle.

  “Beef marinated and slow-cooked in a broth of garlic, onion, spices, mint and finally cabbage is added to the soup. Slices of French bread soak up the broth. You ladle the soaked bread, meat and cabbage onto a plate and you eat your fill.”

  “Or until your belly button pops out. I guess that only works if you have an innie, instead of an outie.”

  “There was this kid I went to school with—Joseph Sander—who had an outie. He loved showing everyone. He called it his second pee-pee.”

  “Kindergarten kids tell the truth.”

  “I know, right? But I went to high school with him.”

  “Stop it.” I grin.

  “He was voted most likely to run for president.” He wink
s.

  “Enough. It sounds like I should prepare myself for a food orgy? We’ll be true gladiators.”

  “Mmhmm.”

  Laughing with him, flirting with each other, shows me another, attractive side of his personality. I’m doomed. I feel like I’m at the top of a mile-high slide and nothing will stop my downhill spiral into uncharted territory. I’m going to call it lust. The other L-word.

  My phone rings. Checking the display, I see an unknown number with the area code of seven-seven-five. Henderson. Shit.

  “Give me a sec.” Stepping away from Tiago I accept the call. “Hello?”

  “Phoebe Sharpe?” the caller asks.

  “Makenna. Who’s calling?”

  “Detective Holman, Henderson West Police Department. I have questions regarding Helen Sharpe, your mother.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

  “Ms. Sharpe—”

  “Makenna, please. You have to understand, I’d do anything in my power to help. But I can’t. Goodbye.”

  I disconnect the call. Stuffing my phone in my bag my hands shake. I glance at Tiago. His face is carefully blank. Crap. I can only pray he didn’t overhear the detective announce himself.

  “Everything okay?” he asks.

  “Yes.” Because it has to be. I can’t help them build a case against Mom because I’ve got nothing to share. I’ve already told them everything I know. Suspecting someone is not the same as being able to offer tangible evidence.

  We walk toward the hall. The weather is perfect. The sun shines bright, but without the stifling heat I’m used to in Henderson. Homes have beer pong tables out front with kids our age already dropping balls into red SOLO cups. It’s not even ten in the morning. Pointing at the six guys settled around the closest table I ask, “Which college are we near?”

  He sighs. “Santa Clara University. Great school. There’s an ongoing battle between the community surrounding the campus and students who don’t respect their neighbors.”

  He points at the row of houses with empty beer bottles littering front yards. In between the fifth and sixth house sits a kiddie pool and tricycle on the front porch. “It’s worse the closer you get to campus.”