by Allison Parr
I laughed. “So tell me about your brothers.”
He shrugged. “Older, louder, meaner. I think that covers it.”
“Meaner?” I frowned.
His face softened. “Nah. We were just a crazy group. You know, there’s always the quiet one—Rich was as happy at the piano as outdoors—but the twins were rowdy and everyone yelled. Dad says I was twice as loud since I wanted to keep up with all of them. The runt always does.”
“And do any of them play football?”
“All of them.”
“But you’re the best.”
He raised a brow. “Was that a compliment?”
“No.” I flipped my hair back and walked out of the monument’s silver walls.
He caught up to me and caught my fingers with his own. “Definitely a compliment.”
I smiled and squeezed his hand.
* * *
For dinner, when the rain really poured down, we retreated back into Manhattan and wandered toward the financial district until we found a small restaurant with gleaming wooden tables and dark stouts on tap.
“So did you work anything out with Hart’s girlfriend?” Ryan asked after we’d ordered.
“Who?”
He rolled his hand. “The Bison’s QB. The girl with the book?”
Ryan was more plugged into gossip than I’d thought if he knew of Alexa and Nate’s relationship. “I did. Here, we even started a website Monday.” I snagged his phone and logged in to the blogging platform before spinning the phone back to him. “Obviously it’s still bare bones, but it will give you an idea of what’s going to be there.”
I waited nervously as he clicked through the pages. “You got all this done since Sunday?” He shook his head.
“What do you think?” Alexa and I had been on the phone for the last three days figuring out the quirks of the site. She gave me her writings and ideas and I built the actual pages, adding my own touches and then talking them over with her. We hadn’t made it public yet, but it had taken less time than I’d expected to put the skeleton together.
“It’s great. Have you shown your boss?”
“Oh, not yet, no. But I will in a week or two. She might not even care, you know, but—it’s worth trying.”
He considered me. “You know, Couch wrote a book, and so did Dustin Jones—he was the starting QB before me. I’m sure they could get you two an editor interested—”
“No,” I said quickly, and then amended it. “Maybe. But I want to try first—to do this myself.”
The waiter arrived with our meals in baskets, a corned beef sandwich for him and a mushroom Swiss burger for me. I squeezed out a heavy dollop of ketchup and dug into the fries.
He watched me with steady attention that I would have found unnerving from anyone else. “You don’t like taking help.”
I shrugged. “Who does?”
“Hmm.” He took a bite of his sandwich. When he finished, he kept his gaze on the platter. “You want to come to Boston?”
Actually, I kind of did. Then again, the idea of traveling four and a half hours two days in a row did something sad to my soul. “Eh. When’s your next home game?”
“Oh, God.” He rubbed his forehead. “We’re on bye next week, and then it’s in Baltimore. So I guess the week after that. That’ll be the Bills.”
“On bye?”
“We’re not playing. Gives us a couple of days to relax.”
Or not relax, as the case may be. “That’s kind of exciting. It’s Halloween.”
He leaned back and grinned at me. “Please tell me you’re dressing up.”
Yeah, like I had the money to blow on a Sexy Insert-Occupation-Here costume. “I was thinking of being a Charlie Brown ghost.”
He sat straight up, his eyes widening. His lashes were so long I wanted to reach out and touch them. “Oh, God, you should be Lucy.”
I stopped, French fry halfway to my mouth. “Why do you say that so...emphatically?”
“Come on. You would totally be Lucy. You’d pull the football right away from poor Charlie.”
I pointed the fry at him. “Not funny.”
He grinned, unrepentant. “But thematic.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Or you could be Dorothy. You sort of have the look down. Wholesome. Spunky. Bookish.”
“Oh, shut up. I’m not the Midwesterner here.”
“That’s your best defense?”
“Hmph. Fine. And who would you be?”
He grinned with a touch of lasciviousness. “The wizard, of course. Send you over the rainbow.”
I held up a hand. “Okay, let’s get our children’s lit straight. I’m pretty sure it was Glinda who sent Dorothy over the rainbow. Or the tornado.”
This time, he definitely leered. “I could be a tornado.”
I kicked him again. “New rule. No more awful innuendo jokes. God, how do people take your seriously?”
“Oh, it’s my charm and good looks. They don’t even hear what I’m saying.”
“You’re right. I’m so dazzled by your appearance I’m knocked senseless. Completely blown away.”
His eyes were bright in the dim pub. He leaned across the table and kissed me. He tasted of salt and rain and for a moment I thought, damn, I’m done for. And then I didn’t think.
* * *
He suggested taking a taxi back home, but I insisted on the subway. We were standing on the platform when the commotion started, a small stir that ended with a click and a flash of light right before we stepped onto the train.
“Did someone just take a picture of us?” I peered through the closing doors at the photographer who wasn’t quite standing clear. He’d tried to beat his way on, but the rush hour crush blocked him away.
Ryan smirked down at me, his arm stretched above me to hold on to the metal rail. “I’m not a big deal, am I?”
“Oh my God!” I craned my neck, trying to catch another glimpse of the reporter as the train pulled out of the station. “I should have worn a cuter outfit!”
“Are you kidding?” Ryan asked. “You didn’t dress up for our first date?”
“If you’re lucky,” I said with a small smile, feeling very lucky and daring myself, “next time I’ll wear that Venetian mask.”
* * *
My friends and I had always said, in the offhand manner of those who don’t really have to consider it, that we would never want to be in a serious relationship with a doctor or finance guy because of the hours.
Turned out the hours of professional ball players were also ridiculous.
Ryan spent that weekend in Boston, but we’d managed to steal the Friday before he departed. We met at Amorino’s, a European gelato chain down near Malcolm’s that I hadn’t known existed, and we ended up at Malcolm’s afterward with the usual suspects.
After he came back, we had more time due to the bye. I still had my internship and temp work, not to mention Alexa and the book, but we made it down to Artichoke Pizza and the Botanical Gardens on different evenings. Unlike most of my friends, who had carefully cultivated ennui and no interest in tourist spots, Ryan liked exploring the city, and tourist spots never embarrassed or turned him off.
For Halloween, I dressed up as Dorothy despite myself. Ryan played the Wizard in a green waistcoat and top hat, while Abe, Malcolm, and Dylan suited up as the Lion, the Tin Man, and the Scarecrow. Bri came as Glinda, and the lot of us went to Mount Sinai’s Children Hospital and put on several skits. There was a bit of trouble when I tripped out of my ruby slippers and accidentally pulled the tail off the lion, but mostly it went well. Afterward, we met up with Eva in the Village. She’d dressed convincingly as the Wicked Witch, though she insisted we call her Elphaba.
The next morning—of that one weekend where Ryan was totally, blissfully free—we woke long after the sun had risen. I yawned and curled up against him, sleepy and happy and content. “This is a totally yuppie tourist thing, but want to do brunch at Max Brenner?”
He ro
lled over and lifted a brow.
I wiggled my cold toes against his calf. Ryan was never cold. “There’s so much chocolate. Crepes and shakes and fondues and sundaes.”
So we headed downtown to Max Brenner.
Afterward, I took him to the Strand, which he’d never managed to step into despite four years in the city. Books lined the walls, shelves towering above the polished wooden floors and forming a maze of knowledge. Spines of every shape and color called out to us. We lost hours there. Ryan stood in the military history section and geeked out until my stomach hurt from laughing.
Later that week, I worked up the nerve to call my mother. She picked up on the first ring, and I pictured her pacing around the living room, neatening things obsessively. “Rachael, good. I was just about to call you.”
“You were?” I dropped down onto my bed. “What about?”
“I just talked to your brother. He and Sophie are going into the city in a couple of weeks. You should all get dinner.”
I snorted. “Thank you, Mom. I think we’ll be able to figure things out ourselves.”
“I just wanted to let you know. Maybe they could stay with you.”
Did mothers live on the same planet as the rest of the world? I couldn’t even tell. “Mom, you have seen my apartment, right? Besides, Dave probably has some fancy executive suite he can use.”
“You know, you could make just as much as he does if you’d just invest in a law degree—”
“Uh-huh,” I said, with a little too much perkiness. “I do know.”
Mom sighed.
I hurried to change the topic. “Anyway, what are you and Dad up to?”
Half an hour later, we were about to hang up when I slipped in my real reason for calling. “Oh, and, um, I just wanted you to know, I’m dating someone.”
My attempt at being low-key did nothing to fool my mother. I winced at her loud intake of breath. “What? You are? Who? Since when?”
Really. She acted like I’d never dated anyone before. “His name’s Ryan. He’s one of my friends.”
I could hear the cogs in her head turning. “I’ve never heard of any Ryan before.”
I rolled over on my back and stared at the ceiling. “Mom. Do you seriously think you can remember the name of each and every person I meet here?”
“There’s no reason to get snippy. I’m just curious. Does this Ryan have a job? Where does he live?”
“Central Park West. And yeah, he plays football.”
I didn’t need to see my mother to know the expression of disbelief she would be wearing. “What kind of job is playing football?”
“He’s a professional, Mom.”
There was a long, slightly awkward silence as my mother processed. “Well. That’s an...interesting career choice.”
“Mom.”
“Is he nice? Where’s he from?”
“Iowa.”
“Well that’s...lovely.”
My mother, queen of the insultingly placed pause. I rolled my eyes. “I have to go now.”
“Wait! I’m sorry, don’t go! When do I get to meet him?”
“Bye, Mom.” It forced the matching goodbye out of her.
Well. That had gone well.
But at least I was covered if a picture of us showed up in a tabloid magazine.
* * *
That Friday, Pride and Prejudice: The Musical opened in a small off-Broadway theatre. Relatives and friends crowded inside, along with a healthy dose of Austenites and, in the fourth row of the orchestra, half a dozen members of the New York Leopards.
“What’s this about, again?” Keith asked loudly. Briana, sitting between him and Malcolm, batted his head.
The orchestra swelled with the familiar strains of “Universally Acknowledged/In Want of a Wife.” I clutched Ryan’s hand, grinning madly, and he glanced over in surprise. “I am so excited,” I whispered. “Eva has been working on this for so long. And Mr. Darcy! Singing! What could be better?”
Mike spoke up from where he sat on Ryan’s other side, his red hair faintly gleaming. “Mr. Darcy in a lake?”
Ryan and I both stared at him.
He shrugged. “Two sisters. We must have watched the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice twice a month. They’re insanely jealous that I’m here.”
Well.
The curtain rose on the Bennet family; five unmarried daughters, a crotchety father, and a nosy, marriage-minded mother. Soon, the entire village of Longbourn had joined the dance number. Then a carriage rolled across the stage, bringing the joyful Mr. Bingley and his family, along with the proud Mr. Darcy, to the estate they planned to let, while their new neighbors whirled among them. I studied Mr. Bingley, who had hooked-up briefly with Eva, and decided he was probably good-looking under his stage-makeup, and he definitely had a good tenor.
Mr. Darcy, an Indian-American with gorgeous curls and smoldering eyes, drew as much attention as his £10,000 a year character had in Austen’s novel. It was while watching him stride across the stage that I finally saw Eva, dressed in a black-and-white maid’s uniform. She glowed. I squeezed Ryan’s hand.
The play swept by in a whirl of dance numbers and swooning romance and Austen’s social commentary, biting even when sung. Everyone played their part to perfection, and since the actors obviously got a kick out of their roles, the audience enjoyed it. Everyone relaxed more after the intermission, when it had become clear that the show wasn’t a bust, and that the audience wasn’t going to have to cringe and wince through a travesty of their favorite novel.
The musical ended in a triumphant number after pride and prejudice had crumbled, and Darcy and Elizabeth leaned in for one perfect, endless kiss.
Afterward, we met Eva at the stage door and I threw my arms around her. “You were brilliant!” I squeezed her tightly, then presented her with the bouquet Ryan had been holding.
“We wanted to bring you a football, but Rachael was against it,” Mike quipped.
Eva laughed, brimming with endorphins and energy and high spirits. “I’m so glad you all came!” She embraced each person in turn. Dylan looked uncharacteristically shy, and offered her another batch of flowers. Eva kissed him on the cheek and grinned at me.
“They called intermission half-time,” I told her.
“Shut up.” Keith bumped my shoulder. “Honest mistake.”
Bri added several flowers to the bouquet. “You were wonderful.”
Malcolm leaned his head close to Ryan’s. “I think we’re doing this wrong. We always end up with concussions, not flowers.”
Eva already had plans with the cast and crew, but the rest of us ended up in a bar. I leaned against Ryan as I chatted with Bri. Every part of me felt warm and content. We weren’t talking to each other, or even looking at each other. But his arm was around me, his side lined up with mine. How was it possible that someone’s mere presence could make me so happy?
“So why aren’t you coming to Baltimore?” Bri asked. Tomorrow, the team would fly down to Maryland, and Bri planned to join them. On learning they’d be playing a team called the Ravens, I’d made a “they’ll win nevermore” crack to Ryan. He’d grinned and shaken his head and told me that the Baltimore Ravens had beaten me to it—they were actually named after Poe’s poem.
Bri took a sip of her cider. “You could drive down with me.”
I shrugged. “I have plans with some of my college friends.” I wasn’t sure yet how I was supposed to balance my work, social, and dating life. But it seemed like if I spent every other weekend out of state, I would never see my friends. Or breathe.
Bri groaned. “It’d be way more fun if you came.”
“You must know a ton of people there by now.”
“Yes, but most of them aren’t people I’d hang out with in real life.” She shook her head. “They’re nice, but a lot of them have small kids and conservative values and sometimes I feel like a total sore thumb.”
“Do a lot of them go to all the games?”
“Mm-hmm.
I can’t, when I have papers due, but there’s a group that’s there each time.”
I wondered who paid. I still couldn’t swallow the idea of letting a guy spend that much money on me. Maybe they only flew out wives and fiancée types, in relationships so close they basically had joint-finances? Which begged the question—when was Malcolm going to propose? I decided on some investigative questioning. “Is it mostly girlfriends? Or are there a lot of wives?”
“Oh, it’s a mix. A couple of the guys have long term girlfriends who always go; you’d fit right in.”
Malcolm, who did not seem to realize that I was beginning to delicately pry, butted in. “Yeah, and a bunch of them bring their kids, too. They wear eye black and tiny jerseys.”
He smiled down at Bri, and my heart softened. I recalled the baby clothes in the Team Pro shop. If Ryan had a kid, his could wear a tiny little jersey with a tiny number seven and one of those pairs of tiny little Leopard ears...
Okay, I was definitely getting ahead of myself. That was just embarrassing.
“Anyway, it’s a lot of fun.” She spoke lightly, as though trying to draw my mind away from the thought of babies. Which were not, actually, something I ever really considered, except in a hey-those-are-almost-as-cute-as-puppies way.
After Ryan left for Baltimore, I spent Sunday brunch with Nanami and Jen, and then I spent the rest of the day and the next working on the website with Alexa. She’d thrown herself into the revisions and marketing with incredible energy; her time in New York had patched up her old friendship and left her clear headed and more relaxed, and I found her both a quick friend and a solid partner.
Gretchen had accepted the revised manuscript when I brought it to her, though she hadn’t shown much interest. My heart had pounded and my palms sweat, my words blurring together as I presented the website, while Gretchen had given it the same bland-faced indifference she used on a regular basis. Still, she hadn’t brushed me off, and in the end she’d told me she’d “think about it.”
I wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but since I was still recovering from the stress of pseudo-pitching a book, I’d decided to just lay low and work on marketing with Alexa.
Laurel, on the other hand, paged through the site with fascination during our Monday lunch break. “I had no idea you knew anything about websites. And how’d you get all these site views already?”
