"Aren't things going well?" I asked Juliet in a whisper.
"No, they're good, why?" She answered me without taking her eyes off the action.
"Eric looks mad."
"Na, he's just into the game. The other team's pretty good. They're so into it. Raging testosterone – OFFSIDES!"
Talk about being "into" the game. My ears rang from Juliet's shrieking. But when Eric made an assist that resulted in a goal for his team, I cheered as wildly as everyone else.
The game ended with Eric's team winning by one point. The elated players, soaked in sweat and decorated in grass stains and dirt, whooped and pounded each other with enthusiasm as they left the field. As they came in our direction I recognized a clerk from the 7-Eleven down the street and one of the young men who worked at the feed store. Eric walked off the field toward us with the player who had made the goal. With a lurch my heart rate shot into overdrive. The player was Paul.
Other team members walked or jogged by, slapping Paul or Eric on the back and saying something about the winning goal, which tended toward good if he was from their team, or a good-natured insult if he was from the losing team.
"Way to go, Doc." A lanky man gave Paul a resounding slap on the back. "Bend it like Beckham, eh?" The copious amount of blood covering the front of the man's jersey dragged my gaze away from Paul.
"You're such a wimp," Juliet said at my look of horror. "That guy ran his nose into some other guy's elbow right before you came."
"Hey, Thea." Mark Wong, my dentist, hailed me. "I didn't know you were a fan."
"I've been recruited," I said, meaning Juliet had taken it upon herself to expand my horizons. Mark glanced toward Paul.
"Oh." He smiled.
"I didn't know you played," I said.
"Three times a week," he said, and slapped his stomach. "Keeps the fat off." He raised a hand in farewell and continued toward his waiting family.
Eric and Paul reached us and Juliet threw her arms around her sweaty hero.
"Way to go, guys!" she said. "Killer game!"
Both men had the sated look of victors coming home from battle. Paul's gaze locked with mine and my heart rate geared up another few notches.
"Hi," he said, smiling.
"Hi." I smiled back. "Doc? You're a doctor?"
"PhD," he confirmed.
"I guess I should have realized, I mean, since you teach." The old grad school caste-system reared it Machiavellian head. I remembered it well, having only a lowly master's degree. Yet, here he was, communing with real people as if he was one of us.
Stop acting like a reverse snob, Thea. You know you're only doing it because he still makes you weak-kneed.
Neither of us looked away despite the lack of conversation.
From somewhere else Jorge strolled up and pounded Paul on the back. Paul blinked and looked at him.
"Hey man, good game… for an old guy who cheats," he said and laughed.
"It's not too hard to beat a bunch of posers," Paul countered, grinning. "It might be worth your while to learn how to kick the ball."
Jorge feigned an affronted stance and took a wide swing that Paul easily ducked.
"How come you aren't on the same team as Eric?" I asked. Jorge wore the opposing team's colors. "You do work together, after all."
"Our schedules are too different," Jorge responded. "We can't get to the same practices."
"Why don't you give Thea a ride home?" Juliet asked Eric. Still holding fast to his hand, she turned to me. "He's giving everyone else a ride. He can drop you off."
The prospect of getting into a small car with a bunch of sweaty men had no appeal, but I attempted a polite smile.
"Thanks, but I think I'll walk. It's not far."
Juliet rolled her eyes and Jorge laughed loudly.
"I don't think we smell very good," Eric said.
"You always smell good," Juliet purred.
Jeez.
Jorge punched Paul's shoulder. "Hey man, I almost had you on that last play. You must've felt me breathing down your neck."
The game-chatter started up again, drowning out Paul's comment to Jorge. All of them were still pumped, and it was obvious there'd be no getting Juliet away from Eric.
I wouldn't have minded talking to Paul longer, either, but with the post-game high still fueling their shared talk and laughter it didn't appear as though that was going to happen.
"Good game," I said, and gave a little wave. "It was fun. I'll have to come and watch you play again. Bye."
No one responded. I walked away, mentally chalking up a point to my sister. The creativity Juliet used to avoid a chat – and have it appear as though circumstances intervened – never ceased to amaze. I'd pin her down eventually. She couldn't put me off forever.
I hadn't gone twenty yards when I heard my name called. Glancing back, I saw Paul jogging toward me. He appeared younger, his soaked hair hanging over his forehead. His usual confident expression was absent.
"I need to go home and have a shower and change first, but I was wondering… would you like to go out for a drink, or something?"
"Sure – yes, I'd like that." The words fell out of my mouth.
His smile looked relieved. "Good. I'll pick you up in forty minutes?"
I nodded, feeling giddy. He turned and loped back to join the others. I hardly noticed the walk home.
Chapter Thirteen
I hurried into my bedroom, shedding my old, boring t-shirt and jeans, and brushed my teeth while I dug through my closet and bureau drawers. Three changes of mind later I had on my best, skinny jeans, ballet flats, and the red cashmere sweater Juliet wished she was petite enough to wear. Paul's knock on my front door coincided with my last swipe of mascara. After one last check in the hall mirror to be sure my hair wasn't behaving oddly, I pulled the door open.
His smile didn't look as nervous as I felt. When he said, "Your flower garden is really pretty – so are you." he colored slightly.
I could've read him wrong.
"Thank you, you too – uh, I mean nice, you look nice, too." My cheeks grew considerably warmer.
He did look good. The blue polo shirt matched the blue of his eyes, and his jeans fit… his jeans fit. I looked away quickly and reached for my purse.
He let my brainless remark pass. "I thought we might go to The River's Bend."
I smiled, too eager, and nodded, afraid to open my mouth and let something else idiotic fall out. We took Paul's car. Good thing it was such a short distance to the historical district where the bar was located because I couldn't think of a thing – intelligent or otherwise – to say. Amazing since I hadn't been able to shut up Saturday night. First dates are always such a trial, Thea. Omigod. This was a date. Why hadn't that occurred to me? Maybe it wasn't really a date. You know it is. Don't be naïve. He asked, you said yes.
I tucked my hair behind my ears, then untucked it. Great, now you're fidgeting. For a panicked moment I contemplated asking Paul to take me home. I'd made a mistake. No. That would be rude. It was just drinks. What could happen? I could as easily go out for drinks with my sister. Or anyone. Right?
Now would be a good time to start a conversation.
Frantically, I rummaged through my mental archives, but came up with nothing to interrupt the silence. I flashed Paul a tentative smile, and discarded the weather as too obvious and desperate. The thought that kept surfacing was the one reminding me I hadn't actually broken up with Jonathan yet.
But Paul knew all about what happened last Saturday night. You told him. In detail. Minute detail, on the drive back to Snohomish. Because he asked. Because I needed to talk to someone about what happened. Someone? Right. Be honest. You didn't want him to think you were at McMurphy's with Greg.
Certainly, to him, this was not a date. Undoubtedly, to him, he was simply having a drink with his landlord's niece. Just to keep the peace. Yup, that was it. I was overreacting because of this teeny little crush I seemed to have on him. Nothing I couldn't handle. Well, that was a relief.