Sara went up the drive, passing the truck. A large orange stripe went down the side, with the words "Auburn Tigers" painted in blue. There was an orange flag with a blue paw print on it swaying by the front door. She noticed the mailbox was painted orange and blue, too. Apparently, someone in the house was a college football fan.
Without warning, a small dog ran up the sidewalk and jumped at her, putting his dirty paws on Sara's skirt. She told him, "No," to no avail, then finally knelt down to pet the overly excited animal so he would stop jumping.
The dog barked, and Sara tried not to gag at his breath. She stroked back the fur on its head, thinking she had never seen an uglier animal in her life. Halfway down his back, he had curly hair like a poodle, but the fur on his legs was wiry like a terrier's. The coloring was an ungodly mixture of black, gray, and tan. His eyes bugged out as if someone were squeezing his testicles, even though a quick check proved he didn't have any. The check also revealed he was a she.
Sara stood, trying to brush the paw prints off her skirt. Georgia clay didn't have a thing on Alabama dirt, and nothing short of a long soak would take the stains out.
"Zaftig!" a man called from the driveway, and Sara felt herself blush crimson until she realized the man was not talking to her.
He held a shopping bag in one hand and patted his leg with the other. "Tig! Come're, girl." The dog did not leave Sara's side, and the man laughed good-naturedly as he walked across the front yard. He stopped in front of Sara, giving a low whistle as he looked her up and down. "Darlin', if you're one a them Jehova's Witnesses, I'm ready to convert."
The front door banged open, and a dark-haired woman around Sara's age walked outside. "Don't listen to that fool," she told Sara, giving her the once-over with considerably less appreciation than the man had showed. "Sara, right?"
"Uh," Sara stammered. "Right."
"I'm Darnell, but everybody calls me Nell. This'n's my husband, Jerry."
"Call me Possum," he said, tipping his orange and blue baseball cap.
Confused, Sara told them, "Nice to meet you both."
"Ma'am." Possum tipped his hat again before heading into the house.
Nell let the dog in, but not Sara. "So," she said, leaning against the doorjamb. "You're Jeffrey's new thing?"
Sara could not tell if she was joking, but she had had enough of this sort of treatment in Grant. She crossed her arms, resigned. "I suppose so."
Nell twisted her lips to the side, still not finished. "Are you a stewardess or a stripper?"
Sara barked a laugh, but stopped when Nell didn't join in. She squared her shoulders, choosing "Stripper" because it sounded more exotic.
The woman narrowed her eyes. "Jeffrey said you work with children."
Sara tried to think of something witty, but could only come up with "I use balloon animals in my act."
"Right." Nell finally stepped aside. "They're all in the back."
Sara walked into the living room of the modest home, which contained more Auburn paraphernalia than was probably legal. Pom-poms and pennant flags draped the fireplace, and a framed jersey with the number seventeen hung over the mantel. Under a glass dome on the coffee table was a small village that must have resembled the university campus. A rack held several college football magazines, and even the lampshade had an orange and blue AU logo painted on it.
Nell led her down a hall toward the back door, but Sara stopped in front of a framed magazine cover. Underneath the SEC Monthly banner was a picture of Jeffrey standing at the fifty-yard line. His hair was longer and his mustache dated the picture by about fifteen years. He was wearing a blue jersey and rested his sneaker on a football. The type at the bottom said, "The Next Big Thing for the Tigers?"
Before she could stop herself, Sara asked, "He played for Auburn?"
Darnell finally laughed. "He got you into bed without showing you his Sugar Bowl ring?" she asked, managing to make Sara sound stupid and loose at the same time.
"Hey," Jeffrey said, coming in a little too late for Sara's liking. He was holding a bottle of beer in his hand. "I see y'all met."
Nell said, "You didn't tell me she was a stripper, Slick."
"Only weekends," he said, handing Nell the beer. "Just until she gets on full-time with the airline."
Sara tried to catch his eye to tell him she wanted to get the hell out of here, but either Jeffrey had not learned to read her signs in the last few months or he was fully aware of the treatment she was getting and did not mind a bit. His shit-eating grin told her the truth of the matter.
Jeffrey threw his arm around her, dragging her close and kissing her head. It felt more like he was telling her to be a good sport than anything else, and Sara pinched the fire out of the back of his arm to let him know she was not up for that kind of play.
He winced, rubbing his arm. "Nell, can you give us a minute?"
Nell walked down the hall and went into what was probably the kitchen. Outside the open back door, Sara could see a pool in the yard with another couple sitting around in beach chairs. In the distance, a dog was barking. Possum stood behind a grill with a long fork in his hand, and he waved at them both through the screen door.
Sara said, "This detour seems a little planned to me."
"Sorry?"
She kept her voice low, mindful that Nell was probably listening. "Is this part of the indoctrination for all your new things?"
"My what?"
She indicated the kitchen. "That's what your friend called me."
To his credit, he looked annoyed. "She's just -"
"Thinking I'm one of your sluts?" Sara finished, her throat straining even as she whispered. "Because that's what she pretty much said, that I'm one of your sluts."
He tried his smile again. "Sara, honey -"
"Don't you dare call me that, you asshole."
"I didn't -"
She fought to keep her tone low. "I don't know who the hell you think you are, dragging me all the way down here below the damn Gnat Line just to embarrass me, but I don't appreciate it and you've got about two seconds to say goodbye to these people, because I'm driving back to Grant right now and I don't give a damn whether you're in the car or not."
About three seconds passed before he burst into laughter. "My God," he said. "That's more than you've said to me the entire trip."
Sara was so furious that she punched him in the shoulder as hard as she could.
"Ow," he said, rubbing the spot.
"Mr. Big Football Player can't take a hit?" She punched him again. "Why didn't you tell me you played football?"
"I thought everybody knew."
"How would I know that?" she demanded. "Rhonda at the bank?" He grabbed her hand before she could punch him again. "That slut at the sign shop?" She tried to get her hand back but he held her too tightly.
"Honey -" He stopped himself with a grin that said he was humoring her. "Sara."
"You think I don't know you've screwed practically every woman in town?"
He took on a wounded look. "They were just place-holders while I waited for you."
"You are so full of shit."
He stepped toward her, reaching out to put his hands on her waist. "Do you kiss your mama with that mouth?"
She tried to push him away, but he backed her toward the wall. Sara felt the familiar weight of his body press into her, but all she could think about was the fact that his friends were right outside the door watching. She expected him to give her a passionate kiss or make some other show of his manly prowess, followed by a victory lap around the pool and a high-five from Possum, but all he did was kiss her forehead and say, "I haven't been back here in six years."