Page 107 of Just for the Cameras
“Yeah. If you haven’t noticed, we’re kind of popular.”
“Great.” I offer her an eye roll.
She leans against the counter, watching me, arms folded over her chest. “How would you rate your first week of training camp?”
“Why are you asking me? I should ask you.” I finish scrubbing the last dish, rinse it, and then set it to the side to dry.
She skipped out on today, and I told her that I’d come to the zoo after I was done so I could take her home…like I’ve done every day this week. Luckily, Coach Keenan has been generous in allowing me to leave training camp in the evening as long as I keep up my video training.
Do I think it’s him being a nice guy? Absolutely not. I think it’s Welcott telling Keenan to ease up on me because, according to public opinion, I’ve been growing excitement around the season starting…apparently by washing dishes.
“It was…interesting.” She smiles up at me. Over the past few days, it seems as though we’ve found a bit of ease between the two of us. Not asmuch fighting, just the occasional temperature rise. “I’m really sore, but hopefully that will wear off at some point.”
“The eye is looking better.”
“Yeah, doesn’t hurt as much either.”
“Good,” I say awkwardly, because I don’t do this bullshit small-talk thing. I would keep it quiet if it was my choice, but she hasn’t let me. She keeps engaging me in conversation, whether it’s here, in the car, or at training camp, for fuck’s sake. It’s everywhere, and I feel myself getting sucked into it without any escape.
“So what are you doing this weekend?”
“Camp,” I say. “Six days a week.”
Her cute nose crinkles. “Ugh, that’s not fun. At least you have Sunday. Are you going to do anything?”
My mind goes to my mom and my standing date with her during the off-season. Once the season starts, my schedule is more erratic, but I try to get in as many visits as I can. It’s not that she would really notice if I didn’t show up, but the thought of that makes my heart break.
“Uh, yeah.” I pull on the back of my neck, not elaborating.
“That wasn’t evasive at all.” She smirks and pokes my side. “You know you can’t go on any dates, right? You’re kind of attached to me right now.”
“Yeah, I’m aware,” I say.
“Okay, so what is it? Ooh, are you taking knitting classes on Sundays and you feel like it would be embarrassing to admit? Listen, Graydon, I’m here to tell you that if Tom Daley, the Olympic diver, can knit during the Olympics, you can knit during a game.” She leans closer and whispers, “And I think the fans would find it endearing.”
“They wouldn’t,” I counter. “They’d be throwing beers at me and telling me to get my ass behind the line.”
“Well, I’d cheer you on to knit.”
“You coming to a game?” I ask, changing the subject from what I’m doing on Sundays.
“We’ve all talked about coming to a game,” Slutty Little Glasses says as he walks right into our conversation.
No one was talking to you, prick.
“Thought we could make a zoo thing out of it, right, Maple?” He stands next to her, far too close for my fucking liking.
“Yeah, we did. Thought it could be fun to cheer you on.”
The only person I want there is her.
And I want her wearing my jersey.
And I want her front row on the fifty-yard line.
“Not that we really know anything about football,” he jokes, making Maple laugh.
“No, we don’t.” She laughs some more. “We were joking earlier about how we just hope we cheer for the right team.”
