Page 55 of Tangled with the Tight End

We talk about this past week’s game. Before we hang up, Marcus sends the phone around to a few other players. Then Coach shouts into the room, calling everyone back to practice, and we say our goodbyes.

Winona comes back into the room and asks me, “So, what for dinner?”

“You sure you aren’t hungry?” I ask her.

“I’m going to get pizza when I leave,” she says.

“Pizza?”

“From the Pizza Den. Do you eat pizza?”

“During the off-season. Occasionally.”

“I eat it at least once a week. It’s a staple.”

“If I order pizza will you stay to eat it with me?”

I don’t know why I make the offer. And I really don’t know what makes her say yes.

“I could stay,” she says. “But if you’re getting pizza, you need root beer. And you need a good movie.”

“Is that right?”

“It’s the trifecta, trust me.”

“Lead the way, oh guru of pizza consumption,” I say.

She laughs. “I can run out and pick it up. Do you want to call it in?”

“I’ll have it delivered,” I say.

She smiles at me, crossing her arms and shaking her head as if pizza delivery is equivalent to owning a private jet. She doesn’t need to drive out. It’s convenient. I call in the order, getting a sausage-pepperoni and a mediterranean veggie.

“And a two-liter of root beer,” I say, smiling in her direction.

Winona bounces on her toes when she hears me add on cookie dough.

I hang up with the Pizza Den and pull the remote out of the wooden box she got me.

“Think fast,” I say, tossing the remote in her direction.

She surprises me by catching it.

“Nice catch,” I say.

“Oh, yeah. I’m super athletic, as you’ve seen.” She laughs.

I laugh too, smiling at her.

She eyes the chair where Chantal had been sitting and turns toward the other side of the room, settling into the chair my mom sat in when she visited the other day.

We’re quiet for a few moments. Winona’s eyes rove around the room and I start to second-guess asking her to stay. Is she bored? Did she want to leave? Is she staying out of pity?

She breaks the silence with two words. “Beautiful woman.”

“I’m sorry, what?” It takes me a moment. Then I realize who she’s talking about. “Oh. Chantal. Yeah. She’s pretty. She models.”

“Girlfriend?” Winona asks.