Page 3

THREE

TRENT

Nothing solidified joining a team like a win, and, according to my newest teammates, the Foul Boules historically didn’t win often.

But, in the final inning of our first game, Kit squared up to the ball, bases loaded. She had her short black hair pulled back in a severe ponytail, a frown on her lips. I stood on third, Derek on second. If I got home, we’d tie.

“Kick it out of the park, Kitten!” I clapped encouragingly.

She shot me a murderous look, and the pitcher took advantage of the distraction, winding up and rocketing the ball down the center of home plate.

I didn’t have time to shout out a warning, but as if sensing the incoming ball, she redirected her gaze to the ground with just enough time to smack the ball into the outfield. The Upper Deckers, banking on a bunt, dashed after the ball, leaving plenty of time for Derek and me to race to home.

I jogged by the dugout, soaking in the cheers from my team and receiving a line of high fives. On the field, an Upper Decker launched the recovered ball toward third, smacking Kit in the shoulder.

Still, we won.

“Drinks at the bar?” the opposing captain yelled over.

“Hell yeah,” Derek called back.

“Hey, Texas!” Kit shouted, mud on her sleeve and her hair askew. “You’re not supposed to distract your teammates.”

“I was just cheering you on,” I said with a cocky grin.

The girl had my number. I had to give her that. Next to winning, annoying the hell out of Kit was quickly becoming my favorite part of the game.

“Hey,” a man in an “Upper Deckers” t-shirt ducked under the cover and approached me with a piece of paper in one hand and a pen in the other. Kit rolled her eyes, brushing my shoulder on her way to her bag. “Trent Vogt? From the Breakers, right?”

I shot him a smile, taking the paper and signing it. “Yeah, the one and only.”

He raked a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe you wanted to play kickball. Had we known, we would have gladly kicked someone off the team to take you in.”

I’d heard the refrain more than a few times. I laughed. “I didn’t know when I signed up that I’d need to call in favors to get on a team.”

“It’s a pretty popular sport around here. Too many people who want to play and not enough slots. Guys, especially.”

Kit snorted loud enough for me to look. She pursed her lips, tapping her foot, eyes flitting between the exit and me.

“Would you like me to sign something for you, too?” I asked, voice sickeningly sweet.

Her eyes flared. “I want you to get out of my way.”

I stepped aside. “Are you coming out for a drink?”

She paused, indents forming around the corner of her mouth before she gave me a single shake of her head. “I’m busy.”

“Too busy for one drink?” I pressed.

As much as I didn’t mind riling Kit up, I still wanted to be her friend. Or, rather, her roommate’s friend. And it seemed like they were a package deal.

Her eyes narrowed. “How do you know what I have time for?”

“You played a game of kickball. I think you can sneak in another fifteen minutes for a drink.” She scrunched her face, unconvinced. “I’m buying.”

Her brown eyes raked down my face before nodding. “Fine. If you’re buying.”

I talked to autograph guy as we walked through the parking lot, down the street to the bar. Mullin’s claimed to be the oldest Irish pub in Norwalk, but the shiny green booths and the lack of a lingering scent of cigarettes made me doubt the veracity of that claim.

Pictures of the bar in the decades before studded the walls, faint reminders of the ramshackle interior and worn bar top. The renovation must have been a full gut job, which didn’t surprise me. The NFL’s fledging team had launched Norwalk from “road trip city” to “vacation city” in a hurry.

The entire city was under renovation. And while a few of my teammates scooped up dilapidated buildings to turn into apartments and bars, I didn’t need more responsibility than keeping out of trouble during the off-season.

And going to a bar wasn’t exactly “keeping out of trouble.” But the post-practice drink hadn’t catapulted me into a full-blown spiral, and I didn’t suspect tonight would be any different. Convincing my newest teammates to stay out for more than one drink earlier in the week had been an act of Congress. I doubted they’d be down to party after a mid-week game.

But I was desperate for any amount of socialization. Even a single drink at a painfully unoriginal bar.

The two teams pushed together a bank of tables. A frazzled bartender frantically poured two beers while glancing back at the Guinness flowing from the tap. Kit waited, notecards in her hand. She flipped one over with a frown and shuffled it to the back of the pack.

I inhaled, working a kink out of my neck as if preparing for a fight. Because being around Kit felt a little like a fight. But Derek seemed like a good dude. Fun, but not too fun. Extroverted, but not a shitshow. And I had shockingly few non-shitshow friends left in Norwalk.

I needed another.

“What are you drinking?” I slid into the space beside her.

Surprise colored her face. “That was fast. Done signing autographs already?”

“I’m never really done signing autographs. There are always more fans.”

She snorted. “God, you’re unbearable.”

“But you’re still letting me buy you a drink.”

“Because I’m broke.” She waved down the bartender as he turned off the Guinness tap. “A rum and coke, please.”

“Whatever you’ve got on tap that’s an IPA for me,” I said and turned back to Kit. “You sure you don’t want to make that top-shelf?”

“Top-shelf rum?” She laughed, raising an eyebrow at the bartender. “Is that a thing?”

He shrugged. “I’ve got an expensive rum. No idea how good it is.”

“Great. Whatever’s most expensive. Mr. Football Star can cover it.” Kit knocked her knuckles against the bar.

“So, what are you studying?” I asked as the bartender retreated in search of his priciest rum.

She flipped through the notecards before pocketing them. “Chemistry.”

“So, you’re a scientist?”

Other than Derek mentioning a job at a hospital, I didn’t know much about Kit. She hadn’t offered any information, and in her defense, I hadn’t really asked.

“Not like a ‘beakers and hypotheses’ scientist. I work in a hospital lab.”

“That’s not a ‘beakers and hypotheses’ scientist?” I asked, already confused. I’d taken a biology course in college to check it off the list of graduation requirements, but I had leaned on my lab partners to do most of the work.

“Not really. I analyze body fluids. Blood, urine, spinal, whatever.”

I recoiled. “Gross.”

“Well, we all can’t catch balls for a living.”

“Even if you could, you’d never be as good as me.” I shot her my most charming smile.

She rolled her eyes. “Let’s just be honest: I help people, you entertain them.”

The bartender returned with our drinks.

“Thanks,” she muttered, running her finger over the top of the glass before picking it up for a sip.

“What do you think?”

She set down the glass and the edges of her lips turned up in a smile. “About the same as the cheap rum.”

A loud gale of laughter sounded from the crowd of kickball players at the tables. I’d bought Kit a drink and played nice for a couple of minutes. I could slink off for better company.

But I stayed.

“So, if you already work in a hospital, why do you need school, anyway?”

Her shoulders fell a little, the hint of a smile sliding off her lips. “The pay bump, mostly. I have an associate’s degree, but I’d make a lot more with a bachelor’s degree.”

“You didn’t go to college?” Even as the words poured out, I winced, wishing I hadn’t said them. I sounded like an asshole.

Everyone in football had a degree. Unlike other sports where a trip through the college level was more of a “nice to have” rather than a “necessity,” there was only one way to get to the NFL, and that was through college. Even with homework sessions, private tutors, and arrangements with professors, I couldn’t claim to have earned a degree, just received one.

What little goodwill I’d built up with Kit in the last few minutes crumbled in front of me. “It’s probably hard for you to comprehend, but not everyone can afford a four-year degree.”

“I know. That came out wrong.”

She rolled her eyes, bracing her hand against the bar. “No, I don’t think it did. Thanks for the drink.”

In a flash, she took her drink and skated back to Derek. He pulled his attention away from a conversation, his eyes flitting from Kit to me. My half-hearted grin didn’t stop a frown from forming on his face. I sighed, raking a hand through my hair.

Well, I certainly fucked that up.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, providing a momentary distraction from the mess I continued to make. I pulled it out, greeted with a picture of my best friend, Frankie, standing by the beach, blue water behind him, palm trees on each side and a message, “You’re missing out!”

Maybe I should have spent the summer in Puerto Rico.

But even though Frankie and I had been attached at the hip since the combine, I could feel my worst habits grating on him. The drinking, the partying, the women, the drugs. He spent a season keeping me out of the ditches and was exhausted by his effort.

I didn’t want to lose my NFL career and my best friend.

Pocketing my phone, I slid off the bar stool and walked toward my teammates.

“Thanks for the drink. I’m off,” Kit said, squeezing Derek’s shoulder as she stood up.

“More studying?” Derek asked.

“Just a little while longer.” Kit scooped up her empty glass as she took the long way around the table.

“And then you’ll have a life again,” Derek said.

“Or at least I’ll have enough time off for our trip. Have a good night! See you all at practice!” Kit waved to the rest of the table, keeping her eyes away from me as she slipped out the door.

“Trip?” I asked Derek, distracting the conversation away from my disastrous drink with Kit.

He shrugged, taking a sip of beer. “It’s a car rally. Kit’s idea. We’ll be gone for two weeks. Virginia to Florida.”

“Really?” I’d have pegged Kit as the type to go on vacation in the mountains. Somewhere off beat, like an amusement park or a roadside attraction. She was too fair for the beach, clearly not athletic enough for a strenuous vacation of mountaineering or hiking. But a car rally? “She likes cars?”

“Not really. Both of us are pretty useless with cars, but she’s learning. She inherited the car from her dad. He had some half-cocked idea of racing it back in the ‘70s and she wants to compete with it to fulfill his dreams or something like that. Honestly, I think she just wanted an excuse for a long vacation after she’s done getting her bachelor’s.” Derek relaxed back into his seat. “So, what’d you say to her?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose with a wry smile. “I bought her a drink and then put my foot in my mouth. Pissed her off again.”

Derek laughed. “What’d you say?”

“I said her job was gross.” I grimaced. “And acted like an ass when she said she hadn’t gone to college.”

He shook his head. “I’m sure she loved that. So, I guess that means you’re not coming over for the game tomorrow?”

“What if I bring a shit ton of snacks?”

“You should have led with that.”