Page 15

Allie

“ D on’t tell Liv I asked you this, but how is the drill team different from the cheerleading squad?” I’m standing in the kitchen at Cooters & Shooters watching Dylan finish up tonight’s Dare Dish.

It’s Pepper X pork chili with a coconut and sour cream base. Plastic gloves are on her hands, and she’s wearing a plastic shield over her eyes as she carefully moves the pot of chili onto the rolling cart.

“Drill team is an all-girl precision dance line. The cheerleaders are co-ed, and they do cheers, chants, climbing formations, and tumbling.”

“But the drill team cheers, too.” I step back as a spicy pepper sensation in the air makes my nostrils tingle. “Dang, Dylan! What is that? It’s burning my nose.”

“Isn’t it wild?” Her eyes are wide, and she slips off the plastic gloves and grabs several loaves of French bread. “Pepper X is currently considered the hottest pepper in the world.” Her eyes widen behind the safety shield. “It’s hotter than a Carolina Reaper. ”

I hold a towel over my mouth and nose for protection. “Who’s going to eat that?”

“Oliver Duck,” she snips. “And if I hear one more word out of him about how my Dare dishes have fallen off, I’m going to make him eat a whole one raw.”

“Okay, Miss Feisty.” I laugh, raising my eyebrows at Craig, who’s just entered the room.

“She’s still working on it?” He jumps back, going to the other side of the large table and holding a hand over his nose. “I thought you’d be finished by now. The crowd is lining up out there.”

“I’m being careful. This one’s a baddie.” Dylan puts the lid on the pot and nods at the freezer. “We’re going to need all the ice cream tonight, Al.”

“What’s our warning? Only try this one if you have a death wish?”

“Here, I wrote it down.” She hands me the iPad, and I scan the note she has on the screen.

I’ve spent two days working with Liv on the drill team. Two days going out to the football field and watching Jack stand with his strong arms crossed, ball cap lowered over his eyes, that muscle moving in his square jaw.

For two days, I’ve tried not to act like a love-struck teenager every time I catch him looking at me. I can’t take my eyes off him since he lifted me by the arms and practically shoved me into my house, closing the door like it was all he could do to put a barrier between us.

I was awake the rest of the night. My insides were soaring, and all I could see was the fire in his eyes. I repeated his words over and over in my mind, I needed to see you… It’s different with you…

Then he took my hand and dragged me to the house like it took all his willpower to get away from me.

Now it’s burning between us like a wildfire. Every day I go to the field, and I try to watch my son. I don’t know what Jack said to him, but his confidence is restored. He’s playing better than he’s played all year.

Even when Jack switched up the positions yesterday, putting Levi in the quarterback spot, it wasn’t the same. Levi couldn’t match the energy Austin had, and even though all the running backs were doing their best, it was clear who the boys wanted as team captain.

Austin was back in the top spot this afternoon, and all everyone could talk about was the Captains going all the way to the state championships.

It feels more possible than ever before.

I wonder if Jack will come to the restaurant tonight. He’s stayed away every night since Monday, from what I’ve heard. I came back Tuesday, ready to face him and get it over with, but he wasn’t here.

He wasn’t here last night, when Rachel told us Edward was joining the team as the second-string kicker.

We were all excited and encouraging, but Edward’s expression never changed.

“Kicking requires more focused skill than brute strength,” he explained in his usual, logical tone. “It’s the only position I could have on the team, as kickers rarely get hurt.”

Austin smiled, patting him on the shoulder. “I think it’s pretty cool having you onboard. I hope Rome gives you a chance.”

I’ve always been proud of my son, but the way he befriended Rachel’s brother and always looks out for him at school and now on the team makes me feel like he didn’t get any of his father’s bad genes.

His father, who as of now, hasn’t made a peep.

I watch the news every day, and I text with friends back home.

They say he’s in the city, but he’s lying low.

The thought of him roaming around our old neighborhood makes my stomach churn, but we’ve got a thousand eyes on him.

I’ve got to believe at least one of them will warn me if anything changes .

“Are we doing this?” Craig hollers from where he’s standing at the PA system in his blond Sandy-from- Grease wig.

Every Dare Night, he picks out a special fire-themed song to play while the brave customers line up to try Dylan’s latest concoction.

“Yes!” I step up on a chair to give the warning. “Okay, people, this one’s a baddie. Ready to be warned?”

A low roar moves through the line, and I start to read. “Pepper X is currently the hottest pepper in the world. It ranks higher than both the Carolina Reaper and the Komodo Dragon with a score of three million on the Scoville heat scale. Seriously, y’all, this one is experts only.”

A few people step out of line, shaking their heads and laughing. I nod, pointing at them as I continue, finishing off the warning.

“Dylan has made a delicious Pepper X pork chili with a coconut and sour cream base. It’s loaded with beans and cheese to help cut the heat, and as always, we have cups of vanilla ice cream, milk, and tomato juice for our lactose-intolerant friends.

Water or beer will not soothe the burn, since it’s an oil. ”

I’m about to put the iPad down when Dylan hisses at me. “You skipped the last part!”

“Oh, sorry!” I hold up a finger. “One last thing—this one’s for you, Oliver Duck.”

A chuckle ripples through the crowd as Dylan’s teenage nemesis smirks and walks to the front of the line. He’s a skinny, red-headed guy with wire-rimmed glasses, and he hasn’t met a pepper he can’t eat. He makes me believe in that old “redheads don’t feel pain” myth.

Dylan hands him a serving, and he takes it, running his eyes over her hand before lifting the spoon and taking a bite.

He holds a minute, and we all watch him closely. I don’t see a change, or maybe that’s a slight flinch in his left eye?

Without a word, he turns and walks back to his table.

“That’s what I thought,” Dylan says to me .

“Did you get him?” I lean in to speak in her ear.

“Let’s do this!” Craig hits the music, and we serve the rest of the line.

Tonight he starts off with “Fire Woman” by The Cult, and three of the waitresses hop onto the small bar with him to dance, rolling their hips and clapping their hands.

“I love this song!” Rachel skips up to where I’m standing behind the table with Dylan handing out spoons and cups of vanilla ice cream.

“Get up there!” I nod to the bar. “Unless you’re brave enough to try this chili from hell.”

She shakes her head. “I’m getting some for Liv’s mom, but I’m too scared.”

“I don’t blame you. I’m not sure my intestines can handle it.”

The music slides into “Great Balls of Fire” by Jerry Lee Lewis, and my eye catches the outside double doors opening. Then my heart jumps to my throat when Jack enters the room with Garrett at his side.

Their brows are lowered, and they seem to be having a serious conversation. But as soon as Craig sees Garrett, he’s on the mic. “Sheriff Grizz, we’ve got a 10-33 on the bar—immediate assistance needed.”

Garrett breaks into a laugh, and he holds up a finger before disappearing into the kitchen. Jack is left alone at the door, and of course, he looks straight at me.

A hint of a smile lifts one corner of his mouth, and I can’t move. I can barely breathe.

“Allie,” Dylan bumps my hip. “You’re holding up the line, girl.”

Garrett dances into the room again in his own blond Sandra-Dee wig, shaking his ass and going straight to the small bar. Female whistles and catcalls ripple through the room, and an old Judas Priest song starts.

In a single move, Garrett hauls his six-foot-four frame onto the small bar with the dancers, and everyone cheers as they fill the makeshift dance floor in the cleared-out center of the dining room.

It breaks the spell Jack has on me, and I return to handing out spoons and cups of ice cream to the waiting line. They all slip a few dollars into the tip jar, but it’s all volunteer. Dylan doesn’t make anyone pay for Dare Night.

Liv walks in behind Jack with Gigi on her hip, and she gives him a nudge. He smiles in response, saying something so calmly, it makes me wonder if I’m the only one who felt that earthquake when our eyes met.

Gigi bounces her little arms up and down like she’s trying to keep time with the music. The last daring client takes a bowl of Pepper X chili, and Dylan puts the lid on the pot.

“All done!” She crosses her arms, scanning the room. “Where did Oliver go? Did he finish his serving? Is he crying?”

We scan the crowd. Some people are attempting to eat the chili, but most are holding the small cups of vanilla ice cream directly onto their tongues. Others are blowing their noses or blotting their eyes.

“There he is!” I point to a table in the back near Miss Gina and Liv’s mother’s booth.

The cup is in front of him, and he gives Dylan a thumbs-up.

“That’s right, you little curmudgeon.” She shakes her head. “He’s too young to act that old.”

“You know he’s got a crush on you.” I help her load up the rest of the bowls and plastic utensils, and I grab the large plastic bin of ice cream cups to put what’s left of them in the freezer. “Now that he’s eighteen, he probably thinks he has a shot—if he can get Logan out of the picture.”

“He can get over himself, because I’m a very happily married woman.”

I laugh as I follow her to the kitchen, which leads us right past where Liv and Gigi are standing with Jack. Swallowing the knot in my throat, I force a smile.