Page 30 of Reaching Hearts
Chapter Eighteen
Rebecca
Score Card: Me – 10,000. Other women Brendan’s seeing – 0.
Brendan excuses himself to use the bathroom and Margaret and I exchange information, and promise to keep in touch. Before I’ve even had time to soak in that Brendan just made a huge leap, Tommy walks over and slides in next to me. I quickly glance Brendan’s way, certain now is not the time to rock the boat. He’s gone, though.
Tommy might have timed this on purpose, but there’s nothing skeezie about his demeanor. He’s just his usual friendly self, so I relax and smile at him.
“Hey Bec, I just had to tell you, you were great out there today.”
“Thank you. I had to redeem myself for the first round.”
He grins. “Nah. You were just getting warmed up. It’s gotta be rough joining a team you don’t know. But you’ve obviously played recently. You on one in Arizona?”
He knows I live in Arizona?
“A team? No. I told Brendan it was high school, but I think the last time I played was really Junior High. Middle School, I think you guys call it now.”
Tommy laughs and shakes his head, leaning back in the chair. “Oh... like you’re so much older than us. What are you, thirty one?”
My eyebrows go up and I laugh, waving his compliment away, but secretly pleased. “I wish. Add a few more years. And that’s as much as I’ll say.”
He picks up Brendan’s fork and turns it over a few times, looking at it. “I don’t know why women are so afraid to say their age. I mean, look at you. You’re stunning. And with age comes experience. Girls in their twenties have nothing on you. They’re like kids playing dress up.” He looks back up at me from under his eyebrows and tilts his head. Something sparks between us, and it makes his smile grow and mine fade away. I don’t know what that is between us, except that it’s very complicating. I look down and my eyes land on a silver ring. “I like your ring.”
He holds his hand up. “Yeah? It was my grandfather’s.” I take his hand and look at it.
“Is that a bull?” I ask, turning it in the light.
“Yeah. My grandfather lived in Spain for most of his life.”
“It’s nice. I like it.”
“Most people don’t notice it.”
“I bet the women do,” I smile, looking over his shoulder just in time to see Brendan walking back with a sour expression. I drop his hand and sit back, feeling guilty.
“He’s right behind me, isn’t he?” Tommy says quietly as he puts the fork down and stands up. “Hey B-man, good game. I should be getting back to my side.”
“You should,” Brendan says without emotion as he slides in next to me and grimly looks at the fork like it’s infected with the swine flu. Our server – early-twenties with a lot of tattoos and hot pink hair – walks over to ask Brendan, “You want me to bring the pitcher over?”
He looks up. “Yes please. And another fork. You’re doing a great job, thanks.”
I stare at him, but he won’t look at me. “You okay?”
“Rebecca, what the fuck.”
“I’m sorry. He was just being friendly. I wasn’t meaning to make you jealous or do anything to irritate you. It was stupid of me, but what was I supposed to do, ask him to leave?”
“It’s alright. He’s just a fucking asshole,” he mutters under his breath.
“He wasn’t making a move on me. I would’ve known.”
Brendan smirks, picks up the fork and moves it to the edge of the table. “No, you wouldn’t have.”
“You can give me a little more credit, Brendan. I’m not a child. Look. I only have two hours before I have to head to the airport. Can we just have a good time?”
Brendan sucks on his teeth, thinking. “Yeah. Come on.” He slides out of the table and turns to me. “Grab your purse.”