Page 63 of Love Me Not

Yet people in relationships had to merge their perceptions at some point. “Could you live like this?”

“Yeah, no.”

“But it’s fine that I do?”

Showing exasperation for the first time, he said, “Lindsey, this is your house. It’s not my place to judge how you live in it.”

True, but every other person in my life did judge how I lived, and they never approved of how I kept my space. This man was either a figment of my imagination, or the most accepting human on the planet. Testing to see which, I reached out and pinched his arm.

“Ow,” he griped, pulling away. “What’d you do that for?”

“To see if you’re real.”

“We’ve known each other for months. Of course, I’m real. Do I get to pinch you back?”

I shoved him through the open door. “Absolutely not. Now let’s go eat.”

The walk wasn’t too cold for a November Saturday night, though there were more people on the sidewalks than expected. There were also a few still celebrating the holiday, as we encountered a Spiderman, an undead priest, and a walking banana along the way.

We arrived at the restaurant five minutes before our reservation time, and the hostess sat us right away. One thing about the city of Pittsburgh was that you could find an Italian restaurant on nearly every corner. A slight exaggeration, but not by much. Many of those establishments were family owned and had been around for decades.

They also, for the most part, carried the old world aesthetic, which is where DeBlaze stood out from the rest. Modern and sleek, the chrome, black and concrete accents created an industrial look. The bar was long and glossy and bordered the narrow dining room that was populated with linen-free tables.

The main attraction here was the food, which was excellent.

“If I had to pick a last meal,” Trey said before licking both sides of his fork, “I’d include these meatballs along with a tub of this sauce.”

The restaurant clearly had his stamp of approval. “You’re welcome,” I said with a laugh. “I’m no foodie, but I know when something is good.”

“I can’t believe this is just the appetizer. How good will the entrees be?”

“Very good,” I said, reaching for my glass of wine. Trey went with pop since he’d be driving later. “So how does a good Irish boy from Philadelphia end up in Pittsburgh?”

“I’m Welsh, thank you very much, and I got headhunted, actually.” He slid the empty bowl to the side and set down the thoroughly cleaned fork. “We had six winning seasons in a row at my previous school in Harrisburg, when one of my assistant coaches heard Carnegie was looking for a new head coach. He dropped my name in the right ear and here I am.”

Sounded like that assistant wanted the top job. “So he wanted you out of the way.”

Trey shook his head. “Nothing like that. I wasn’t happy and he knew it.”

I couldn’t imagine Trey Collins unhappy. “Sounds like you had a successful team. Why weren’t you happy?”

He wiped his mouth with his napkin before answering. “For one, successful is a relative term. We weren’t in a challenging division, so though the boys worked hard and had talent, the wins came from the other teams beating themselves more than us dominating on the field.”

“Isn’t a win a win?”

“Sure, but the point of winning is the satisfaction of knowing you did better than the other team. Empty wins don’t feel as good.”

I couldn’t relate, but I got the point. “Is that why you came to a school with a struggling team? For the challenge?”

“That, and the promise they made to invest in the program. Walters High wanted results, but they weren’t willing to pay for them.”

The night of the football game came back to me and I remembered Mrs. Bitterman mentioning the promise of a new practice field. Again, if this school couldn’t fund my small drama productions, how could they afford a new field?

“Pay for it how?” I asked.

The waitress arrived with our entrees, putting the conversation on a brief pause. She set the chicken parmesan in front of me, then the Denver steak in front of Trey. His eyes nearly rolled back in his head as the plate hit the table.

“This smells amazing.” The cut of beef was still sizzling.