The Odd Ballerz (23 page)

Coach B was giving her a shot next year—a trainer/assistant coach at his high school. She would eventually need college, which meant a Memphis conversation was necessary regarding the financing of it. She was grateful beyond grateful that she had someone who had her back and wanted her to succeed. She meant not to disappoint Memphis again.

She started her truck, looked through the side mirrors, then the rear, checking for clearance. Her heart stuttered, and whatever she saw had her backing out of the parking space to follow this particular white truck as it drove past. She was unable to back out as quickly as she wanted, had to wait for two cars to pass before she could. She blew out a breath, and slowed down when she caught up to it. No, the right side-view mirror was intact, not taped on and held in place as his had been, yet there had been something familiar about the man sitting behind the wheel.

She knew the dangers that went along with confrontation, but she was tired of being afraid, and of running. The truck was turning into a parking spot in front of a tattoo place. She slipped her truck into an empty spot directly across the street from Tatted Up, which was the name of the place, and waited. Out stepped a dude, same height, same weight, but the wrong color. This dude was African American, different from Nick in that regard. She released the breath she’d been holding, and the relief she felt was palpable.

Paranoid is what you are, she thought. He might have traded his truck for another truck in a different color and you’re here sweating white trucks all this time for nothing. It’s been almost two years, he’s moved on, is what she told herself when she needed to make herself feel less afraid.

She chuckled, or tried to, putting a happier face on her fear. She hadn’t mentioned it to Memphis or Charlotte, didn’t like to talk about that part of her life—not yet anyway, and really hoped she’d never have to. She wanted to put the many things she’d done, or had done to her, smoothly behind her. Some days she was more successful at that than others.

She checked the street again, then her mirrors, before she pulled forward and drove away. No more looking for ghosts, she said to herself. He’s moved on, just as she had, and no way was she doing men again, regardless of how nice and sincere they seemed, thinking of the nurse again. They all did at the beginning, and they all ended leaving her the same hurt in the end.

Nope, career was the new love of her life. She was putting herself first. It worked for Memphis, who didn’t have a dude either and seemed to be doing just fine without one. It could work for her. Her fear somewhat appeased, she turned her mind to football, where she was always the happiest.

# # #

Sunday

Z stood outside on his deck in front of his grill. He was starting the fire in the smoker part of his outside oven. Smoker, grill, oven for pizza, even; he had it all built to satisfy his cooking hobby. He loved it out here on his deck, made from large planks of old aged hardwood. It ran the length of his home, which was basically the kitchen and the living room. French doors opened to allow easy exit and entry. Two old-school picnic tables, custom made from oak to seat plenty, sat in the middle and toward the front end of the deck. The area around the grill was made from Texas Limestone, the only break in the otherwise expanse of wood that was his deck.

He was alone. Meredith did her thing during the day, which was mostly hanging out with friends of hers, and was back here at night to help in the studio and, if they were on the same wave length, in other ways too.

He stood near the oven, watching the fire come to life, memories of his childhood—of having done this too many times to count—filling his mind. Growing up in a commune of sorts had fostered his love of cooking, as it had for the land, and his need for large chunks of it.

It was Sunday with the boys and Alex for flag football—their days of tackling were over—and food. He supplied the meat and the others supplied the side dishes. It was always held at his home; he was a bachelor so it was easier, and then there was that football field of his, so convenient that. Some dudes preferred poker, a night at the club, away from family. A man break was how his buddies described it. He lived one big man break, but yeah, he understood their need for one.

Good food, hand-prepared by men who loved to cook and who were good at it. Cooking between them had always been this easy, ongoing competition. Sometimes they joined forces and competed as teams in cook-offs, with their share of bacon being brought home. Yancy was the leader in all their food competitions, as the person most serious about it, and that was saying something.

Z heard the sounds of a vehicle approaching and checked the time. Fifteen until ten. It had to be Yancy, early to make sure no one had the jump on him. He stuck his head around the back of his home, and yes, it was his boy, parking. Z had hoped he would show up before the others arrived. He wanted to talk Jones and her request of additional work before the others appeared. He didn’t want or need the other men in his business. He checked his fire and went out to meet his friend.

“I’m the first one here?” Yancy asked, when Z reached him. Tall, dark, and big was Yancy; six-four, three hundred pounds of formidable lineman in his glory days. He was still formidable; ask his daughters’ boyfriends. One look at him, all shaved head and thick gray speckled beard, and it was no-trouble-at-all-here-sir. Tough on the outside, semi-marshmallowy on the inside, and one hell of a cook; probably would have gone to culinary school if he hadn’t been pushed into football. He was a family man now, playing chef to those he loved, five girls and one boy.

“What’s this?” Z asked, lifting the lid from the silver serving dish that Yancy carried in his hand, the same one he was always yammering on and on about how effective it was at keeping food warm.

“Rice pilaf,” he said, looking around like someone might overhear. “It’s an original recipe, part dirty rice, part risotto. I’ve been testing out several combinations of basmati rice mixed with risotto and I think I’ve found the right balance,” he said. Yancy had developed a bit of a reputation for his food pairings and he thought himself some kind of food creative.

“Sounds interesting,” Z said, withholding comment until he could taste.

He followed Yancy inside, watched as he set his dish on the center counter.

“What’s D bringing? You can tell me,” Yancy asked, changing the subject back to squeezing Z for information about D, the only other man in their group Yancy considered his rival in the cooking department besides Z. Z shook his head and laughed.

“I don’t know,” Z said.

“Sure you don’t.”

“I don’t really. You and he are the same secretive when it comes to your food,” he said, grinning.

“Ha ha, very funny,” he said, giving Z his middle finger. “How’s training with your insurance lady?”

“You’re my insurance lady and it hasn’t started yet. She worked here yesterday. She asked for more work. Doesn’t think it will take her long to finish organizing my office.”

“So what are we thinking here? Using her for sex?”

“Not into hookers here, bro, but you were kidding. Of course you were,” he said, to his friend’s smile.

“She could pay you for her training. I imagine she can afford it,” Yancy said.

“She could at that. I was thinking about asking her to help Marisa with my opening instead,” he said.

“I think I need to sit down. Much has happened between Friday and this morning, I’m guessing. Are you sure you haven’t slept with her yet?” he said.

“Nope. She wants to keep things even between us. Her request. And I could use the help,” Z said.

“Not a bad idea, I guess. It brings her in closer and gives her something to do while you take a closer look. That’s what you want, right? What this is really about? A cautionary tale of love is my man Z, and after last year I understand the need for caution,” he said.

“Maybe.”

“Got to roll the dice again at some point, son,” he said and smiled.

“Maybe,” Z said again, and changed the subject to food.

# # #

It was the usual line-up, give or take a few players that hadn’t been able to show today. The men and Alex stood on the sideline of the football field, putting on their belts, finding missing flags, getting ready to start the game.

“What’s up, Alex? How’s that sister of yours?” Damian asked.

“Good,” she said.

“She getting any better at staying on her feet?” D asked.

“I think so,” Alex said, smiling.

“I thought she would have called me by now to inquire about my training services,” D said, giving Z his gaze and his shit-eating grin.

“She’s good,” Alex said, chuckling; used to the ribbing these guys gave each other.

D kept his gazed fixed on Z along with his smile.

“What?” Z asked, hedging his reply. He shot a quick glance at Yancy, who wore an identical grin to D’s.

“Have you heard from Jones since camp?” D asked.

“You know I have or you wouldn’t have asked,” Z said, shaking his head. He might as well address it. Experience had taught him that there would be no moving with his buddies until he did. “It isn’t a secret.”

“I knew it. I told you. I told them. There was no way you were letting that go.”

“Anyway,” Z said, thinking he could move the conversation on to something else now. “Are we going to play today or what?” he said.

“Oh, dude,” D said, his hand around his mouth, fighting back his laughter. “It’s worse than I thought.” He began laughing, as were Beryl and Harris, with Yancy joining in too.

“It’s not like that but it would be a waste of my time to argue differently. Are we playing today or what?” Z said.

“Sure, whatever you say, dude.” D clapped Z on his back. “We’ll let it go for now,” he said, back to laughing. “Didn’t I tell you?” he added, pointing between Harris and Beryl as they moved off, leaving him alone with Alex who stood staring at him now.

“Not you too?” he asked.

“No, not me. But should I be worried?”

“About?”

“You and Memphis? It’s just training, right? Nothing else?”

“Nope, nothing but training, at least on my part,” he said.

“That’s what I thought,” Alex said, smiling. “I’m obliged to warn you against taking advantage of her. I know you can take care of yourself, but Memphis might take you seriously. I am actually looking forward to playing with her on the team. We don’t want to mess that up right now, do we? Unless you decide you’re serious and in that case, it’s all go,” she said, laughing. “You’ll be hard pressed to find someone better than my sister, and that’s not just bias talking.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. If anything changes, you’ll be the first to know. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“You guys have the ball first,” he said, handing her the football. She was the quarterback for red team, and he was for blue. He headed over to the other side of the fields where the blue team was standing around talking. It was an hour filled with laughter, mostly; of harassing and clowning and some playing the game, followed by a meal fussed, fretted over, and fit for kings.

# # #

Monday

Alex leaned back into her stretch. It was early. She had the five a.m. shift, so that meant getting to the track early, four in the a.m. early. She liked to run first thing in the morning, preferred early morning to night, and the beauty of her set-up was that she could do it at the hospital, then shower and dash downstairs, on time for the start of her shift. It had taken her a while to find a hospital with a workout facility on the premises, and this one had both a gym and a track located just under the top floor of the building. Lucky her, as money was something she didn’t have much of, and she tried to limit her financial requests of her sisters.

She worked to stay in shape. A year-round endeavor was the way she viewed it. As the quarterback it was up to her to set an example for the others, and that meant being in the best physical condition she could. Football was too hard on the body to not be at one’s best.

She opted for an early morning schedule, off by one, home for a power nap, up to train or over to Z’s to help with his camp before it ended. It was just training with him since camp was over. Two Jones women under his stewardship, and no, she didn’t believe him yesterday. But she’d give him some room, ’cause he was a good guy; but only a little.

She stepped onto the track, done with stretching, and looked over her shoulder at the sound of the main door opening. In walked the nurse, and no surprise that. He wasn’t giving up the pursuit easily. He’d been Mr. Friendly-man, clearly on a mission to get her to go out with him whenever they ran into each other, which, surprisingly, had been often. She started into her lap. Easy as breathing was how running came to her. Ignoring him was her game plan. Always. Not even five minutes passed before she felt him on her right side running alongside her. He was persistent, she’d give him that; smiling whenever their paths crossed, asking her to lunch or to get a cup of coffee. He didn’t speak this morning, just started running. Nope, she wasn’t going to acknowledge him. He was the one here uninvited.

“Good morning,” he said five minutes in, all chipper to her continued silence.

She gave him a nod, a short bending of her head, before returning her eyes to the front. She heard him chuckle.

“You don’t make this easy,” he said.

She looked over her shoulder at him, and gave him her sharpest smile.

He laughed in response.

“I’d rather run alone,” she said.

“Hello, I’m not sure if we met before. I’m Aarik. I’ve seen you around the hospital. Maybe you’d like to have lunch with me sometime,” he said, smiling back at her.

She ignored him, fighting against her smile. She had a few gears in her running arsenal, deciding to go into one of them now, not her fastest gear, but enough to put some distance between them.

“I love coming up here in the morning, it’s a great start to one’s day. Don’t you think? I find that I have so much energy afterward. What about you?” he said, seconds later, having increased his speed too and caught up to her.

She didn’t respond.