“I hope not,” he replied immediately, sounding like he very much meant those three words. “That said, she wants to be popular, she wants to be liked, she wants boys to notice her and this Noah kid is a senior and he shares the title of the big man at school with Con. He’s a hotshot basketball player so he doesn’t play football but he goes to the games. With the way she wants all of that shit and the fact she got her hooks in Noah, who she’s had her sights set on since she was a freshman, it means anything can happen.”
I was not surprised that Conner was the high school “big man.” However, it was my experience when I was in school, and my understanding it was still true, that the athletes were the ones who earned that honor.
“Does Conner play sport?” I asked.
“He boxes like his dad,” Jake answered.
“Is he good at it?” I went on.
“In his current league he’s undefeated three years running,” Jake stated without even attempting to hide the pride.
And there was the reason he was the high school “big man.”
I grinned at Jake. “Good for him.”
Jake grinned back but said, “Not good. He works at it. You see those quotes on the walls of the gym?”
“Indeed.” I nodded. “I meant to mention that they were all very inspirational and I thought it was very clever that you had them painted on your walls.”
He was grinning bigger when he replied, “Glad you think so, Slick, but those quotes, Con lives them. He’s hungry for the learning but he’s got the soul of a fighter. I started the junior league for him hopin’ that would be the way. When I started it, he was too young to be in it. He got old enough, he took to it better than I’d hoped. And if he’s not with one of his girls or at work, he’s at the gym.”
I watched with some fascination as his face changed and listened with even more fascination as his voice roughened when he finished.
“Makes what Lydie did for me and my family even better, knowing she made it so I could give my boy a place to train. A place that’s mine to give him. A place that’ll be his one day if he wants it.”
“Yes, Jake,” I said softly, at his words, his look and his tone, again having an overwhelming urge. But this one was to touch him, take his hand or lay mine on his chest or his jaw. It didn’t matter how, I just wanted that connection. Any connection. Or all of them.
I couldn’t have it so I didn’t take it.
But I wanted it.
“Right, so I’ll see you tonight at seven-thirty,” Jake declared. “You wanna hit the gym tomorrow, let me know and I’ll pick you up at seven. Tomorrow night, I’ll pick you and Eath up at five-thirty. And Saturday, the matches are at the arena in Blakeley. Got a lot of matches to get through so they start at nine in the morning with the flyweights. I fight heavyweight, which’ll be one of the last, so my match’ll be around eight at night. You can come and watch as much as you want. I’ll have a ticket waitin’ for you at the office.”
As much as I wanted was not very much. I didn’t even know if I wanted to watch Jake box, I certainly didn’t want to watch anyone else. I knew by then that I’d watch Jake do practically anything, but I wasn’t eager to watch someone hitting him.
But it seemed he wanted me to go.
So I would go.
Thus I again nodded.
“We’ve got a plan,” Jake murmured and got even closer. “And you gotta get to the Weavers.”
I sighed and nodded. My sigh was not only about the fact that Jake was soon to leave, it was also about seeing Eliza Weaver and knowing she would be worse than yesterday, and worse still tomorrow.
Jake read my sigh and I knew this when he said gently, “You can give up any time.”
“I’m there until Mr. Weaver no longer needs me,” I replied.
He held my eyes a moment before his warmed in a way that warmed me all the way through and then it was his turn to nod.
After he did that, he lifted a hand and I braced, waiting for it, delighted he was going to give it to me and he didn’t disappoint.
He cupped my jaw and bent in, brushing his lips against the skin that was mere centimeters away from the corner of my mouth.
He drew back only mere centimeters as well so I could feel his breath on my lips. Thus, my breath stopped altogether.
“See you later, Slick,” he whispered.
“Later, Jake,” I pushed out.
I watched his eyes smile.
Seeing the smile in the stormy gray of his eyes in my dimly lit foyer, my belly dipped.
Then he bent in again and gave me another brush of his lips against the corner of my mouth before he added something new. He moved his hand from my jaw and tugged gently and playfully at my ponytail before he moved away and I watched him walk out my front door.
* * * * *
It was after school and Ethan and I were at Wayfarer’s.
I had picked him up from school, or, more accurately, he’d seen me in my Cayenne and nearly given me a heart attack by dashing across the road with extreme excitement (and not checking the street before he did so), throwing open the passenger door and shouting, “I can’t wait to get a ride in this totally awesome ride!”
He did not delay in achieving his purpose, climbed up and buckled in. I set us on the road while I allowed him time to get his “ride in this totally awesome ride” before I used measured words to explain he should always scan the street before crossing it.
“Whoops,” was his reply.
I decided to take that as him having heard me then I shared our afternoon endeavors were that we were going to make cream puffs from scratch.
To that, a yelled, “Awesome!” was his reply.
And to that, I’d smiled at the windshield.
Ethan chattered to me while we moved through the aisles at Wayfarer’s, picking up what we needed. But when we approached the checkout counter, Conner came in the front doors.
“Con!” Ethan cried and Conner’s head turned our way.
He spied us and moved in our direction while smiling.
“What’s up?” he asked when he arrived.
“Cream puffs, dude,” was Ethan’s answer.
“Awesome, little dude,” was Conner’s response, still smiling at his younger brother.
“Hello, Conner,” I greeted.
“Yo, Josie,” he replied, turning his smile to me. “You doin’ good?”
“I am, indeed,” I answered. “And you?”
“Nothin’ gets me down,” he stated breezily and I couldn’t help but smile at his words and tone. “Love to rap but gotta clock in,” he told us.