The One & Only(102)
“No, I haven’t,” I said, staring at the lines of his oblique muscles, dipping down into his blue mesh shorts. “This is the first you’ve asked me that question.”
“Well, I’m asking it now,” he said, as I tried to determine if he had a six- or an eight-pack. I silently counted to eight, while deciding that lying wasn’t the way to go.
“I went to the Third Rail,” I said, careful to maintain eye contact.
“So you went out to a bar even though you told me you were going home?”
“I changed my mind,” I said. “I wanted to see some old friends.”
“Old friends?”
“Yes. From high school. A girl named Michelle. She lives in California. Came home for Thanksgiving.”
“Who else was there?”
“Well, there were a lot of people out … You know how it is before holidays …”
“No, I’m actually not familiar with that phenomenon … since I’m usually locked up in a hotel room.”
“Right,” I said, thinking that it was hardly the jail sentence he was making it out to be.
“So who else?”
“You want me to name names?”
“Was Miller there?”
I shook my head, making a split-second decision to abandon my truth-telling strategy. As I tried to keep my gaze even, it occurred to me that there was an absolute reason that lie detector testing worked so well. Nothing in my body was operating the way it had only seconds ago.
“He wasn’t there?”
“No.”
“So you didn’t see him?” Ryan pressed, staring at me, making me wonder if he somehow knew the truth. Either way, I had to stick to my story.
“No,” I said. “He wasn’t there, and I didn’t see him.”
I should have just ended my reply there, but I kept going, the way liars often do. “But so what if he was there? Big deal. Ryan, what is your obsession with Miller? I’m not obsessed with Blakeslee, and you were married to her.”
“Yes,” he said. “And then I divorced her. That’s pretty final.”
“It wasn’t final for my father,” I said, the only time in my life I was grateful for Astrid.
“Well. It is for most. It is for me.”
“And I’m just as sure that I’m never getting back with Miller.”
“Is he still with that professor chick?”
“No … I don’t think so … I’m not sure.”
“You’re not sure? What does that mean? You either heard that they broke up or you didn’t.”
“What are you? A lawyer or a quarterback?”
“I’d probably make a better lawyer.”
“You had one bad game. And even today, you made some amazing plays,” I said, hoping to change the subject.
But Ryan wasn’t finished. “Back to Miller,” he said.
“Jesus,” I said under my breath.
“When did you last talk to him?”
“C’mon, Ryan,” I said, trying to avoid another outright lie. “This is ridiculous. Miller is … ancient history.”
“Well, it might seem ridiculous to you. But I couldn’t sleep last night because I kept picturing you with him.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because you didn’t call me.”
“Oh, please.”
“I couldn’t sleep, Shea. And I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how important sleep is to performance.”
There it was, out on the table; he was blaming me for his bad game. But just to confirm the accusation, I said, “Are you saying that … today … was my fault? You threw interceptions because I didn’t call you?” The question was a little mean, but so was his implication.
“No,” Ryan said. “I played like shit on my own. But you not calling last night certainly didn’t help.”
“Wow.”
“All you had to do was call me, say good night, do what you promised you’d do. Then you could have gone out, had a big time at the bars. I never would’ve known about it.”
“C’mon. That’s not fair,” I said, my voice starting to rise.
“Neither is breaking your word the night before a big game.”
I heaved a weary sigh, then said, “I just … lost track of time.”
“All night long?”
“By the time I got your messages, it was too late to call.”
“You sure you don’t mean that it was too early to call? What time did you get in, anyway?”
“Ryan. Please. I’m truly sorry,” I said, for what felt like the hundredth time. “I had too much to drink …”
“What other mistakes do you make when you drink too much?”