The One & Only(91)

“We were working,” I said. “I’m a reporter. He coaches the team I cover. We have a working relationship.”

“The hell.”

I denied it again, as strenuously as I could, but, in my impaired state, a small part of me loved what Miller was saying about us. So the next words out of my mouth were “You know what? I’m going to call him now and tell him what you’re saying about him.”

Then I walked across the bar and out the door. The crisp night nearly knocked some sense into me, but not enough, apparently, because I dialed Coach’s number.

“Qué pasa?” he said, his voice chipper.

“I’m at the Third Rail,” I announced. “You should come over.”

He laughed and said, “You know I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” I said. “You did it before.”

“That was a Monday night. That was an exception. Probably shouldn’t have done it that night.”

“But I want to see you,” I said.

“I want to see you, too,” he said. Plain as that.

Shocked, I said, “Well, then. Come over.”

“I can’t.”

“Then I’ll come over there,” I said, staring up at the sky. “Do you know there’s a full moon tonight?”

“It’s not full. Not quite,” he said. “How much have you had to drink?”

“A few …”

“Then you can’t drive.”

“I’m not. I wouldn’t. I’m going to take a cab. To your house.”

“No. You can’t do that. People will talk.”

“And why would they talk? Nothing’s going on. Is there?” my voice rose in a flirting, leading lilt.

He laughed and said, “Okay, girl. Stay put. I’m coming to get you.”

“I’m ready,” I said. “Come and get me.”

“I’ll be there in ten. Go around to the Monroe Street side … and be careful.”

“What about my car?” I said.

“You can get it tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“Stay put.”

“Okay … Coach?”

“Yeah, girl?”

“Hurry,” I whispered.




Ten minutes later, long enough for me to say goodbye to my friends and lie about calling a cab, Coach pulled onto Monroe, slowed, stopped, and waited for me to open the passenger door. I climbed in, leaned over to pat his arm, and gave him a big, silly grin.

He smiled back at me but then said, “So, tell me the truth. How much did you really have to drink?”

“A few,” I said, putting on my seat belt. “A lot.”

He shook his head. “I wish you wouldn’t do that. I’ve told you before—you should always be in control.”

“I am in control.”

He glanced over at me and said, “Oh? You sure about that?”

“Very sure about that,” I said, suddenly remembering my credit card, still at the bar. I texted Miller and said, My tab’s still running. Have one on me!!

He wrote back right away. Will order a round for the whole bar. Cheers!

“What an ass,” I slurred, smiling.

“Who’s that?”

“Miller,” I said. “But nah … he’s not so bad.”

“No,” Coach said. “He’s not so bad. Just wasn’t right for you.”

“Who is?” I said coyly.

He smiled but didn’t answer. When we got to the stoplight on Jefferson, he turned on the radio, found Rascal Flatts singing “These Days,” and started drumming on the steering wheel. When the light turned green, he went straight instead of turning right toward his house.

“Where are you going?” I asked him.

“I’m taking you home.”

“But I wanted to go to your house.”

Coach shook his head. “You need to sleep. Besides, we all know what happened last time you came over.”

“What happened?”

“Lucy,” he said. “Remember?”

“Did you get an earful, too?” I said.

“Oh, yeah. I was interrogated.”

“What did you tell her?”

Coach cracked a smile, glanced at me sideways, and said, “You really are quite the little reporter, aren’t you?”

“I’m not little,” I said, puffing out my chest and running my hands through my hair to make it fuller. “I’m … statuesque.”

He grinned. “That you are,” he said, glancing down at my legs before returning his eyes to the road.

I reached over and turned up the radio as Carrie Underwood and Brad Paisley’s “Remind Me” came on, announcing how much I loved the song, then joining in, despite my terrible singing voice. “If you still love me, don’t just assume I know!”