Page 34 of The Golden Goalie

I turn around. “Hey Cal.”

“Where have you been?” he asks again.

“Uh, right here.”

“No, you haven’t. I was here at one, and you weren’t here,” he argues.

I sit down behind the computer. “Well, that’s because I don’t start until two on Thursday afternoons.”

“Since when?”

I don’t even bother looking at him. “Since always.”

“Babe, you got to tell me these things.”

“Actually, I really don’t. We’re not dating, Cal.”

“But we could be,” he argues.

“But we’re not,” I say firmly.

“We may not be dating officially, but you’re still my girl.”

I shake my head, not even bothering to look up. “You do realize to be your girl we have to be dating, right? And I just said we’re not dating.”

“Eh, semantics.”

I shake my head but don’t say anything. I figure if I ignore him, he’ll eventually leave me alone.At least a girl can pray.He talks for several more minutes before he finally takes his leave. I get back to work. My stomach cramps later on, and I berate myself for not eating. I got so carried away with scheduling that I forgot to eat. I make it through the afternoon and evening and only have one hour left of my shift when Cal comes back in. I groan out loud as he approaches the desk. “Twice in one day, Cal?”

He grins. “I had to come see my girl.”

“Not your girl,” I respond automatically as I stand up to pick up the papers off the printer.

“What is that?”

The question stops me in my tracks not because of the question itself but the way in which he asked. His gaze is on my stomach, and I fight the urge to cross my arms over my chest protectively. “My baby,” I say with false bravado.

“You’re pregnant?” His words are harsh.

“Yes.”

“By whom?”

My head jerks up. “That is none of your business.”

“How could you do that to me?”

I stare at him in exasperation. “Cal, for the thousandth time. We are not dating.”

“Unbelievable.”

He storms off, and I watch him go. I glance at the clock, willing it to move faster. I’m exhausted and ready for this night to be over. Finally, we close for the night. I follow Mrs. Randolph to her car, like I do every night. I'm not really sure what Iwould do if somebody actually was out here waiting for us, but it makes me feel better to make sure she gets to her car safely. Only, tonight when we step outside, somebody is waiting for us. I see somebody step out of the shadows and nearly scream until I recognize his face. “Cal! What are you doing?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“It’s not polite to hang out in the dark and then jump out at somebody, Young Man. Next time, I’m going to hit you with my purse.”

I would laugh at Mrs. Randolph’s words, but my heart is trying to recover from nearly stopping. “We can keep walking,” I say to Mrs. Randolph.

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