Page 43 of Patio Lanterns

He grinned, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Honey, you’ve had my number from the moment we met.”

They swapped. Her thumbs tapped on his screen, creating a new contact and dropping her digits. She smiled as she handed it back. “I thought it’d be fun if we had code names for each other. Makes the sneaking around that much sneakier.”

“Miss July,” he read aloud.

She licked her lips lustfully. “It is the hottest month after all.”

“I love it,” he said, with a bounce of his eyebrows. “Can you come up with one for me?”

They traded phones again. Robin stared at the blank fields of the contact screen until it finally came to her. “How’s this?”

“BRE71?”

“Big Rick Energy,” she clarified. “Seventy-one for your jersey number.”

He beamed. “You Googled me last night, didn’t you?”

“I sure did,” she reported, quite proud of herself as she recited his stats. “Wide receiver Ricky Hunter played a single season with the Hamilton Tiger-Cats before being traded to the B.C. Lions, where he played from ‘94 to 2000.”

“I’m flattered,” he said.

“Finished his career with 553 career receptions for over eighty-four hundred yards and fifty-seven touchdowns.”

He laughed. “C’mon, you’ve got to be kidding. You memorized all that?”

“I’m officially obsessed, Ricky Hunter. You’re like, legendary.”

“I caught a ball and ran with it. It wasn’t like I won the Nobel Peace Prize,” he joked.

“Ooh, and scrolling through photos of you in that tight, ass-hugging uniform?” She fanned her face. “Let’s just say I’m glad I kept one hand free.”

He leaned in closer, raising one eyebrow wickedly as he stared at her lips. “Really got you going, hmm?”

“I have two words for you: thirst trap.” She rested her shoulder against the wall of mailboxes and fell into the depths of his lake blue eyes. She couldn’t wait to shake her pom-poms for the studly football star.

“Ahem,” interrupted Mrs. Crawley.

Where did she come from?

Rick jumped back. “Um… er, good day, Mrs. Crawley. I was just giving Robin here a hand with all her mail.”

The old woman glared hard at Rick. By the suspicious scowl on her face, she wasn’t buying a word of it. She then handed Robin the flyer she’d left behind at the counter. “You wanted this up?”

“Sorry, yes. I was just about to come back for that.” Robin tried to explain, but the truth was, she’d actually forgotten all about it she’d been so distracted by BRE71.

“Pushpins are on the board. Knock yourself out.” Before shuffling away, Mrs. Crawley gave Rick the evil eye once more. “Good day to you, Mr. Hunter.”

Rick rolled his eyes at Robin. She bit back a grin as he silently mouthed, “Fuuuuck.”

“Oh, Miss Pelletier, may I see you for a moment?” Mrs. Crawley beckoned.

Robin’s shoulders slumped as her stomach sank. It was like getting caught red-handed smoking in the girls’ room and being sent to the principal’s office all over again. “I’ll meet you outside,” she told Rick.

After pinning her flyer to the bulletin board, she scooped the handle of the basket and trudged over to Mrs. Crawley, waiting at the register with a paper bag.

“You can carry your mail in this,” she said. Robin followed the suggestion, and then the old lady held out her palm. “Number seven mail key, please.”

“Oh right,” Robin said, handing it back to her.

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