Page 36 of Sneaking Around with the Player
I can’t stop thinking about Stella and the fight at the resort with her brother and teammates. I never should have showed up like that. Never should have gotten involved period, but Stella and I feel as unavoidable as snow in the mountains. Maybe if I’d never responded to those first texts, if I hadn’t gotten to know her. But now it kills me to even think about not seeing her. And about the problems I’ve caused for her.
She sent a text this morning, but I haven’t caved and opened it until now.
Stella: Merry Christmas!
She’s all smiles in the picture, holding up a cat with a red bow stuck on top of its white head. I stare at it for several seconds before closing out with a groan. The first time I fall for a girl, and it had to be her.
“Food is ready,” Mom says, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand.
Everyone jumps to their feet like the past couple of days haven’t been one big meal after another. I’m not even hungry, but I fall into the back of the line and fill a plate with a little of everything.
The kids are shooed outside. We have a couple of outdoor heaters going to keep the space warm, but I don’t mind the nip of cold in the air. Still feels balmy after spending so much time in Colorado. I take a seat next to one of my younger cousins, Scottie.
“When do you have to go back?” he asks, mouth full of potatoes.
“One more week.”
He nods. “Think you might have time to practice with me?”
The tips of his ears are pink.
“Yeah, definitely. How’s football going?”
“Okay. I’m starting quarterback this year.”
“I hadn’t heard, man. That’s awesome.”
“I’m not really that good. Not like you.”
I chuckle softly. “I wasn’t always this good.”
He shoots me a disbelieving side glance.
“I’m serious,” I say. “Ask anyone. I was about a foot shorter than everyone else, weighed ninety pounds soaking wet, and had two left feet. It’s just time and practice.”
He shoves a forkful of mashed potatoes in his mouth. “So, you’ll help me?”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I rest my plate on one knee as I shift to get it.
Stella: Busy? I have five minutes before my family makes me play another board game.
Me: Call me.
“Yeah, kid. How about this weekend? Saturday?”
He thinks for a minute, as if he’s mentally scrolling through his personal calendar. “That’ll work.”
I tap the bill of his hat when I stand. “I’ll swing by and pick you up around noon.”
I finish off what’s left of my food on the way to the kitchen. My mom and aunts are still standing around, triple-checking things, refusing to eat until everyone else has had seconds. I fend off their attempts to get me to eat more because “they don’t want leftovers,” drop my plate, and head for my room.
Stella calls as I’m jogging up the last step.
“Hey,” I answer, smiling when her face appears on screen. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas!” She pans the camera down to show me her sweatshirt, which reads, ‘Buzz, your girlfriend is Woof!’
“I’m wearing red. Does that count as festive?” I point to the Cardinals hat on my head.
