Page 19 of Auction Time
“Why?”
“Cole, do you realize how weird this is?”
“Vanessa, you worry too much.” He walked around to me, took my hand, and marched me over to the stool nearest him. “I’m making vegetable cannelloni. Hope you like it.”
“I hate vegetables,” I lied.
“Well, tonight, you will eat them and like them. Don’t hate until you’ve tried my cooking. Go on now, sit.” He motioned to the stool.
What was I supposed to do in this situation? He was clearly the rebel who wanted to shock and surprise me all at the same time.
I sat and continued to stare at him.
“Baby, you like peppers?”
Baby?
It was as though I really had fallen into some alternate dimension.
I looked at him, not answering.
“Vanessa?” he prodded.
“Cole, this is ridiculous. You’re at my house. I’m not even dressed for visitors. We’re supposed to be talking somewhere, not here, and not tonight, about my article on you, and this isn’t my idea of a business meeting.”
He chuckled. “Don’t worry, it’s my bad. I should have made myself a little clearer. This isn’t a business meeting.” Mischief flickered in his eyes. “This is not business at all. It’s a social visit.”
“A social visit? Since when are we social?”
“Since now. I cook for you. You watch me. We eat and talk, then… we see what happens next.” He nodded.
I bit the inside of my lip and continued to stare at him. “What happens next? Cole, I have to say you seriously are the strangest guy. Pretty sure there’s many things you could be filling your time with on a Wednesday night, other than a social evening with me. Especially when we should be talking business.”
He shook his head. “Let me be clearer. This is how this is going to work. It’s how we’ll roll. Or there will be no interview.”
Now I straightened. “What? What do you mean by no interview? You’re supposed to say yes to these things. We don’t have to interview your ass; in fact, I’m sure there are better people I could be interviewing, but my mother being the saint she is chose you.” I couldn’t believe he would be so arrogant.
“No, no, no, and I’m sorry, sweetheart, but your Ma wasn’t being a saint by choosing me. And there is no better than me. Those Centaur pussies can run around all they want thinking they’re God’s gift, but they haven’t played with me yet.” He winked at me.
“Do you just love to hear the sound of your voice?” I threw back.
“Yes.”
Why did I bother to ask? “You also know you aren’t the only member of the team, right?”
“Yes. Vanessa, sweetheart, you have a lot to learn. A team’s a team, but as individual players, you are your own island of subsistence. You’re on your own out there with your own job when you don’t have the ball, and when you do. It’s a system. Like a car. The wheels are the wheels, and the engines the engine. Each is different with its own level of responsibility, but together it works as a whole. That is how a football team works.”
I straightened, trying to process this. I wondered how I was supposed to start this article of mine.
Coleridge Buchanan, pompous asshole who just told me there’s no one better than him and the rest of the guys are a bunch of pussies.
I was pretty sure Gilly would be the first to punch his lights out. Eric next.
“Cole, is there any part of you that’s like a human person who can just act in a civilized fashion?”
“Woman, I’m here cooking you dinner. How much more civilized do you want to get?” He raised his shoulders.
He had a point. He had a very valid point. I just didn’t know why he’d taken to being social with me.
