Rushed(5)

"Hey Pocahontas, come on!" Tyler laughs, and heads for the water. I strip off my own shorts and shirt and run down, careful about the shells. They're really pokey, and I don't want to walk the mile back to camp with a cut on my foot.



I shake my head, the memories of years ago making me smile. I go out to the parking lot and drive over to the car rental place that the Fighters use for new players. We have a corporate account, and it's convenient. I go inside, where Hank, the day manager is looking at something on his computer. "Good morning April!"

I smile but can't work up a reply, and Hank shakes his head. "April, how are you ever going to climb that corporate ladder when you can barely give me a good smile after us knowing each other for what, nearly a year?"

"About that," I half whisper. It's not that Hank is a scary guy, in fact he's really nice. It's just that he's older, and he's in management. I know he told me he doesn't blame me for the time one of the players got into a car accident after I'd turned over the keys, but still . . .

"Then relax. What can I do for you today?"

I take a deep breath and get to business. "The Fighters have a new player coming in, and I need to get a car for him."

"New player, huh? Cool. What's he play?"

"Quarterback. Tyler Paulson, from California."

"Nice, we need one," Hank, who's a big Fighters fan, says. "What's he like?"

I stop, embarrassed. So much of being a personal assistant is knowing what sort of things a player likes, and here I am, having not even picked him up, and I'm already forgetting parts of my job! Shit!

"Ahh . . . I don't know," I finally say, turning red. "I just know he arrives in three days and that he's a quarterback. The team's asked him to skip walking at graduation, and he's coming straight from his final exams."

"Then let's do some research," Hank says amiably. He turns to his computer and clicks around with his mouse. "Let's see . . . Tyler Paulson . . . quarterback . . . oh wow, he's got great stats. Not that it helps us . . . let's see, car . . . well, maybe this helps."

Hank turns the monitor toward me, and I feel that old feeling, what was it I called it back then, chocolate and batteries? Yep, it's chocolate and batteries time again as Hank shows me a picture of Tyler from the Internet. He's got even more of a surfer boy look than when we were kids, with his hair in a total Abercrombie and Fitch lanky half-comb over thing with brownish-blond hair, but he's lost some of the tan that I remember him with. I guess college football will do that to you . . . that and remembering to wear sunscreen.

"That's him all right," I say for some damn reason. I take a closer look, and see he's leaning against the hood of a car. "What is that he's driving?"

Hank peers intently at the screen. “That's a Mustang badge just on the right of his hip there. Looks like your new boy likes sports cars."

"Mr. Larroquette would throw a fit if he found out I rented Tyler a Mustang," I reply, groaning inwardly. Not sports cars, although I guess that's not as bad as the Escalades and giant trucks some of the guys drive. "Got anything a little more sane?"

"Oh come on, they're not as bad as they used to be," Hank replies with a smirk. “You can get him the EcoBoost model… pretty small engine for a sports car. Sure it looks sexy, but it's a PUA."

"A what?" I ask, trying to keep up.

Hank laughs. "Sorry, got it from my kids. A PUA, pick up artist. All talk, no real go behind it. Come on April, you work with football players, you've got to be more up on the slang than that."

"I try," I say, blushing again. I do keep up, but I'm not all that cool, I just do my job. "Okay, well, I guess a Mustang will work then. Can you get me the calmest one?"

“No problem,” Hank says, turning his monitor back around and typing away. "I can get you one that you can pick up tomorrow if you like."

"Yes please. Oh, and can you get it in electric blue, do you have that option?"

Hank raises an eyebrow. "Electric blue? Why?"

"Blue is Tyler's favorite color," I say without thinking, my memories coming forward again.

Hank chuckles and taps at his keyboard. "Doesn't know the car the man likes . . . knows his favorite color. April, you are one funny woman. All right, I'll see what I can do."



The night is almost totally black, but there's no chill to the air as the counselor lights the big bonfire that takes up the middle of the sand. We're really pushing the limits on the fire code, but it's cool with the flames nearly as tall as I am. And the food was great, and we've still got dessert to make with S'mores on deck.

"Whoa," Tyler says as the fire shoots up. "I guess Tom wasn't lying about helping it out with gasoline."

"Stupid," I comment, still feeling funny. Tyler's been really nice all day, and now at the barbecue he's been awesome. When the food came around he got me a plate and brought it over to our spot on the sand like a real gentleman, and when the other boys ran off to play football, he stayed and we talked. He told me about his life in San Diego, and how he dreams of playing professional football, and he listened as I told him about my life in Canada. In fact, he listened more than he talked, which most people don't do at all.