Big Chicas Don't Cry(41)

That’s why I was still dancing like an idiot an hour after our hard-fought victory on the field.

“There’s not even any music playing,” Adrian explained, as if that would stop me.

“There will be,” I said. “I’m just getting warmed up.”

We were with the rest of the team at our usual after-game hangout—the Scoreboard. I should’ve been exhausted after playing three games that day. Instead, I’d gone home to take a quick shower, changed, and took a Lyft to the sports bar. By the time I’d walked through the double doors, I was reenergized and ready to celebrate with adult beverages and dancing. Lots of dancing.

Adrian rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You’re ridiculous sometimes, you know that?”

I nodded and smiled, then took a sip of his beer. “Hey, I was drinking that,” he complained, but I knew he didn’t really mind. Well, not anymore anyway.

If anyone had told me two months ago that I’d be sharing a beer with Adrian Mendes in a bar, I probably would have punched them out for spreading lies. Who could’ve ever guessed that we would become such good friends?

He could still be an asshole when he wanted to, especially if he thought you were being lazy in your reporting and writing. The rest of the time he was funny and generous, and I didn’t even mind his random vomiting of facts and stories. Well, not that much.

Mark and Deanna walked over, so I decided to take a break from my one-woman shimmy-and-shake show and sat back in my chair. The rest of the players and their families and friends were scattered at different high-top tables and booths surrounding the bar’s only pool table.

“Don’t tell me you were doing your victory dance again,” Deanna groaned as she took a seat.

“She was,” Adrian answered. “And I was embarrassed for her.”

I socked his right shoulder. “Oh, stop. You know you loved it. You were even going to bust out some moves of your own before they came over.”

“You’re such a liar. I have never, nor will I ever, bust a move. What does that even mean, by the way?”

It was my turn to groan. “Oh my God, please do not start a whole discussion on the origins of various urban slang phrases.”

“Fine. At least not right now I won’t,” he said.

“Ah, you’re the bestest,” I teased. And because we won our game and because I was in an extremely good mood, and mostly because I’d already had two beers, I put my arms around his shoulders and hugged him. Almost immediately, he straightened his back, and his body tensed beside mine. I let go.

“Okay, who’s up for another round?” he asked, getting to his feet.

We all raised our hands, and he and Mark headed to the bar. He turned and asked if I also wanted to share nachos, and I agreed.

It didn’t take but three seconds after he walked away for Deanna to pounce. “Did you really just hug him?”

I was as surprised as my friend at what I’d done but played it off. “So what?”

“So what? I feel like I’m missing something. The hugging, the flirting? What happened to Mr. Pinche Asshole?”

I put out my hand in a stopping motion. “Whoa! Hold the fuck up. First, there’s no flirting going on here. And second, he is most certainly still Mr. Pinche Asshole. Well, sometimes.”

“If there was no flirting, then what do you call that little dance you were doing in front of him and agreeing to share a plate of nachos?”

“Um, excuse me? I’ll share nachos with anyone. You know that.”

Deanna pursed her lips and muttered, “Mm-hmm. Whatever you say.”

“I say we’re friends. And that’s all. Okay?”

“Okay.” She still didn’t look like she believed me.

For the next hour or so, because of Deanna’s accusations, I was hyperaware of what I said or did around Adrian. Did I stand too close? Did I accidentally brush his arm with my arm? Did I stare too long or smile too big?

If I’d made him uncomfortable with the hug, he didn’t show it again. Still, I didn’t want to give him—or anyone else—the wrong impression. He was my boss and my friend, and I sure as shit didn’t want him to think I was coming on to him in any way, shape, or form. So when another guy, someone not on our team, came up and asked me to dance, I jumped at the chance.

The song was fast, and at first I wondered if I could keep up. He twirled me around, and my buzz kicked in. With his hands on my hips, he moved my body in unison with his. I placed my arms around his neck and relaxed my body so he could manipulate it like a rag doll. It was like he was dancing for both of us.

“You move pretty good,” my dance partner yelled in my ear. “You smell good too.”

I looked up at him and smiled. He was cute, but not my type. No specific reason why. He just wasn’t. And that meant he wouldn’t get a second dance.

After another minute, he tried to tell me something, but the music was too loud for me to make out every word. “What?”

He leaned in close again to my ear. “I said, ‘Do you wanna get some air?’” The song ended and this time I heard every word—and the intention of getting me alone with him—loud and clear.

“Actually, I’m going to sit the next one out. Thanks, though.”

He walked me back to the table and then left in search of another partner. Deanna and Mark had wandered off to go talk with some of the other players, so it was just Adrian at the table. I took a sip of my beer but didn’t sit down.