Don't Hate the Player...Hate the Game(38)

“Okay, I can do that.”

“Want me to help you pick them out?”

As I gazed at the sweet expression on her face, I wanted to kick my own ass. I didn’t want to go flower shopping with her. I wanted to grab her in my arms and lay a big one on her. Better yet, I wanted to go for a sex romp with her through her parents immaculately kept flower beds. But I knew I couldn’t.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” I lied.

She smiled. “Then I will.” Suddenly, she brought her hand to her forehead. “Oh, I almost forgot. It’s Wednesday night.”

“So?”

“It’s church night.” She quirked her eyebrows at me. “Do you ever go?”

I shook my head. The truth was I hadn’t gone to church since my granddaddy died. I guess you could say I was still a little pissed at God.

“Wanna come with me?” she asked enthusiastically.

Truthfully, the last thing on earth I wanted to do was go to church. But at the same time, I was up for anything that meant being close to Maddie. I also wanted to check out Pastor Dan’s place a little more to see what it was that had such a hold on Jake.

“Yeah, but I don’t want you guys doing anything weird to me,” I said.

“Don’t worry. You don’t get to handle snakes on your first visit,” she said.

My eyes widened in horror. “Snakes? What the hell!”

She burst out laughing. “I’m just kidding you, Noah!”

“Oh, right, sure,” I replied, although I sounded a lot more convinced than I felt.

***

Chapter Thirteen

There was quite a crowd for a Wednesday night. Maddie led me up the aisle to a bench full of teenage girls—and one or two Bible toting guys. It had never crossed my mind about Maddie having friends. I mean, our sole connection was Jake, and besides him, we ran in very different circles. But once we got in the church, I saw she was the Queen Bee of the Godly Circuit. Her friends all sized me up. Some of them I recognized from school. I could help noticing that a few gave me disapproving looks like I was Big Bad Wolf leading Maddie astray.

“Hi guys, this is Noah,” Maddie introduced.

“Hi Noah,” they said together before the younger ones dissolved in giggles.

“Hey,” I replied giving a lame wave. Maddie urged me to take a seat. Thankfully, it was next to one of the guys. When he glanced over at me, he stiffened and readjusted his glasses on his nose. Suddenly, I remembered he was one of the kids Jake used to pick on to get homework out of. I wanted to hold up my hands and say, “I come in peace.”

Instead, I flashed my most convincing grin and said, “Hey man, how’s it going?”

“Fine,” he squeaked. He turned his head and began talking to the girl beside him, and I didn’t blame him one bit. Now that I was on his turf, it was my turn to shift nervously in my seat. Thankfully, my slight heart palpitations eased when Maddie sat down beside me. Her delicious perfume filled my nostrils, and I sighed with contentment.

A wiry looking man with glasses stood up and motioned for Maddie’s mom. She came up from her place on the front row to play the piano.

“Let’s look to page seventy-two,” the man’s voice boomed. The members of the choir rose from their benches behind the pulpit. Pastor Dan came out in his robe, and once again, I felt like cuing the Seventh Heaven music.

Maddie handed me a song book out of the holder from the bench in front of us.

I shook my head. “Uh-I don’t think I-”

“I think you can,” she replied with a smile.

Reluctantly, I flipped to page seventy-two. When I saw the title of the song, it was like every molecule in my body shuddered to a stop. It was my Granddaddy’s favorite song. He used to sing it all the time. In church. Out fishing. Mowing the lawn. I closed my eyes as the deep timber of his voice echoed through my mind. He put his heart and soul to every line, giving inflection on the parts that meant something to him. Although he loved Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and Perry Como, he never sang them like he did this song.

Mrs. Parker struck the first few chords, and the congregation raised their voices in song. It felt like my lips were cemented together with Crazy Glue or something. I couldn’t for the life of me sing. Hell, I could barely breathe. I felt like I was in a tripped out flashback. All I could think about was my granddaddy.

Since I’d never known my real father, Granddaddy was the only father I’d ever had. When he died two years ago, it shattered me. I know he loved all his grandkids, but he made me feel like I was the most special. Maybe he felt sorry for me because I didn’t have a dad, or maybe it was because I was “his Maggie’s” little boy.

Whatever it was, it was the most f**king special thing I’ve ever experienced on this earth.

Granddaddy was the one who bought me my first guitar and taught me how to play. I practically pissed my pants with excitement when I moved from sitting next to him, eyes wide with wonderment as his fingers strummed the chords, to balancing on his lap with the guitar in front of me. I never felt happier or safer nestled his strong arms while his calloused fingertips directed my tiny ones along the frets. Damn, the patience that man must have had. Needless to say Grammy didn’t, because after a few days of lessons, she banished us outside to the porch.

Granddaddy never lost his smile as he listened to me work the chords into a melody. “You’ve got God given talent, son. Don’t you ever forget that,” he’d say before spitting a wad of tobacco into his cup.