Cream of the Crop (Hudson Valley, #2)(61)
“Do you?” I breathed, already knowing the answer. Oscar did what he wanted, when he wanted, and really didn’t care what anyone thought.
His answer was in fact another kiss, leaning across the table and giving me one hell of a lip smack.
“You’re determined to make us the town topic, aren’t you?”
“People are gonna say what they want to; I can’t stop that,” he replied, a teasing look in his eye. “Besides, they’re always trying to figure me out. It’s been that way since I moved here; best to keep them guessing.”
“How long ago was that?” I asked, enjoying the warmth of his hand in mine.
“Hmm, five years now? Six?”
“And where were you before that?”
“Dallas.”
“Is that where you grew up?”
“Nope,” he said, chewing on his bottom lip. I noticed he did this when we were talking about something he didn’t really want to. “Cream?” He gestured to the silver pitcher that a busboy had just set down on the table, along with our coffee.
“Please,” I nodded, tearing open a sugar packet and adding it to my cup. “So you didn’t grow up in Dallas. Where were you before Dallas?”
“LA.”
“You lived in LA?” Holy shit, my country boy in Los Angeles was hard to envision.
“I didn’t live in LA, I just went to school there. I didn’t like Los Angeles much.”
“What school did you go to?”
He chewed his bottom lip again. “USC.”
A lightbulb went off. “You played football there, didn’t you?”
He nodded. “Full-ride scholarship.”
I squeezed his hand. “That’s incredible!”
He squeezed it back, then let go. “It’s not that incredible.” He looked out the window, watching the clouds. “Looks like we might get rain today.”
“Wait a minute, you went to one of the best colleges in the country on a full-ride scholarship and you say it’s not that incredible?”
He shrugged. “I come from a football family. We all played, all my brothers.”
“Did any of them go pro?” I asked. Finally, a reaction on his face. He blushed and smiled sheepishly. “You played pro football?”
He shrugged once more. “Dallas.”
My head exploded. “You played for the Dallas Cowboys?” My shriek caused several to look our way, and he winced.
“Could you not yell, please?” His expression was guarded now, closed off somehow. “Yes, I played pro ball.”
“How long?”
He didn’t answer for the longest time. When he did, his voice was quiet, and harder than I’d ever heard it. “Six and a half.”
“Years?”
He shook his head. “Games.”
I remembered our conversation from earlier, all the scars. The broken fingers, the busted elbow, the blown-out—
“You blew out your knee playing, didn’t you?”
He sighed, a sigh that seemed to go on and on and carried such a heavy load. “Yes,” he finally said through gritted teeth. And when he met my gaze, those piercing gray-blue eyes were full of so much hurt.
“Here we are, waffles for everyone!” the waitress chirped cheerfully, setting down two platters of waffles studded with enormous blueberries, pulling a container of syrup out of her apron pocket.
Oscar nodded his thanks, poured on the syrup, and then started eating. The conversation was over.
After the quietest breakfast ever, he looked at his watch and swore. “I’m late for practice, want to tag along?”
“Sure,” I said. I knew he had kids’ football today, I just hadn’t known if I’d be invited along. He paid quickly, and we headed out into the sunshine for a short walk over to where the kids were starting to gather. As we walked he stayed quiet, but he held my hand. That meant something.
Once there, he deposited me with some of the players’ moms on the bleachers, threw me a woolen blanket he’d grabbed from the truck, kissed me quickly on the forehead, then headed out to his team. I watched as he greeted his players with real joy, the first I’d seen since we’d started talking about something that he clearly didn’t enjoy discussing.
I watched him tease his players, slapping a few on top of their helmets, chasing a few others, truly in his element. Ignoring the stares I was getting from some of the moms who doubtless enjoyed the view of Oscar each week while their sons played, I pulled out my phone and did the modern-day-dating equivalent of asking around.
I Googled Oscar Mendoza.
And in three seconds I had access to everything about him. He grew up in Wisconsin on a dairy farm, the son of a former professional football player and a high school English teacher. Oscar’s entire life seemed to have revolved around football, and he’d been poised to be the next big thing ever since he started playing. Originally coached by his father, he then played for a highly competitive secondary school, eventually being selected for All County, All Region, All State, and, his senior year, selected as a High School All American. Sought after by all the major football schools in the nation. Played three years as inside linebacker for USC. Picked third in the second round of the NFL draft by the Dallas Cowboys.