First Down (Beyond the Play, #1)(16)

“That’s because we’re not dating anymore.”

She tuts at me. “Don’t be rude to the nice boy. He drove all this way on game day just to see you, isn’t that sweet?”

“I have tables.” I put the coffees on a tray along with cream and sugar and head over to the couple. Maybe if I keep ignoring Darryl, he’ll get the message and go away.

Wasn’t me kissing James in front of him enough?

Mom’s right, it’s Saturday, they have a home game. Darryl should be with James, getting ready to go. For all his other faults, he’s a good player, that should be his focus today. Not… whatever this is. Embarrassing me in front of a room full of people. Drawing my mother downstairs so she can add fuel to the inevitable fire.

“Sorry for the wait,” I tell the couple. “What can I get you?”

“Is that your boyfriend?” the woman says, leaning in with a conspiratorial smile. “He’s handsome.”

“He’s familiar,” the man says. “McKee?”

“Football,” I admit.

“Hey, man! Kill it today!”

Darryl raises his hand in a wave. I grit my teeth and smile, hoping like hell the heat I’m feeling isn’t showing on my face. “Um, your orders?”

I don’t need to scribble it down, I’ve been holding orders in my head for as long as I can remember, but I make a show of doing it anyway. Anything’s better than having to talk to Darryl.

In the kitchen, I hand the ticket to Tony, the head cook. He peers around me, a worried look on his lined face. “Do I need to get him out of here for you?”

“Nah.” I give him a smile. “Thanks, though. I can handle it.”

“Damn straight you can.” He barks out the order to the line cooks. I stand there for a long moment, just watching them move around the cramped kitchen with fluidity.

Darryl obviously took the kiss as flirtation, not a goodbye. He’s not just ignoring what I’m saying—he’s ignoring what he’s seeing, too.

As I walk back out, I pull Stacy aside. “Can you handle my table in the back? I need to deal with this.”

“Sure.” Stacy is my mother’s age. She traded off with my Aunt Nicole, Mom’s sister, when it came to spending time with me when I was younger, after my dad left and my mom ceased to function. She tugs on my ponytail, giving me a sad sort of smile. “I’ll try and get her upstairs, too.”

“Thanks.”

My mom has Darryl at the counter and is plying him with coffee and a slice of pie. I watch as she lights a cigarette, blowing out the smoke expertly. She laughs at something he says, her hand on his forearm, squeezing.

Jesus.

“Darryl, let’s talk.”

He leans back. “Finally. Bexy, don’t worry, I forgive you for kissing Callahan.”

“Outside.” I yank the front door open, trying to ignore the interested look Mom gives me. I’m sure she’s just dying to know who “Callahan” is.

Darryl doesn’t protest when I drag him around to the back of the building. “You look pretty playing waitress, baby.”

“I’m not playing,” I mutter. “That’s the reason you cheated on me, remember? I was always here.”

“Those girls didn’t mean shit to me.”

“So? That doesn’t make it not cheating.”

“Says who?”

“Says me!” I burst out. I bite the inside of my cheek to stave off the tears that are threatening to make an appearance. “Darryl, come on. You know what you did. We’re over. Just leave me alone.”

“I don’t think so.” He takes a step closer, reaching out to entwine our hands together. “Sweetheart, come on. I don’t know what you were playing at, kissing Callahan, but he told me he’s not interested in you, so there’s no problem. We can go back to the way things were.”

He told Darryl he’s not interested? That stings more than it should. “You talked about me?”

He drags me even closer. “Sure we did. I had to know if I needed to fight him for making a move on my girl, after all.”

He slides his hand up, circling my wrist, and does the same with my other arm too. I freeze.

“Bex,” he says, “just give in and let yourself be happy. Being with me can open so many doors for you. Once I’m in the league, we’ll sell this shitty place, and you can just take care of me. That’s what you wanted last year, so why ruin things now? Not like your life would amount to much otherwise.”

His grip tightens as he leans in to kiss me. I’m still frozen, too stunned to move as his lips graze mine. I always knew he was possessive, but this is a whole different level. This scares me.

“Darryl,” I whisper.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Fuck off.” I yank myself out of his grip, rubbing my wrists, and shove past him. “Go play your game. And if you bother me again, especially here, I’ll call the cops.”

He clenches his fists. I stare at him, terrified for the moment the swing connects with my face. My father hit my mother exactly once, shortly before he left for good, and she had a black eye for weeks. Not that it mattered much, because she was in bed mourning her marriage and the miscarriage triggered by heartbreak, but eleven-year-old me saw it every day when I crawled into bed beside her.