“Whatever you say, Weather Girl.” He keeps his eyes on me before stepping into the house. He goes right to the bar and makes another drink. I tell myself this guy is drunk, nothing more, and didn’t mean a single thing he said. Except, the doubt lingers in my mind. What if this is how Peyton feels about me?
Six
Julius
The bourbon numbs everything except my thoughts. This room is full of people kissing ass and taking names to better themselves in their careers. The media management companies are trying to brand Noah and Peyton, then there’s the rookie running back who makes sure to tell Peyton how pretty she is every day, and the new weather person for who knows what station. If I had to guess, it’s probably some online-only type broadcast because the internet is the wave of the future. Honestly, they’re right. I rarely watch the news because I can’t filter what they show. At least, with the web, I can go right to the information I want. Probably not the best way to get my news, but whatever. ESPN is pretty much the only channel I watch because they’re nice enough not to comment on my marriage, but they’re sure to point out when I have a lackluster game. Fun times in the land of Julius Cunningham.
What bothers me the most is the new person in the crowd. What did she call herself? Oh yes, a “meteorologist.” Even as I say this in my head, it sounds pretentious and snobbish. Did she have to go to some special school to tell people it’s going to rain? Hell, I can do that just by looking at the clouds. And seriously, this is Portland—it’s going to fucking rain, and then in the summer, it’s going to get so fucking hot, people are going to wish for rain. It’s an endless cycle.
I watch her, this weather girl, as she moves around the room. She’s schmoozing, taking names and numbers, and working the room. She’s using Peyton to advance her career because it’s likely she wants to be the next Barbara Walters, and standing in front of the map talking about the rain accumulation is just her way of getting her foot in the door.
When this woman heads toward Quinn, I am certain she’s just here to use Peyton, and I hate it. I overheard earlier that they went to school together, yet Peyton has never mentioned her until this evening. What bothers me is that Noah doesn’t seem concerned. Normally, he’s a hawk, protecting his wife from everyone. His sheltering comes from Peyton’s accident. She almost died, and it still haunts him after all this time. I remember it all, clear as day. Noah almost quit, gave up his career to be by her bedside while she was in a coma. I was so angry with him, not because he wanted to leave the team. I was mad because he had a girl at the time, and to me, this was cheating. Dessie thought so as well but stuck by him. She tried to confide in me when all of this went down, but I turned her away. Elena didn’t trust her, and as it turned out, with good reason. Still, I had beef with Noah until he told me why he put Peyton before anything. He was in love with her and had been most of his life. The minute he found out about her accident was when he knew he had to make changes in his life, or he would never be truly happy. This isn’t to say Noah still didn’t make a few mistakes where his life is concerned. Now though, as I watch him, he’s always gravitating toward Peyton. He always knows where she is and always knows when to look at her at the right time.
I thought I had that with Elena. Boy, was I wrong! The more time I think about my life with Elena, the more I realize she used me. She came to Alabama for one thing—a ring—and she got it, but that’s all she’s getting out of me.
Noah nods in my direction, and I raise my glass to him. He comes toward me and pats me on the back. “I’m glad you decided to stop by.”
“Nothing else to do,” I tell him. “Are you coming to Reggie’s game tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there. Eleven, right?”
I nod. “I’m hauling ass after our walk-through. I’m hoping to make it by kick-off.” I’m thankful we have a home game this weekend because it gives me a chance to watch my boy play.
“Did Reggie’s coach decide on a position for him yet?”
“Nah, man. The kid has a canon but can run like the wind.”
“How’s he doing with Elena being gone more?”
I take a sip of my bourbon and scan the room for another look around. My eyes immediately hone in on the weather girl. She’s laughing, enjoying herself, and I’m finding that it bothers me. Did she not hear what I said to her outside?