“Gram, I really think I want to date her, and if, in the process, I can generate some good publicity for the Storm and increase the chances that we’ll be able to draw bigger crowds at the stadium when the season starts, so be it,” I said, turning serious. “She’s smart and she likes football; at least I know that already.”
“David, are you sure you want to date her for the right reasons?” Gram asked skeptically. “What do you know about her family?”
“Jesus, Gram, she’s a Halas! What more is there to know?” I said, irritated that she was questioning me, and that the questioning was creating some small cracks in my carefully constructed façade.
“I know you will do the right thing,” she replied, looking over at the portrait of Pop hanging above the mantle before softly adding, “You’re a good boy, David. I know other people have questioned your motives and methods, but you’re a good boy, and I know you’ll do what’s right.”
“What do you think Pop would have said?” I asked quietly.
“I think he would have said the same thing. Do what’s right,” she said smiling. “But I think he probably would have also added his two cents on the girl matters. Not that his advice would have been any use whatsoever.”
“Gram!” I laughed as I took her hand and squeezed it tightly. “All I know right now is that she seems like someone I’d like to date. I’ve always trusted my gut instincts, and they’ve never let me down.”
“I love you, sweetheart,” Gram said, squeezing back. “If you think this girl might bring you happiness, well, then who am I to stand in the way? And I just want to see you happy.”
“I know you do, Gram,” I said leaning in and kissing her cheek. “I know you do.”
“Do you want some more supper?” she asked as she pushed herself up from the table and walked to the stove.
“Love some,” I smiled as she pulled out a clean plate and loaded it up with a second helping of everything.
Gram gave me a curious look as she set the plate down in front of me, but then shook her head and moved back to the sink. I knew she knew me well enough to know something else was going on, but she was also smart enough not to ask questions about things she’d rather not know. Secrets were a hallmark of my family, and for once, I was questioning whether keeping a secret from Gram was a good idea.
Chapter Eight
Payton
I woke up the next morning with the sun streaming in through the open window and realized I hadn’t closed the curtains before I fell asleep the night before. The warm rays felt good, so I threw off the covers and stretched out on the bed, soaking them up as I recalled the previous night.
Dax Connor was definitely a person of interest, but I wasn’t sure if he was one of those guys whose fragile egos could handle a little challenge. I wanted to see him again. Actually, I wanted to do more than just see him, but seeing him would be a good start.
My phone rang as I was pulling on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. On the other end was my lifelong best friend, Val Hanna, who said she was on her way with coffee and bagels, and that she would be there in 10 minutes. When she arrived, I buzzed her up and left the front door propped open. It was a habit that Val scolded me for every time she visited.
“Jesus, PG-13! If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times not to leave your door open!” Val scolded as she breezed through the door arms full of coffee cups and a bag full of bagels and spreads. She used the nickname she’d cleverly come up back when we were in 7th grade because she knew I would be annoyed.
“And as I’ve told you a thousand times, there’s nothing to worry about in this building,” I grumbled, leaning in and kissing her cheek as I took the bag and went into the kitchen to unload it on a tray I’d set up.
“There is always something to worry about, girl,” Val called from the living room. When I emerged with the tray, she looked me up and down and said, “You look rough. What happened last night?”
“Gosh, thanks, friend,” I laughed as I set the tray down on the glass coffee table and accepted a cup of coffee from her before curling up in one corner of my large, L-shaped sofa. Dressed to the nines in a flowing Gucci top and tight, black jeans paired with black, gladiator Louboutin sandals, Val perched on the edge of one of the square leather chairs across the room and eyed me suspiciously.
“I’m serious; spill it,” she said, settling back as she sipped her coffee, looking lik
e the epitome of the Chicago socialite.
Born and raised on the South Side, Val clawed her way up from an impoverished beginning. She spent the first five years of her life being shuttled from relative to relative before the state finally put Val and her siblings in foster care. Val was whip smart, and attended the same private schools as I had, but on scholarship. Despite her brains, Val had never been driven to do more than the minimum necessary to maintain a respectable B average. Val was a hustler and she did exactly what she needed to in order to slowly but surely move herself up the ranks in school, but never attracted more attention than necessary.
She and I roomed together at Northwestern where she earned her degree in English literature and spent most weekends in the city without me. She would come back at the end of the weekend full of tales of adventures she’d had, but I always suspected that a large portion of the stories was edited out. Several times over the course of our friendship, I’d asked her why she didn’t want to do or achieve more, and she’d patiently explained that maintaining mediocrity meant that no one put unreasonable demands or expectations on her, and that any kind of achievement was then celebrated. As she’d gotten older and revealed her true intentions, her logic had made more sense to me.
“My mother issued an ultimatum and I went out drinking afterwards,” I shrugged.
“What the hell?” she said sitting up a little straighter as she shot me a questioning look. “What bug’s crawled up Joanna’s ass now?”
“She told me I have a month to find a suitable husband and get to work planning a wedding and then popping out heirs to the Halas throne,” I sighed, sinking into the taupe, microfiber embrace of my couch. I sipped the hot, dark coffee as I looked to Val for sympathy. When she said nothing, I continued, “She said it’s either that or I’m going to lose my inheritance and all support. Including this apartment.”
“So, get to work, babe!” Val said enthusiastically. “Hustle, hustle, hustle!”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I replied.