“You say that like no dork has ever watched football,” he teases.
“Did you just call me a dork?” I ask, honestly surprised, but he grins it away.
“You know what I mean,” Silas goes on. “As if there’s no one on the planet who likes both Doctor Who and Monday Night Football.”
“Fine,” I say, straightening my shoulders. “No, I don’t follow football. Thank you for asking. I’m sorry that your lifestyle no longer allows for viewing frivolous competitive events.”
“Don’t be, I don’t mind,” he says. “Watching’s been a habit since I played in high school.”
“Football?”
“Isn’t that what we’re talking about?”
“I thought you played baseball.”
Silas laughs. I almost do, too.
“You want to know a secret? Lots of people play both. In high school, anyway.”
I roll my eyes at him, still trying not to smile.
“You gonna brag about making all-state in that, too?”
His grin tells me everything I need to know.
“Oh, shut up,” I say. “What, were you the star quarterback?”
“Why do you keep asking questions you don’t want the answers to?”
“I have no idea,” I answer honestly, and drink some more beer. I look away from Silas and at the wall by our table, which has a rusted railroad crossing sign hanging on it, and for once I’m grateful for the Asian glow that hides my blush.
It’s weirdly thrilling that the kind of guy who wouldn’t have looked at me twice in high school is here, now, with me. Sure, he’s pretending because I sort of forced him into it, and yes, he’ll probably go on lots of dates with blondes who used to cheerlead when we’re done, but for right now it’s… satisfying. Like I got the last laugh, somehow.
“You didn’t play sports?” he asks, still watching me.
I scoff.
“Is finding used tampons in my locker while half the school stands behind me and laughs a sport?” I ask, half-laughing.
Silas’s face changes, his brows coming together, the sparkle in his eyes going out.
“Jesus,” he says.
Oops, I’ve horrified him. Fuck. I shake my head and wave one hand in the air, like I can chase away what I just said.
“That only happened once,” I say, which is technically true. “But yeah. No sports.”
He’s still frowning at me, strangely concerned. I glance at him and then back at a television, where men in uniform are doing stuff with a ball.
I wish I hadn’t said that. Why the hell did I say that? Why, of all the shit that happened to me in high school, did I tell him about the tampons? This is why they were in the locker in the first place, because I’m an awkward dork who brings up things like disgusting locker tampons.
“Are you okay?” he asks, after a moment.
I have the presence of mind to smile.
“What? Yeah, of course,” I say, gesturing with the half-empty beer. “It was like… twenty years ago. I think I’ve moved on.”
He doesn’t answer right away, leaning back on his side of the booth, those eyes scanning my face like he’s concerned. My face gets hotter. My heart gets faster.