“I know.” He sighs, shaking his head. “What a fucking little prick. Who would do something like this?”
“A little prick,” I say.
“Erik.” He clenches his jaw.
“What happened yesterday?”
“I went to Hardy, and Hardy talked to Erik. Made the kid run until he collapsed. I thought that would be the end of it, that he’d learned his lesson, but…”
“But then he did this.”
“Yeah. He did this.” David tenses and I can see the anger written all over him. He looks over at me and shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think this would happen.”
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “You meant well.”
“Meaning well and doing the right thing aren’t always the same.”
“This isn’t your fault.”
He shakes his head and walks over to a bench. We sit down together under the shade of a tree and he puts his hand behind his head. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do now,” he says.
“We can just let it go.”
He glances at me. “Do you really want that?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“Are you angry?”
“I’m fucking pissed.”
“Good.” He nods once. “You should be. That little twerp deserves another beating.”
“You can’t do that,” I say quickly, not sure if he’s joking around or not.
He frowns and shrugs. “Maybe.”
We lapse into silence and I let out a breath. I feel like there’s no winning here. If we fight back, it’ll just make Erik lash out even more. But if we do nothing, I’m going to feel like I let that asshole get one over on me, and he’ll win. I can tell David feels the same way.
“Where are you from?” he asks out of the blue.
“Uh, Philadelphia,” I say. “You?”
“Chicago. Grew up near Notre Dame, actually.”
“Is that why you’re into football?”
“Yeah, it is,” he says and laughs. “I remember going to games with my old man back in the day. Back before drinking took him.”
“Oh,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
“Ah, it’s fine. But those were good memories. I guess I still associate football with those good days.”
“I never got into football,” I say and feel lame.
He grins at me. “What are you into? What’s your major?”
“English,” I say.
“Ah. So you’re an art girl.”
“No, not really. I just want to teach high school.”
“Good for you,” he says, nodding. “That’s a good profession. Hard, though, and people never appreciate you, but really important.”
“You’re really selling it to me.”
He laughs. “Sorry. I’m just trying to change the subject so we’re not talking about that little fuck constantly.”
I shift a little closer to him and tilt my head in his direction. “I don’t get why you care so much,” I say. “I mean, he’s a dick. We can leave it at that, right?”
He frowns at me and looks into my eyes for a long moment. “Maybe there’s something about you,” he says. “Maybe I’m not the kind of man that can see a woman getting pushed around and walk away.”
“Which one is it? Something about me, or you’re just so chivalrous you can’t help yourself?”
“Little bit of both.” He moves closer to me. “More about you, though. When that little fuck pushed you, I wanted to break his arms. You looked like you did, too.”
I laugh and shrug. “I won’t pretend like the thought didn’t occur to me.”
“And now this.” He clenches his fists then stops himself and shakes his head. “Sorry. I need to stop talking about it or I’ll get all fired up again.”
“Okay. How about you tell me something about yourself. If you’re going to keep saving me from Erik, I might as well know a little bit about you.”
“I’m thirty-four,” he says. “Been a football coach my whole life. Started at the high school level, moved out here a few years back.” He shrugs a little.
“Not your life story,” I say. “Something about you. What do you like, aside from football.”
“I cook,” he says. “I’m a good cook, actually.”
“I believe it.” I smile. “You should make me dinner sometime.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You asking me out? I thought that was my job.”
I feel myself blush a deep crimson. “That’s not what I mean.”
“Oh?” He leans toward me and touches my face. My heart starts to hammer faster, fluttering like a lost bird. “I think you did. And I’d love to cook for you.”
“I’d like that,” I whisper.
He leans closer and his lips brush against mine. Softly at first, but the kiss turns deeper, more passionate as his tongue slips against mine. He tastes like honey and grass, like a turf field and sweet tea. I press myself against him, and I know this is stupid, this is a huge mistake, but I can’t help it.
We break apart and he stares into my eyes. Neither of us speak for a long moment.
“Was that bad?” I whisper.
“No,” he says. “Not even a little bit.”
“But… I’m a student.”