right?” Her answer is slow
coming. Finally she gives
me a lukewarm, I guess so.
We turn back toward the X
lunch line. My groupies, thank
God, have wandered off.
Nikki’s mom watches us
with relentless eyes, unlike
her dad, who is focused on Montana.
That fact does not escape
Nikki. God. He’s such a dog.
HE DOES KIND OF LOOK
Like one—a basset hound,
maybe, or a cocker spaniel.
A dog with dopey eyes.
Nikki pulls away from me,
pushes between her parents,
forms a three-link chain.
They start toward the gate
just as the cannon fires,
signaling first kickoff.
Hot dogs in hand, the X fans
disperse, leaving Montana
and me to watch the stragglers.
After a while, Montana turns
to me. Pretty girlfriend, she says.
You two serious, or what?
Without my telling them to,
my shoulders hunch into a shrug.
“We’re not, like, getting married