“Oh bullshit,” Payton countered. “You make your money off of a 200% markup on house booze!”
Jack started at her for a moment and then let loose a deep throated laugh as he flipped her shot glass and poured her another.
“Damn right I do,” he laughed as he offered the bottle to me. I shook my head and then studied the menu.
“I’ll take a burger, medium, with fries,” I said. I knew I was being a killjoy at Payton’s party, but there was something about her mood that told me I should be the one to stay at least moderately sober tonight. “What do you want, lady?”
“Same,” she said, knocking back the second shot before slipping her hand into my lap a little more aggressively.
“Payton,” I said removing her hand and leaning in close before I said, “What are you doing?”
“I’m having fun,” she replied a little too loudly. “I thought you’d like that.”
“Not like this,” I said shaking my head. I leaned back and watched as she drank her beer and avoided making eye contact with me.
We stayed until Jack hollered last call, and then I helped a very drunk, but vocal Payton to the car. I could tell that she was wrestling with something big, but if she wasn’t going to tell me what it was, I wasn’t going to dig.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Payton
Sunday dawned bright and beautiful, and I felt exponentially better than I had the day before when I’d stayed in bed sleeping off the hangover from Friday night. I knew I’d made an ass of myself at Black Jack and that I left Dax confused about what was going on, but I didn’t know how to talk to him about what I was feeling. He didn’t understand my deep connection to football or my family, and I didn’t trust that he could listen to what had happened between my mother and I without being extremely judgmental, so I put my walls up and went to find some coffee.
“Feeling better this morning?” Dax asked as I stood at the kitchen counter making myself a cup of espresso.
“Much better, thank you,” I said without turning around adding, “And thank you for Friday night. I’m sorry I ruined it.”
“You didn’t,” he said. His voice was so soft that I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly. I turned and found him standing right behind me.
“Oh! You scared me!” I gasped as I looked up at him and saw concern in his dark eyes. “You shouldn’t do that when I’m making hot coffee.”
“Payton, what’s going on?” he asked. “Is there something I can help you with? You don’t have to be afraid to ask, you know. If I can help, I will.”
“I know. Thank you,” I said, lowering my eyes so that he couldn’t see my shame and confusion. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me,” he said taking my hand and slipping his fingers under my chin so that he could lift my face. “I’m not an ogre.”
“I never said you were,” I replied as I focused on his lips so that I wouldn’t have to see the worry in his eyes.
“Then why won’t you talk to me? We started out so well,” he said before dryly adding, “Breakfast negotiations notwithstanding.”
“It’s not that,” I said, forcing a smile so that he’d know that I, too, was trying. “It’s just that there are things you don’t understand about me. Family things. Sports things. I don’t know how to explain them so that you will.”
“And I will repeat myself,” he said. “Try me.”
“How can you possibly understand when you don’t even like football!” I cried as I twisted away from him and moved down the counter. “I can’t explain my love for the game and my family’s team any more than I can explain the color blue. It’s a feeling I get when I watch a quarterback throw a perfect spiral pass or when a wide receiver tucks the ball into his midsection and breaks into a dead run for the goal. It’s the way the fans stay in their seats until the last play and then cheer for their team. How do I explain that to someone who just doesn’t give a damn?”
“I do give a damn,” he said softly. “I just don’t have the same connection to it as you do.”
“I know. For you, it’s an investment,” I said glumly. “For me, it’s a lifestyle. It’s my passion, Dax. I don’t know how to convey how much of a passion this is for me. It’s not just about status or money; those things are important, but when you get down to it, this is about the ga
me.”
He stood staring at me until the espresso machine began steaming, and then he turned and flipped the switch, letting the water flow while he grabbed the steel pitcher from the sink and poured some milk into it. He didn’t say a word as he focused on steaming the milk. When he was done, he poured the espresso shot into a mug and topped it with the milk, drawing a small heart in the foam. He handed me the mug and then turned and walked out of the kitchen.
Several hours later, we entered the skybox at the Storm stadium and found Gram already sitting in one of the leather club chairs.
“What took you two so long to get here?” she asked as she studied our faces. “And what’s wrong with you? You look like someone killed your dog.”