“A bullshit artist is more like it,” Ben said, grinning. “If I win, you’re going to treat me to tickets to a postseason game of my choice.”
“The Sox?” I asked.
Ben shrugged. “Maybe. Though maybe not. Maybe the Celtics. Maybe the Pats. Maybe the B’s. Maybe all of them!”
“I’m not agreeing to buy postgame tickets for all four teams. I doubt all four would even make it into the postseason the same year. One team. It can be your choice, but it’s not going to be all four.”
Ben scrunched his eyebrows up as though giving it serious thought, as though he might actually refuse. Then, he grinned and held his hand out. “Deal,” he said.
We shook on it.
I’m generally not the sort of guy who would wager a bet like that. I was never the sort to kiss and tell, and unlike some guys I went to high school and college with, I didn’t keep a tally of all my bedroom conquests. I myself wasn’t even entirely sure why I had agreed to such a thing, other than I did enjoy a good bet, and Ben had always brought out the competitive streak in me. When we were younger and used to race BMX together, I never really cared if others beat me, but it sure as shit mattered if Ben did. We had a very brotherly sort of rivalry between us, and it continued long after I gave up BMX.
The other thing was there was something intriguing about Allie.
I couldn’t say what, exactly; I had never been interested in a patient before. I’d seen my fair share of attractive women, but it had always been from a professional standpoint. I could appreciate a long, lean body, shapely breasts, tight, toned thighs—all of which she was in possession of—but it was a detached sort of appreciation, the way you might marvel at particularly nice sunset, or a magnificent ocean view. It was there, you noted its beauty, and you moved on.
Chapter Five
Allie
“Hi, Miss Allie!” Declan said. He came over and wrapped his arms around my legs. It was Friday morning, and he’d greeted me this way every single day this week.
“Good morning, Declan!” I said. “How are you?”
“Good! I got up early and got to ride my bike this morning before school.”
Cole was standing behind him, still looking half-asleep. “You probably heard him whooping as he rode by, faster than the Flash.”
“I am faster than the Flash,” Declan said.
I smiled. “I didn’t hear a thing. I guess I must be a heavy sleeper. Why don’t you go hang your backpack up?”
Cole went over to the clipboard on top of the cubbies and signed Declan in. He yawned. “Nothing like a 5 a.m. bike ride to get the blood flowing,” he said.
Another of the moms had just arrived, with her daughter, a curly-haired girl named Emma. “You got up at 5 a.m. to go riding?” she asked. “My goodness, Cole, you are certainly an inspiration. I haven’t been on my bike in ages.” This mom, whose name I couldn’t remember, was tall—almost as tall as Cole—and sleek and toned and slender. She might not have been on a bike in ages, but she certainly was doing something to keep in shape. She laughed and then reached out, resting her hand on his upper arm for a second. “How are you doing?”
She turned toward him, stepping in front of me so her back was now facing me, basically creating a barrier between Cole and me. Which was fine, if not a little rude since she had barely even looked my way when she came in.
“Oh, you know, hanging in there,” Cole said. He caught my eye over her shoulder and the tiniest of smiles curved one corner of his mouth. Then his gaze went back to her. “And it wasn’t me who was up for the 5 a.m. bike ride, so don’t start singing my praises or anything—”
She laughed again, loudly this time. “Cole, you’re soooo funny!”
I tried to refrain from rolling my eyes. I went over to the sensory table, which we had filled that morning with pom poms. Several of the children were elbow-deep.
Amy came over, eyeing the doorway, where Cole was still standing talking to the woman.
“Ew,” she whispered. “Would you look at her? It is so obvious how much Lily is into Cole. She flirts with him all the time.”
Even from halfway across the room like this, I could see a huge diamond ring on Lily’s ring finger, along with another smaller band.
“She’s certainly very friendly,” I said. “At least to him.”
I had thought that the weekends might be hard, that having two whole days where I didn’t have anything to do would get boring or lonely—that my mother would be right after all—but so far, that hadn’t proven true. I knew that in part, it had to do with the fact that it was June, usually one of the nicest times of year in New England, and that I might be feeling very different if it was say, the middle of January and 10 degrees outside. But on Saturday morning, I slept in, woke up to the sound of cardinals outside my window, got up slowly, and made some coffee.
I took it outside to the backyard, which was another thing I really liked about this house. There was a generous-sized deck with teak patio furniture, and then beyond that, two Adirondack chairs amidst the grass, facing a dense pine forest. It was easy to imagine those woods going on forever; during the height of the day, the sun barely dappled the ground. I sat with my coffee and a book, and I read several chapters while I thought about just what it was that I might like to do for the rest of the day.
I didn’t come up with any concrete plans, but that was all right, because when I went back inside, I made myself a fried egg and a piece of toast, had another cup of coffee, then cleaned the kitchen up. I started a list with a few things I’d need to get from the grocery store, and then I went and got dressed. I was about to go in and brush my teeth when I heard my phone ringing from the kitchen counter. I went and glanced down at the screen. It was my mother.