Running Back (New York Leopards 2)

“Shirker,” Mike muttered as I closed the bathroom door.

When I came out, an agreement had been reached. It turned out no one wanted to stay indoors, so we all headed out to the pub. It was already packed, but Mike and I managed to squeeze in at the end of a table next to the O’Brien family and their four children. Five-year-old Kelly kept sticking her elbow in my side and stealing peeks at me, but other than that it was a pretty good fit.

As Mike spoke, Kelly stopped watching me and started watching him. Her little brother got jam all over Mike’s arm, which he absentmindedly cleaned off.

And then, in the middle of our happy, light-hearted conversation, he looked up with this half smile, like he’d forgotten it on his face. “I’m going back home in three weeks.”

“For another weekend?”

“No. For good. I have training camp on the twenty-sixth.”

I shook my head, oddly numb. Of course he had training camp. He was a New York Leopard. “Are you excited?”

He shrugged. “I’m always excited for a new season.”

Right. Right.

“If you find something, you have flexibility about where you’re based in your off-season, right? But what if you don’t find anything?”

“Then I’ll probably stay here and keep looking.”

He took a long drink. “Then I really hope you find Ivernis.”

A lump formed in my throat. I tried to clear it away with the same grace as a cat with a hairball. “I’ll definitely be back in New York late September, to present at the conference.”

“What will you guys give your talk on if you don’t find anything?”

Our talk was registered as a Field Report, and I was fairly certain the American Academy of Archaeology had accepted it because they figured Ceile and Jeremy’s feud would provide some much needed entertainment at the conference. “I was thinking about just crying for a straight hour if we have nothing to say. Or maybe Ceile will come and throw tomatoes at us.”

“Sort of like performance art.”

“Yeah. Maybe we’ll hold different tools as we do it. Trowel—tiny tears. Shovel—big wail.” I took a bite of my sandwich. “It’s funny—the conference is actually at the Javits Center, so right next to your stadium.”

He grinned. “The season will’ve started. You can come to a game while you’re home.”

Under the table, I hooked my ankle around his. “Without a doubt.”

That evening, Lauren and I were playing checkers before the fireplace when Mike came in with a slight smile. I rolled over and looked at him. “You know those charts where there’s a different smiley face for each emotion? We should have one of you, except instead of frowns and tears they’d all be different versions of you smiling.”

Kate made a mom noise. “That’s such a sweet idea.”

Well, I wasn’t sure about sweet. I was going for clever.

“We should have one of Anna,” Lauren said. “Except instead of smiles, it would be scowl variations.”

Anna demonstrated one. “You’re so funny.”

Mike sat down next to me. “And which smile is this?”

“You have a secret.”

He raised his brows. “Not a very long lasting one. Want to go somewhere this weekend?”

“Dublin?”

“Paris.”

Anna cried out, “I want to go to Paris!”