Barrett and I have been dating off-the-record this week.
Mia said it’d optimize the advertising if we capped the columns at our original goal number of five. Number three comes out tomorrow, with number four on Wednesday, and a final, wrap-up column on Sunday.
The time Barrett and I are spending together now is ours. Tonight I’m being introduced to another part of his world, perhaps the biggest part: football.
The Buckeyes are playing a practice game at Woody Hayes Athletic Center rather than the Horseshoe, and since he’s alumni Barrett was invited to watch. As his plus-one, I have an invitation, too. One that didn’t require a press badge.
It feels like our first real date, which is strange to say. Barrett and I have been naked together fairly frequently. But the pressure of the column and a deadline aren’t present for this date. The concession stand was closed, so he brought a box of Cheez-Its, which taste incredible paired with my vending machine bottle of Coca-Cola.
He explains the calls and rules to me when I ask. I’m not sure I’ll ever understand what a sack is, and “horse collar” sounds made up, but whatever.
He’s vibrant in this setting. He talks a little louder and a lot faster than usual, gesticulating with his hands. I’m not sure if he knows he’s doing it, but whenever one of the guys throws the ball, he sits taller in his seat and rolls his bad shoulder. Like his mind is walking his body through the play.
At the end of the game, we toss the empty cracker box and soda bottles and make our way down to the field. He introduces me to a bunch of very large, sweaty guys and a coach I’ve seen on television a time or two.
After the great to see yous and the nice to meet yous and a couple of way to go, Barretts, we leave the stadium and walk back to his car.
“You come alive in there,” I point out as he opens my door for me. He offers a half shrug like he doesn’t want to admit I’m right. “You miss it, don’t you?”
“Like you would a perfectly creamed Pike Place from Starbucks, Kitty Cat.”
I don’t sit, instead leaning on the open door between us. “Our column has traction, and you have a lot of positive comments from fans. Is there any chance the network would consider putting you back on the air?”
“Haven’t received that invitation yet.”
“Have you tried reaching out?”
“Are you going to get in the car?” He leans in, his playful smile closer than before.
“Not until you kiss me.”
He does. I grip his shirt and tug him closer.
“Dinner, sweet cheeks. Park that round ass in the seat and we’ll head out. I have a surprise for you.”
With the promise of a surprise dancing in my head, I obediently buckle in. Soon we’re pulling up to a building with a sign that reads: North Street Bar. After Barrett parks at the curb, we walk inside where we’re greeted by a friendly bartender who introduces himself and tells us to sit anywhere.
“Can you grab Dax for me?” Barrett asks the guy.
“Sure thing,” our trusty bartender answers. He disappears into the back and emerges a moment later, a hulking guy with dark blond hair trailing behind him. Dax is wide, with big arms and a bigger smile.
“Hey brother.” Barrett slaps him hard on the back when they hug. Despite Dax’s size, he’s not much taller than Barrett. He’s every bit as good-looking, though. Silver-blue eyes, muscles taking up most of his wide frame. He walks in a lazy slouch that doesn’t lessen his strength.
His smile is genuine when he says, “Glad you stopped by. I’m not working today—just checking on a few things.”
“Catarina, this is Dax.”
Dax aims his friendly smile at me and clasps my hand in his larger, warmer one.
“The wife here?” Barrett asks.
“Yeah, Becca’s in the kitchen. She’s vigilant about keeping an eye on the place. I’ll tell her you guys are here.”
“You’ll like her,” Barrett tells me. It’s exciting to meet his friends. I suppress a grin at the idea that he brought me here for that purpose. He takes my hand and pulls me off to the side near the kitchen. The restaurant is fairly busy. Twice we have to step out of the way of hustling servers with trays of food.
“Barrett, who have you brought me?” A tall, cute, short-haired blond woman steps from the kitchen. Her round pregnant belly appeared before she did. She surprises me by wrapping her arms around me in a strong hug.
“Becca, meet Catarina Everhart. Catarina, Becca Vaughn.”
“And you two are...” She wiggles a finger between us.
“Dating,” Barrett finishes.
“I read your column every week, Catarina. I know exactly who you are. I love the charity case you’ve taken on.” She pokes Barrett in the arm. “Shall we sit? Does everyone like chicken quesadillas?”
“Yes,” Barrett and I answer at the same time.
An hour later, after enjoying the most delicious quesadillas I’ve ever tasted, Becca chatters about the restaurant business and being pregnant and how she’s planning on dancing on open mic night after the baby is born.
“Barrett should sing here sometime,” I blurt. His warm blue eyes hit mine.
“I didn’t know you could sing!” Becca exclaims. “Did you know that, Dax?”
“Unfortunately, Princess,” he answers, “I know lots of things about Barrett Fox.”
Princess. That’s adorable. They’re adorable.
“How’d you guys meet?” I ask.
“Dax took a vacation to Tennessee at the resort where I worked,” Becca answers with a reminiscent smile. “We were flooded in together.”
Before I can ask for more details, she turns back to Barrett. “So? Will you?”
“Will I what?” Barrett lifts his beer glass.
“Sing!” Becca says.
“No. I will not.”
“Please.” She folds her hands.
“Yeah, please?” I mimic Becca, also folding my hands in front of me.
“Help us, they’re in cahoots.” Dax shakes his head.
“Not now,” Barrett answers, but he’s smiling as he swipes the condensation off the edge of his glass. “I’ll give you a private show if you want, Kitty Cat. But I’m not up for performing here tonight.”
“Hmph.” Becca crosses her arms. “You owe me.”
“I’ll do it sometime. Just not tonight,” Barrett repeats with finality.
“Fine,” she concedes.
“Tell me something about Fox I don’t know yet,” I say. “Off the record.”
“I apparently don’t know him very well.” Becca lifts her glass of sparkling water.
“I can crochet,” Barrett quips.
“No, you can’t,” I challenge.
“No. I can’t.” He grins and winks, a combo that makes me want to fast-forward to the private show he promised me tonight.
“He’s neat,” Becca offers. “Dax said when he lived with him, he’d always fold the sheets he slept on and tuck them into the closet. Every single day.”
“Neat, I’ve seen. I’ve been to his place a few times.”
She grips my arm. “Tell me this will be detailed in the upcoming columns.”