Chapter 4

      Lane relaxed on the sofa and flipped back and forth between two football games. Why they had to air them at the same time was beyond him. He had bets riding on both of them. He wasn’t a gambler in the traditional sense, he’d convinced himself. He just dabbled a bit. He didn’t need the money. In fact, he’d made a nice salary driving his cement truck for the past seventeen years. Betting on sports was just a pastime. He could quit at any time.

      He yelled at the television, a plate of food on the coffee table in front of him. He sipped on a cold bottle of Budweiser, leaned back on the pillow and pushed the comforter aside. The sofa doubled as a bed for him because that’s where he slept most nights. It had been weeks since he’d slept in his bed. He worked insane hours, and usually he’d fall asleep in front of the television before the last quarter of any game. He was the epitome of a bachelor, and his relationships had struggled in the past. His long hours left minimal time for dating.

      Besides working long hours, he hadn’t found a woman worth the work of dating long-term. He usually found something wrong with her. Too clingy, too self-centered, too fat, too skinny, low self-esteem—all were reasons to break things off before anyone got serious. His divorce had left him gun-shy, and he wasn’t sure that he’d let anyone else in after that. Love was painful, and he didn’t have time to be hurt again.

      His phone buzzed and he looked at the text message.

      Just left Melvin’s shop. Thanks for everything!

      “Whitney,” he whispered. A smile swept across his face, and he couldn’t wipe it away.

      He replied, Yrr welcome.

      He wanted to say more but didn’t want to give her the wrong impression. Didn’t want her to think that he was interested in anything more than making sure her car was taken care of. He placed the phone on the coffee table and stuffed a forkful of green beans into his mouth.

      I hope you have a nice night, she texted back.

      You too, he replied, and then waited for the notification that she had texted him again.

      He waited. Grabbed the phone and typed, Are you free Friday night?

      What was he doing? Friday night was his night to fall asleep in front of the television again. He didn’t need to make appointments that he had no intentions of keeping. He hit the send key anyway.

      Free for what? she asked.

      Idk. Dinner?

      “I don’t know?” he whispered. “Dammit!”

      He didn’t even have a game plan. He’d approached her without a plan. And on top of that, he wasn’t even sure if he really wanted to take her out. It was just something that had slipped out, an impulsive act on his part.

      Sure, she texted.

      Had she said yes? He sat up straight on the sofa, stuck his chest out. He was cocky now.

      Cool, he typed.

      Where would he take her? She was undoubtedly a wine-sipping fancy-dinner-spot type of woman. He was a sports-bar type of guy. That was a good enough reason not to follow through with this crazy idea. He leaned against the back of the sofa, considered how he could get out of this date that he’d just made on impulse. How had he even gotten here? They were as different as night and day. And he wasn’t up for anyone trying to change him. Nope. He’d been there, done that with the last woman, Erica. She’d tried her best to change him. Buying him these corny outfits and insisting that he wear them to the cocktail parties and office dinners that he’d been forced to tag along on. She hated when he watched the game or hung out with the guys from work. Wanted him to spend every waking hour with her. He was relieved when she finally disappeared from his life.

      I know a nice sports bar in the Arts District. The Cowboys are playing that night. Not that I’m a fan of the Cowboys, but I enjoy a good football game, she texted.

      He smiled when he read the text. “Damn,” he whispered.

      Well, who are you a fan of? he asked.

      Broncos. I don’t know why. I grew up watching soccer myself, but I just like the team. You?

      Kansas City Chiefs. After my hometown, Saint Louis, lost the Rams to LA, I went with the next best team.

      The Chiefs? The next best?

      He laughed aloud and then dialed her phone number. Forget the texting. He needed to set her straight! She was laughing on the other end of the phone.

      “You think that’s funny, huh?” he asked.

      “Did I push your buttons?” she asked, still laughing.

      “What do you have against the Chiefs?”

      “I’m not saying that they’re crap overall. Their season is pretty good this year.”

      “They’re doing great this season!”

      “You’re right. And they do have Andy Reid.”

      “What you know about football?”

      “I know a lot,” she said. “Now, are we meeting at the sports bar on Friday night or what?”

      “Send me the info and I’ll meet you there,” he said. He tried to remain calm. Friday wouldn’t get here soon enough, he thought.

      “Good!” she exclaimed. “I’ll see you then.”

      “Okay.”

      “I’d love to talk to you more about the Chiefs, but I have an early morning with twelve kindergartners. I need my beauty sleep.”

      “I wouldn’t want to interrupt your beauty sleep. It seems to be working pretty good.” He chuckled.

      “I’ll see you on Friday.” Her voice smiled.

      “Have a good night.”

      “You,