Across the Hall

Second Down

She was lying low. Sometimes Patrick would text. She'd say she was busy. Maybe it had been the vodka. She'd get a text from Dan and respond with an emoticon and nothing more. Maybe vodka had tannins other spirits didn't. The next day there'd be a text from Harry asking what could possibly be keeping her so busy. Maybe it had been the tea. She drank coffee more often. It must've been that. She didn't have time for tea's steeping, the careful cooling off it needed. Her phone rang.

"If you're going to leave us in the dust," Dan said, "could you at least give us the recipe for the dill dip you make? I'm going into withdrawals over here."

She smiled. "How can you expect me to give away my secrets?"

"We have a seat wide open for you. Harry's writing your name on it now in permanent marker."

She had dill in the fridge and could grab sour cream at the local market, a lemon, a bag of salt and pepper chips that Harry liked best. "Check his spelling," she said. "I'll be over by the second quarter."

Jack's back was towards the kitchen counter when she arrived and she was glad. It made it easier to walk up and set down the box of earl grey tea she'd bought. She was careful not to let any part of her person touch his as she did it.

"I thought I'd pay you back," she said and set a bottle of vodka on the counter beside the box.

He turned to look at her. "Do you want me to make you something?"

She blinked. "I'm off vodka personally. I'm trying to be on good behavior." She let herself smile a little and he nearly smiled back.

"I wasn't fair to you," she said.

"It wasn't personal," he said, standing straighter from the counter. "I think you were trying to get even with someone that wasn't there." His voice was low and unforgivably deep. It was peaceful. She swallowed.

"And I was just the punishment," he finished.

She looked at him, unwilling, or rather, not wanting to disagree, but for her, flirting with him felt like a reward, a treat. She relished waiting in anticipation to see how he'd respond to the bait she laid down, what his throat would do, his mouth, his cheeks.

"And therein lies my crime: I used you," she said and he turned his whole person to look at her. She'd been so long without it, his gaze, that it startled her. She'd nearly forgotten what it was like to have to stay still under such weight. She took a step back. "I'm sorry," she said and removed herself from the counter and from out of his shadow, away from his hands where they pressed against the counter as if looking for something to grip.

"Beer?" Patrick asked, his head inside the fridge.

"I'll stick with water," she said, her lips pressed tightly together.

"Is it January?" Harry asked. "Gosh, I hate January; I can never do anything."

"I think the point of dry January is to live your life the same as you would with alcohol."

"Well, that's just ridiculous," Harry said.

Maeve smiled. "Anyways, it's February."

"Thank goodness I missed it," Harry said and brought his beer to his lips.

The game ended and the boys started to clean up around her. Dan came and refilled her water. The blanket Jack had brought her remained folded on the couch behind her.

"What do you all do when football's over?" she asked.

"Basketball fills the void for a while, then baseball, then it's back to football," Harry noted.