What? I grew up in Iowa. Football is one of the few things, besides reading and keggers, that there is to do. And Purdue sucks.
When we finally found Jack, he was standing with his wife and a group of other agents from their firm. His hair was cropped and combed neatly, his gray mustache trimmed and eyes crisp and blue. He lit up as we approached.
“Hey, you two made it.” He extended a hand, which Tyler took, pumping it once with a smile.
“Hey, Jack,” he said. “You remember Cam.”
“How could I forget,” he said, bending to kiss me on the cheek. “That mac and cheese you sent Tyler with knocked my socks off, kiddo.”
I laughed. “Happy to keep you fed, Jack.”
He turned to the woman at his side, smiling proudly. “I’d like you to meet my wife, Anne.”
Anne was beautiful, the apples of her cheeks high and cheerful, her straight hair in a tidy bob. “Nice to meet you, Cam. And it’s good to see you, Tyler. Jack said you’re heading home this weekend? Meeting with Darryl?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a nod. “It’ll be nice to get to a game and see my family, too. A two-for-one deal.”
“I’ll bet. You’ll have to tell your mom and dad I said hello. We’ve got to get back down there to see them soon.”
“I’m sure they’d like that. You glad to have Jack home?”
She rolled her eyes. “Usually not, but this time, you bet. I knew how much trouble that trip was going to be, and I was loath to send Jack into the trenches.”
Jack chuckled. “She loves when I’m gone. She doesn’t have to hide her shopping bags.”
“It’s a stress I don’t like to discuss,” she joked. “I’m glad Pharaoh is worked out, for the time being, at least.”
Jack huffed and lifted his glass to his lips. “It better be for good. I’m not doing that again. Next time, I’m sending Tyler.”
Tyler snickered and pulled me close, and someone came up to talk to Jack and Anne. I glanced around again, finally feeling a little settled, aided by Tyler’s arm around me, and the whiskey too.
“Oh, man. I forgot,” I said, trying to open my bag one-handed. “Here, hold this for me for one second.” I passed my drink to him and dug in my clutch for my phone. “Ah-ha! I swore to myself I’d take a selfie tonight.”
He laughed. “Here, let me take a picture for you.”
“No. There’s something even more desperate about getting someone to take a picture for you than taking a selfie. Don’t ask me why. That’s just how social media works.”
I held my phone out, trying to look inconspicuous, and snapped a picture. It was horrible. I frowned and tried again, making a kissy face, but I looked ridiculous. I took my drink from Tyler and tried one of me sipping it, but that didn’t work either — my face was flat as a pancake, and I had at least one extra chin.
I huffed. “How is it that tweens are more adept at taking selfies than me?”
“Because they spend all that time practicing.” Tyler said and took my phone from me. “Here. Take one with me.” He pulled me in close and held the phone up, and I grabbed his lapel, leaning into him. “Say ‘Hawkeyes suck!’”
I laughed, and he snapped the picture, showing it to me afterward with a smug look on his face.
“There you go.”
I shook my head, looking at it. It was amazing, the two of us laughing and happy, my smile as I looked up at him, and his looking into the camera and … it was just amazing. I pretended to pout. “How did you nail that on the first shot?”
He shrugged and held out his arm, drink at the end of it, in display. “I’m like a human selfie stick.”
I laughed. “So my T-rex arms are bad for selfies. Got it.”
But he kissed my temple. “Guess you’ll just have to take selfies with me indefinitely.”
I leaned into him again, blushing as a soft bell rang over the speakers and a soothing voice informed us we’d need to choose a seat for dinner. My stomach rumbled — I realized then that I hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast. Too busy shaving my legs and watching video tutorials to eat, I supposed. We took a seat with Jack and a few other agents and their dates, and I sat between Anne and Tyler.
I picked up the letterpress menu that sat on top of my plate and scanned it, grateful when I saw there was a steak option. We ordered and chatted, or listened to Jack tell stories, more like. He thrived with an audience, and he had so many stories to tell, from when he played to the hundreds of players he’d worked with.
By the time dinner was served, I could have eaten my napkin, and on my empty stomach, with the scotch and now whiskey in my belly, I was buzzing enough that one drink would have been the difference between me talking to someone about the merits of Battlestar Galactica, and this was not the crowd to delve into that with.
The server set my plate down in front of me, and everything else shut down.
See, when I’m really hungry and I finally start to eat, it’s like some weird animal instinct takes over. My brain sees the food and is like, Put all of that in your body, right now, as fast as you can. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if I unknowingly growled at people if they tried to talk to me, or, heaven forbid, if they tried to touch my food.
Which is why I was halfway into my steak before I realized that Tyler’s ex girlfriend had approached our table.