Homecoming King - Jami Albright Page 0,67

by bringing up the rec center. Besides, she knows you’ll give her more than Brad will if she wants to sell it.”

I shrug. “Whatever you think is best. This is your show.”

“Thank you for that, and for this.” She gestures at the lawn. “I’d like to fix dinner for you and Duke tonight, as a proper thank you for all your help today.” Her teeth sink into her lower lip. “If you don’t have plans.”

“Unfortunately, Duke does have plans tonight, but I’d love to have dinner with you.”

“Oh, that’s too bad about Duke.”

I’d be jealous at her words, but she never takes her eyes from mine. “Yeah, he’s got a client in Fort Worth he’s babysitting. What can I bring tonight?”

“Just yourself, I’ll do the rest.”

“Okay, it’s a date.” I can’t remember the last time a woman made dinner for me. All the women I date expect us to go out for all of our meals. This is a nice change.

She smiles and my heart does a weird acrobatic move in my chest. The only other time it’s done that was when I held her in my arms at the homecoming dance, twelve years ago.

Her gaze goes to the porch. “We better go rescue Duke.”

I turn to see Elva pointing her finger at him and giving him what for. “He can handle it, but yeah, let’s rescue him, if for no other reason than for me to hold it over his head.”

Her laughter fills the backyard. “You guys go at each other like brothers.”

“Yeah, we are.”

“Were you friends in high school? I don’t remember.”

I laugh. “Not hardly. First of all, I was a stupid freshman when he was a senior, and second, he grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth, and I was a Ryder East punk. The two did not mix.”

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Put that kind of judgment on where you grew up? You do it a lot.”

“No, I don’t.” I absolutely do, but I don’t like that she’s picked up on it.

“Yeah, you do. Ryder East is the same as Ryder West, the only difference is that a long time ago, folks chose to draw an imaginary line down the center of town and divide it into sections. The people are the same.”

I bristle at that. What would she know about growing up in Ryder East or being the son of Bill King? “Spoken like someone who grew up in Ryder West.”

“Maybe, but I know it doesn’t have to be that way.” Her footsteps slow, then stop, and she turns to face me. “What are you doing after this?”

Her change in subject is so abrupt that it takes me a moment to catch up. “Duke and I are going to work out.”

“How long will that take?” She pulls her phone from her pocket and checks the time.

I shrug. “Depends, but around two hours. Why?”

“It’s a surprise. Text me when you’re done with your workout.” She winks and walks away.

And I’m pretty sure that I’d follow Tiger Lyons any damn place she goes and be happy doing it.

Twenty-Nine

Cash

I’m not happy.

When Tiger said she had a surprise, I thought she was speaking about something a little more private in nature. Instead, we’re standing on the basketball court of the rec center.

“As you can see, the gym floor desperately needs to be replaced.” She motions toward a section of floor that’s warped from time and moisture. “I think they installed this floor in the eighties.”

I pick up a basketball from the rack and roll it from hand to hand. Memories of my dad sitting in the stands screaming at me during Little League basketball games barge into my mind. It’s as unpleasant as it is unwelcome. “Yeah, it looks pretty bad.”

“Am I boring you?”

My gaze jerks to hers. “No. Sorry. Being here just brings back recollections that make me … uncomfortable.”

“Oh, I thought you told me your memories of this place were good.” She clasps her hands behind her back and toes the old gym floor. “Sorry, I wouldn’t have brought you here if I’d known.”

“No, it’s fine.” I dribble the ball a few times. “Mostly, they are good.” Three more dribbles, and I’m in shooting range. The ball goes up, and swishes the net.

“That doesn’t hurt your shoulder?”

I raise my left hand. “It’s my right shoulder that’s hurt.”

“You just made a three-point shot left-handed?” She shakes her head. “Is there nothing you can’t do?”

“Not a very good whistler.” I dribble the ball between my legs, then

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