The Penalty Box - Teagan Kade Page 0,7

Because you’re getting wet?” Now I’m starting to feel like my brothers, but this mutual tit-for-tat seems to be working for Linnea and me.

She puts the wine glass to her lips and drinks slowly from the rim, eyes wavering hot above, lips just parted when she pulls the glass away. “Yes,” she replies slowly. “I am. And you? I suppose you’re packing an erection under there that would put a Louisville slugger to shame, yes?”

“I am.”

She seems suddenly embarrassed, placing her glass down and going to pull her hair over her ear…even though it’s done up in a tight pony. “Why don’t you choose the topic of conversation?”

“All right. Do you want light and fluffy or deep and meaningful?”

“You choose.”

I’m puzzled. She seems different, reserved. She was anything but reserved before. “Where do you stand, politically? A lot is riding on this state. People are talking, so what about you?”

I see her take it in and process, her mouth opening to speak but closing just as fast. She’s thinking it through, dampening down her answer. I can feel it. “I’m neither here nor there,” she smiles. “Politics isn’t really my thing.”

“It’s not mine either, but you’ve got to have an opinion on the state of this country right now. Come on. Humor me.”

“I think…” she starts, looking to her plate, “there’s room for improvement.”

“Such as?” I press, determined to get some kind of spark out of her, something of the fiery go-getter I remember from before, but she’s unwilling to go there.

“I guess…the Democrats, look, they…” But she stops short. “It doesn’t matter.”

“No, what were you going to say?”

“It’s nothing. What about you? Where do you stand?”

I decide to attack, something to get a rise out of her. “I think the current administration is doing a fine job.”

She almost chokes on her wine, placing it down abruptly and wiping her lips to speak. “You can’t seriousl—” Again, she stops, barely holding back.

“Black lives matter. How do you feel about that?”

“I think all lives matter, but…”

“But…?”

She’s flustered, fidgeting with her glass, the table cloth. I don’t know what’s going on, but this isn’t the girl I met at the party who seemed so forward, so assured of herself.

Is it the restaurant? I wonder. Is it too much? Fish out of water and all that?

I keep going. “You look at what Milwaukee did, not taking the floor in protest. The NBA postponed its entire slate of Wednesday fixtures after they refused to play. That took balls, don’t you think?”

I’d hoped shifting to sports might spark her into action, but she remains neutral.

“Everyone should take a stance against racial inequality and social injustice, she says.”

“I asked for your opinion, not a bumper sticker.”

She looks pleased—no, relieved—when our entrees arrive. “Shall we eat?”

I pick up my knife and fork. “Sure.”

I’m puzzled as I eat. Why is she acting so differently? Maybe it was an act at the party, but she seemed so certain of herself. I’ve never been led on like that, dived so fast into the deep end.

I don’t regret it. Hell, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that night, or the morning that followed—any of it, really. So what has changed?

Throughout the night I try to swing the conversation back into subjective territory, but just when it seems like she’s about to get passionate about something, she pulls back. I deliberately goad her with controversial topics, but she doesn’t break. I’m not sure what she’s doing, but the attraction is starting to lose its appeal.

The food’s great, so at least that’s something, and she does seem to be enjoying herself. I just can’t help wondering what happened to the human firecracker I met before.

CHAPTER FOUR

LINNEA

Pretending to be something I’m not has taken a lot out of me. I had no idea the kind of energy I’d expend acting, and for what? I’m sensing Nolan drawing back. He knows something is up. That is not the result I was after when I decided to take the edge off my usual, more confronting self.

Nolan pulls up to the curb in front of my place, turns off the ignition with his wrist resting on top of the steering wheel. He looks across to me.

“Thanks for dinner,” I tell him, just wanting to get inside, curl up into a corner and slowly die.

“My pleasure.”

Silence hangs and I can’t take it. I don’t know what I was thinking tonight, but I can’t leave it like this. I need to fix things and fucking fast before