Heated Rush - Leslie Kelly [61]
He lowered his hand to the surface of the table, keeping his fingers wound with Annie’s. “That she is.”
Mrs. Davis smiled at him, slowly nodded, then looked away. Before she did so, he’d swear he saw moisture in her eyes. Though, he had to be mistaken. Didn’t mothers want their daughters to find men who truly cared about them?
Maybe. But in this case, with a mother who wanted her daughter to give up her dreams and come home…maybe not.
“So, sad-sac,” Randy asked, mangling the endearment, “what’s yours for him?”
Annie wrinkled her nose at the younger man. “It’s Noneya. As in none-ya business. Now go away and do some push-ups or something before you overtax your brain with all this adult conversation.”
“Can’t. Gotta get ready for the game.”
Beside him, he felt Annie stiffen, even before she said a word. His guard immediately went up.
“No.”
“Oh, yeah, it’s Saturday.”
She leaned around him to glare at her brother. “We have enough to do getting ready for the party tonight.”
“That’s not necessary, dear.” Mrs. Davis helped herself to another waffle, then put one on Mr. Davis’s plate. He didn’t even put the paper down, merely reached blindly for some syrup, doused it liberally, then cut a piece off with the side of his fork. “Everything’s all ready. You and Sean can just enjoy yourselves.”
“We won’t enjoy ourselves if those three idiots give Sean a concussion.”
“Uh,” he asked, “what exactly is it we’re talking about here?”
“The game,” Randy replied. He reached over, scooped a handful of bacon, and rose from the table. “Every Saturday at three, after the milking’s done and the deliveries are made, whoever’s around meets on the back field for some football. We do it all summer.” He popped food into his mouth and spoke around it. “It’s fun.”
“It’s violent,” Annie snapped. “How many Saturday trips to the hospital does this family have to make before that stupid tradition stops?”
Her father muttered, “I’m not paying any more dental bills, boy. If you lose any more of your teeth, you’ll be gumming your food long before you’re ninety.”
Good God, losing teeth in a friendly afternoon game at the house? No wonder Annie’s older brothers had left. They’d gone home to suit up in their armor and to put on helmets to bash him in the head with, rather than just the backs of their hands.
“Everybody expects you to play,” Randy said, ignoring his sister and his father. “You know how, right? I mean, I know they don’t play it in England. There, they call soccer football, right? Which is stupid, why don’t they just call it soccer since football is already football?”
His head hurting a little from the young man’s confused logic, he started with the basics. “I’m Irish,” he explained. Again. “And I can only speculate that it made sense to someone to call a game involving your feet and a ball football. As opposed to the game you play, which mostly involves passing and throwing and carrying the ball, and which has all that protective padding and the constant time-outs.”
Annie snorted, and from behind the paper, he’d swear he heard a chuckle.
Randy didn’t even appear to notice that his logic was being questioned. “But you know how to play? Or do you just play the sissy English version?”
Sean shouldn’t have let a twenty-year-old pup get a rise out of him. But his competitive spirit was rearing up. “Ever heard of rugby?”
Randy’s eyes narrowed. “Is that the one where the guys all bend over head to butt and hug each other to decide who gets the ball?”
Sean barked a laugh, remembering the many injuries, bruises and breaks he’d suffered during his university days. “Yes, that’s the one.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Annie murmured.
“It’ll be fun,” he said. Seeing a flash of worry on her face, he quickly added, “I’ll be fine.”
Her response completely surprised him. Leaning close, she whispered, “It’s not you I’m worried about. You told me you’ve knocked men unconscious on the field, remember? If you give one of my brothers a concussion, you might be sleeping in the barn tonight.”