As soon as the door closed behind us, she dumped her keys on the table next to the door and toed off her shoes. “Oh, hey—want to see the Coyote room?”
“I’m assuming that’s not a room where you keep your collection of wild animals?”
“Funny,” she said. “No, it’s where my dad keeps all his memorabilia. Come on.”
When she grabbed my hand and pulled me behind her, wild horses couldn’t have stopped me from following her to wherever she led. Because the way she’d kissed me an hour ago, the way she was suddenly holding my hand now—I wanted more.
But when I stepped into her dad’s Coyote room, all thoughts of kisses and dates and touches became muted.
I was disoriented for a minute as I looked around because the room reminded me so much of my grandpa’s basement. Signed helmets, old jerseys, limited-edition cereal boxes from the 1980s; all the little things that lifelong fans collected during the journeyof their fandom. It took me back to when I was young, when I was fascinated by all the little tchotchkes my grandpa had accumulated throughout the decades.
A framed picture on a table caught my eye and I stepped closer to pick it up. It was the entire Distefano family. It looked like it was probably from an old Christmas card. I saw Tony, Duffy, Duffy’s brothers, and a woman I assumed was her mom because they looked exactly alike.
In the photo, Duffy had two long braids, a painted face, and she was wearing a Coyote jersey. There was so much impishness in her face, the face that belonged to the zombie-hunting queen I’d spent the evening with.
“Were you the cutest little shit?” I asked.
“That’s exactly what my dad says every time he looks at this picture,” she said with a smile.
“Wow, you look just like your mom,” I said, wondering if Duffy knew just how pretty she really was.
Her eyes softened when I said that, and I could tell she was thinking of her mother.
“Thanks,” she said.
“This is quite a room,” I said. “Kind of intimidating for a guy like me.”
“Does it make you feel pressure?” she asked. “Does it make it seem more important for you to catch the passes that are thrown your way?”
“It reminds me that sometimes football is more than just football,” I said. “My grandpa had a room just like this, which is why I always wanted to play here.”
“Between the two of us, we get really serious about football sometimes, don’t we?” she said teasingly, even though we both knew what it meant to our families.
“Yeah.”
A loud meow sounded, which made Duffy roll her eyes.
“Dale’s in my room,” she said.
“What?”
“That is the sound of Dale meowing because he went in my room and he’s so smart he knows how to close the door behind him, but then he obviously cannot open it because he lacks opposable thumbs, so he gets stuck in my room.”
“Poor Dale,” I said.
“Poor Dale, my ass,” she said with a snort. “I’m pretty sure he does it on purpose.”
I followed her out of the room and down the hallway, and as soon as she opened one of the doors the cat ran out, tearing around the corner, not even pausing as he passed us.
“You need to stop doing that,” she said loudly to the cat.
“Does a verbal warning work on that guy?”
“Oh no,” she said. “Dale is the assholiest of all asshole cats.”
I wasn’t trying to be nosy, but my eyes inadvertently caught a glimpse of something through the door gap.
“So that’s the One Direction poster you warned me about?” I asked.