Roseanne.
Roseanne: You going to come to the rodeo with me this weekend?
Dad: Wouldn't miss it. Beers are on me. Maybe some of those cinnamon mini donuts too.
Roseanne: Sounds healthy.
Dad: If this were my last moment on earth, I'd want to go with a beer in one hand and a mini donut in the other.
Roseanne: I hate you.
Dad: I love you too.
We step into the trendy downtown restaurant-all whites and silvers and modern lines-and Lisa looks out of place here. Frankly, I feel out of place here, like something inside of me has changed in
the last couple months.
Before my time in Big Springs, this was the type of place I would have loved to come for dinner. But spending long days in the prairies, seeing the mountains, being surrounded by people who value different things, well, I'm thinking they've rubbed off on me. That maybe my priorities have changed.
Lisa's hand bumps against mine as she peers around the restaurant. She's reached back for me without even looking, possibly without even thinking about it.
The girl who likes places like these pops up in my head, telling me I shouldn't hold her hand in public. That it's not appropriate. That I'll get one of us in trouble.
But the new girl-the windswept, sun-kissed girl with beautiful custom chaps who makes love in the back of a rusty old pickup in the middle of a field-doesn't give a fuck.
She tells me to slip my soft hand into Lisa's rough one and give it a squeeze. When her cheek twitches, I know I listened to the right girl.
That smile is my kryptonite. And those hands. And that mouth, including the toe-curling things that come out of it. The dick, too. Big fan of Lisa Manoban's dick.
Actually, it would seem I'm just a big fan of Lisa Manoban, and not the cocky cowgirl everyone else gets to see. The woman who kisses me sweetly, who makes me feel taken care of, like I'm not a burden-the one who's just a little bit vulnerable and insecure.
The woman that no one else really sees. I'm not sure why she's opted to show me that side of herself, but I know I need to handle it with care. I know Lisa is far more sensitive than she lets on. Her wounds run deep, and she's patched them with a public persona and a cocky grin that doesn't match the soulful woman I've come to know.
"There he is." Her opposite hand raises up in a salute, and she holds my hand tight as she strides across the room toward the table where Felix is already seated.
Hilariously, Felix doesn't look like he belongs here either. His scruffy beard covers most of his face, and his shaggy dark blond hair peeks out from under the team cap he's wearing.
"Hey, guys." Felix's eyes drop to our intertwined hands and his lips press together. "Lisa, don't think I've ever seen you hold a girl's hand before," he continues as we pull out our chairs across from him.
I flush and pull my hand away, but the minute we're seated in the clear Lucite chairs, Lisa reaches across the space between us and grabs it again, thumb rubbing in reassuring strokes.
"Didn't know growing a playoff beard was a thing when you aren't even close to making the playoffs," Lisa deadpans.
Felix smirks and dips his chin down to read the menu in front of him. "Vicious, little Manoban." He pops his head up just long enough to add, "Lovely to see you, Roseanne."
There's something different about Felix. Something quiet and introspective. Something sweet, but also something very removed. I can't quite put my finger on him. The only thing I know is that I've heard my dad talk about goalies being a different type of athlete than your average hockey player.
"You too," I tell him honestly.
"Thanks for meeting us today," Lisa says. "I don't love dinners out before I ride."
