Off Sides

school meeting for her kid. And finally, I'll put in a couple of hours at the shelter."
    God, my life is crazy.
    Paula stands up and puts her hands on her hips. She's just looking at me, not saying a word.
    "What's that look for?"
    "Nothing."
    "Oh, no you don't. Don't go all mommy on me."
    "Well, come on, Danny. You're running yourself into the ground. I'm worried about you."
    I stand from the bed and wrap my arms around Paula. "I know you're worried about me but I can take care of myself."
    She squeezes me hard in return. "I know you can, honey. Doesn't stop me from worrying about you though."
    I squeeze her back and then step away from her before I start blubbering like an idiot. Paula is the only one in the world I have that cares about me. Well, besides Sarge, but I just don't get to see him that often.
    "I'm fine," I assure her. "Besides, this is just short term, right?"
    "Sure, kiddo. Short term." She says the right words but by her tone I can see she thinks I'm in perpetual servitude.
    ***
    It's 3:00 p.m. and my ass is dragging. After getting off work at 7:00 a.m., I had just enough time to get a quick shower and head to my morning classes. After a torturous hour of tutoring a soccer player in Western Civ—who was more interested in trying to cop a feel than studying—I'm now at Sally's to work part of Ann's shift. Two cups of coffee and I'm feeling marginally better. Lucky for me, it's pretty dead right now.
    Bending over the Classified Ads at the counter, I'm browsing for some weekend work. If I can get a few houses to clean on the weekends, that would go a long way toward helping to pay my debts.
    The jingle of bells indicates a new customer has arrived. I look up, folding the paper in half and then stop. It's Mr. Fifty Dollar Tipper. And I realize I had not built him up in my mind. He is still as hot as I remembered. He's wearing a gray t-shirt that's soaked in sweat and a navy pair of running shorts. He appears to be slightly out of breath so I'm assuming he has just finished a run.
    "Sit anywhere you'd like," I tell him.
    He walks up to the counter, holding my gaze. There is no doubt in my mind that he has stopped in here to see me. I can tell because there is purpose and intent in those whiskey colored eyes of his.
    I watch mesmerized as he runs a hand through his damp hair to push it off his forehead. It's dark brown and wavy, and bordering on just a tad too long for a mother's taste. For me, it’s perfect. Too bad I don't have the time or desire to act upon it.
    Taking a seat on a stool just opposite of me, he gives me a huge smile. "Shredded anyone with philosophy lately?"
    I actually burst out laughing and start shaking my head. "Nope. Not today at least."
    "Well, I was running by and saw you standing in here. Thought I would stop in and thank you."
    My eyebrows rise. "Thank me?"
    "Yup. Those twenty seconds where you were thrashing Angeline with your knowledge of philosophy was the most fun I've had in a long, long time."
    It's not very lady like but I can't help snort in response. "Then you must lead a pretty dull life."
    "I'm Ryan Burnham, by the way." He sticks his hand out and I shake it. His hand is much larger than mine and warm. I can feel callouses on his palms and fingers.
    "Danny Cross. Nice to meet you...officially."
    He releases my hand. "Likewise."
    My skin is tingling where he held my hand and I immediately try to squelch those feelings. I have no business getting googly-eyed over a guy, much less one that is clearly out of my social stratosphere. I have too many other important things going on right now, or so I seem to be reminding myself a lot lately.
    "So, Danny," he begins. He's looking at me with amusement, and something akin to curiosity. "You’re clearly a very smart girl. Are you enrolled at Northeastern? I saw you wearing a school t-shirt the other night."
    He had noticed and remembered the shirt I was wearing that night? Even I can't remember what I was wearing, and the knowledge that he held on to that detail pleases me for some reason.
    "I just started this fall but I’m only taking two classes right now."
    "Just two classes and you know who Ockham and Descartes are?" He's skeptical I can tell.
    "I attended another school before Northeastern. I'm technically a junior."
    "Where'd you go to school?"
    "Nowhere important." I don't offer and decide to be elusive. I'm not sure why but I think I want to see how much interest he really has in me. It's a sick game I'm playing