Lovely Couple
“You two make such a lovely couple,” said the photographer.
Instantly, I felt a shiver of pleasure run down my spine. I’d be hesitant to splurge on a professional photoshoot, but then I reminded myself that you only get to be the starting quarterback during your senior year once in a lifetime, so I’d done my research and forked over a hefty sum for a guy that everyone said was the best in the business.
And with that little comment, he’d definitely earned his fee.
“Um, actually she’s my mom,” said Kyle. He’s a fantastic looking boy with the throwing arm of a Greek god, but sometimes he opens his mouth without thinking.
“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” said the photographer, his face going beet red. “Perhaps you want to put your shirt back on then, Kyle?”
“Nah,” I said, gesturing for him to continue.
After all, I’d paid a lot of good money for that photoshoot, and I wanted to capture Kyle at his absolute best. Because even though I was far from being unbiased on the subject, no one had a body quite like his, strong and well-proportioned without being too bulky or stocky.
In some ways, his was almost a swimmer’s body, but he had the endurance and power of a weightlifter as he powered through tackles to get that crucial first down when his clumsy wide receivers failed to escape their coverage.
By the time the photoshoot was done, I was buzzing all over. Kyle, meanwhile, was staring at his phone on the ride home, which irked me, but not enough to dispel my high.
“So, I was thinking of making some of that popcorn you like with the protein flakes,” I said, glancing up in the rearview mirror to try and catch his eye. “Then maybe we could watch a movie.”
“Nah,” said Kyle, not even bothering to look up. “I’m gonna go hang out with the guys.”
“Aww, come on,” I said. “This is your last week of freedom, Kyle. After this, it’s gonna be non-stop practice and games right until you win the state championship, honey. Don’t you want to spend a little time with me?”
“Mom, come on,” said Kyle, his voice whiny in a way that made me grit my teeth.
“Hey, I told you!” I said, forcing myself to keep it breezy and light. “You’re a young man now. Call me Lacey. All that Mom stuff is so old-fashioned.”
“Whatever,” muttered Kyle.
God help him, but sometimes he really insisted on acting like a petulant brat. Definitely something he got from his father because there’s no way I would ever take that tone with someone, especially not someone who had put her entire life on hold to support her son’s career as a future hall of famer.
“I mean it, Kyle,” I said, tapping the brakes for the pleasure of watching him nearly drop his phone. “Calling my Mom makes me feel old. I need you to get in the habit of calling me Lacey so that you’ll do it when other people are around.”
“Fine!” said Kyle, finally setting his phone down. “It just feels kinda weird, you know?”
“Why? What’s weird about it?” I asked.
“None of the other guys call their moms by their first names,” said Kyle, now staring out the window as we inched our way through traffic.
“Well, guess what, baby?” I said. “You’re not like other guys. I know they’re your friends and teammates now, but when they’re calling out your name on national television as a first-round draft pick, they’re gonna be sitting at home on their sofas.”
“Yeah, maybe,” said Kyle, a hint of a smile on his face warming my heart.
“You’re a superstar, baby,” I said. “And you’re going to go all the way. I know it.”
“Yeah,” said Kyle, now smiling for real.
“And I’m gonna be right there with you every step of the way,” I said.
