“Did you and Beau have fun last night?” Sunday asked inquisitively.
“Sunday!”
“Well?”
“Okay. He’s got magnificent shoulders, the most powerful legs I’ve seen on a man, and great buns. Does that make you happy?” She said the words in jest but who was she trying to kid? She had been attracted to him the instant she had seen him at Shanghai Pete’s, so she passed it off to a physical attraction.
“Is that all?”
Krysti sighed. “He’s not handsome like Michael but he is cute and sweet and I felt safe with him.”
“Oh, no!” groaned Sunday. “The kiss of death — he’s sweet and safe. And Michael isn’t handsome. He’s pretty.”
Both women laughed and again they were little girls. “All right, he’s a gentleman. Justin likes him and that’s a big plus, because usually Justin doesn’t like anyone I date.”
“That should tell you something. He didn’t kiss you, did he?”
Krysti was surprised. “No, he didn’t.”
“I knew he wouldn’t. Beau’s not the aggressive type. He did the same with his first wife. Becky had to make the first move on him, but did she ever get a response!”
The thought of the response piqued Krysti’s curiosity. She wanted to know more, but she was too embarrassed to ask. Against the protest of Ruben and Sully the game started. The Marines kicked the ball and Ruben ran it back.
“Go Ruben!” yelled Sunday.
Krysti shook her head. “Sometimes I think I’m hunting for Prince Charming to take me away.”
Sunday put two fingers in her mouth and let out a shrill whistle on the next play. She glanced at Krysti, who seemed somewhat startled at the unfeminine gesture. Sunday just shrugged her shoulders. “Sometimes you have to kiss a few frogs to find Prince Charming.”
“I’ve kissed enough frogs for a lifetime,” said Krysti. For a moment, she was quiet as she reflected on her husband, her high school sweetheart — a match made in Heaven, which turned into a violent frolic in Hell. She was a fool to have stayed, but she was always sure tomorrow would change things; it never did. He hit Justin when he was three years old and it was the last day they were ever together. She had decided if she didn’t care for herself, she had an obligation to the son she loved.
The violence was not the only thing bothering her. Had she ever experienced real love? At first it was good, or so it seemed. A year into the marriage he would make love to her and when he was finished, he would look at her with eyes void of emotion, roll over, and go to sleep. He did not make love to her. He had sex. All she wanted was a kind word, for him to touch her, to have his eyes filled with love and tenderness, and know he thought only of her. There was nothing. It had become the same with Michael. Krysti wanted more, she needed more. She wanted to be touched. To be loved. Was she asking for too much?
“Maybe I expect too much from a relationship.” Krysti sighed. “When a man makes love to me, I want him to touch me tenderly; caress me. I want to see the love, the sparkle in his eyes. I want to feel special. Shouldn’t you have that in a relationship?”
Sunday let out with a scream of disgust as the Marines maneuvered in for a score. “Of course! Ruben is always affectionate. Sometimes he teases but I know I’m the only one for him. He always makes me happy.”
“You make me believe in fairy tales.”
“Is the problem Mike?”
“No,” she lied, as her thoughts returned to the many sexual nights she had spent with him: nights that sometimes made her feel used and dirty. Twice she had confronted him for his lack of sensitivity, but always he used his charm to disarm her. “Oh, Mike’s not perfect but he’s trying.”
Smiling, Sunday placed her hand on Krysti’s arm. “You deserve the best. Don’t settle for less.” Then Sunday shook her head. “It’s none of my business but you wouldn’t have said those things if there weren’t problems between you and Mike.”
Krysti started to speak but Sunday held up her hand. “Let me finish. You must do what you must do. No one can tell you what that is, but it should feel right in your heart. Remember it’s better to be alone than to be lonely with someone.”
“But,” Krysti smiled, “Que es la vida, sin el amor?”
Sunday laughed. “What is life without love? It is nothing.”
Both women hugged each other and Krysti kissed Sunday on the cheek. Ruben intercepted the ball and the women screamed encouragement.
After the first four possessions, the Marines had scored on three. The fourth drive was stopped when Kipp intercepted. He was extremely excited about using his hands, something denied in his beloved soccer. Ruben asked to stop the game and awarded Mullholland the game ball.
Beau arrived, still tucking his shirt in, but Marix refused to relinquish his leadership as quarterback. The team fell no farther behind but could not cut the lead. They managed to hold their own. Unexpectedly, Kipp, Ruben, BJ, and Sully threatened Marix with mutiny unless Beau ran the team for the last part of the game. Marix grudgingly let him take control. The women continued yelling encouragement from the sidelines.
Promptly Beau evaluated the men and set their positions accordingly. Setting himself as a rover on defense, he watched each play develop and followed the direction, moving with his instincts, reacting to where he believed the ball would be. Each time they got the ball he moved them down for a score. The Marines never scored again.
To Ruben, it was like the high school glory days. It was homecoming without a marching band. This time, Ruben was on the right team. There were only five minutes remaining as the Marines moved down field. Beau’s brother Brook intercepted on the five-yard line. Still down by four points, they huddled up for what would be the last play. They were all breathing hard, and their eyes appealed to Beau for the miracle play.
“Well, what are we going to do now, coach?” Marix asked smugly, confident Beau would fail.
Beau made a point to look at each one, and then with an almost childlike grin he said, “Well, guys… let’s score!” Slowly and with control he set the play. “Kipp, BJ, up twenty. Kipp right and BJ left.” Then he laughed. “The Marines will be expecting BJ, but the ball will go to White Lightning straight down the middle. I wanna see what I saw at the beach.” Fitzhenry beamed confidently. The ball was snapped to Beau. He rolled left, pulled up, pumped once to BJ, and once to Kipp, which pulled in the defense. Then with a quick flick of his left wrist, the ball spiraled gracefully downfield. The play went just as diagramed in the huddle. When Fitz took the ball over his shoulder, the closest player was fifteen feet behind. He scored easily, taking them to a two-point victory over the Marines.
Everyone started shouting and hollering. Ruben and Sunday, Sully and Natasha, and Mike and Krysti were celebrating as were the rest of the team. The Marines belatedly congratulated the victors.
Krysti stopped long enough to search out Beau and congratulate him, but he hadn’t paused to celebrate. Instead he had taken a bottle of Gatorade to Fitz who was still on his knees at the far end of the field and away from the celebration. The heat had gotten to most of the players and all were soaking wet with perspiration. Fitz was no exception, and after the long run, he was too tired to return to the group and the celebration.
She watched as Beau handed Fitz the drink and patted him on the shoulders. Fitz took a few moments for his breathing to become normal again. Beau waited so they could return to the group together.