Page 121 of Over Time Advantage

Amanda smiles. “We’re older than the internet, sweetheart. You don’t look it, but it’s happening. It sneaks up on you.” Her face turns more serious. “There are times in your life when someone special enters it. You know it right away because they not only have this glow to them, but they strive to make those around them shine bright too. Someone who doesn’t judge you. Someone who supports you. Someone who celebrates your joys as though they’re your own. Given that Reggie and I have been friends for forty years, and Cassandra and Darian have been friends just as long, Fallon has made a few comments about being a fifth wheel in this group. Let me tell you something. Certain things aren’t complete until the fifth member appears. A hand, a foot, a starfish, Olympic rings, a poker hand, a basketball team,” she offers with a wiggle of her eyebrows. “Our girl gang wasn’t complete until you moved here and made it complete. Now we can’t imagine our lives without you, my sweet, dear friend.”

Fallon wipes a few errant tears as Reggie steps forward. “Life looked at us, laughed, and said, yep, this bitch needs to be friends with us. My former work sister. I miss you so much at the hospital. You filled my days with laughter. The void since you left is very real. You have both inner and outer beauty. When I post a selfie, people tell me to get well soon. When I post a picture with you, people ask me how I became friends with a model.”

Fallon rolls her eyes and giggles.

Reggie continues, “But it’s not just that outer beauty. You’re genuinely you. You’re giving. You’re kind. I hope to be like you when I grow up. The rest of us age while you manage not to. You’re the friend I didn’t know I needed, but now I can’t live without. No jealousy. Just love and support. Female friendships like yours refresh the soul, Fallon.”

Cassandra nods. “Truth. I used to think there were only three things that told you the truth. Little children, drunk people, and yoga pants.”

Everyone laughs as she continues, “Here’s the funny thing about getting older. Your eyesight might get weaker, but your ability to see through people’s bullshit gets stronger. I place a high value on having only genuine women in my life. I’ve been friends with Darian for so many years because of that. Lucky are those who find true friends in this fake-ass world we live in. You, my friend, are a diamond in the rough.”

Fallon is bawling in my arms now. I’m finding myself getting a little choked up at all these wonderful things being said about my girl.

Darian sniffles as she gets teary-eyed before stepping forward. “As someone with three adult daughters and six grandchildren, I know what it takes to help them navigate this crazy world we live in. You raise that one thing you can’t live without to be able to live without you. Take it from someone with a lot of experience, no one does it better than you, my friend. When the four of us brainstormed on what a special birthday gift might be, it was clear as day.”

Amanda removes the cloth to reveal a giant, professionally framed LeRoy Neiman-style painting of Harper fielding a softball at second base. It’s nothing short of spectacular.

Fallon sucks in a breath as tears fall from her eyes like a waterfall. She breathes, “Oh, Amanda, this is amazing.”

Amanda smiles. “Do you like it?”

Fallon shakes her head. “No. I don’t like it, I love it. Thank you.” She moves away from me to hug Amanda.

I can’t take my eyes off it. Every little detail is perfect. What a talent. I wonder if I could commission her to paint one like it of Kennedy in action.

I consider all the kind words from her friends, especially those on motherhood. Fallon was born to be a mother. She wants more kids. What kind of man would I be if I took that away from her?

TWENTY-FOUR

JETT

I’m in my bathing suit, cooking steaks at the barbecue grill by my pool, swaying to the beat of the eighties music playing on my speakers. I’ve got a good glass of wine in hand. Fallon should be here any minute. I can’t wait. We’ve barely seen each other this week.

The Beavers are well into the playoffs, and our season has begun. Both teams are doing well, but it’s wreaking havoc on our quality time together. The last thing I want is for Fallon’s fears about my job to come to fruition, but I fear they are. Late nights in the stadium film room with my staff are normal during the season. I can’t help that.

But not tonight. Tonight I planned a nice night at home with my girl, filled with good food, good wine, and hopefully a time to reconnect. I barely remember the last time I touched her.

“Ooh, shake that ass,” I hear her voice sing.

I stick my butt out and give a little extra shake before I turn around and see my goddess. She’s wearing a red bikini with a white, fishnet cover dress that doesn’t cover anything. I put the tongs and the wine down before walking over to her on a mission. Running my fingers down and under her cover-up, I grab her by the waist of her bikini bottoms and tug her to me for a kiss.

She lets out a screech as I do before our lips connect for a soft kiss. “Holy crap,” she mumbles into my mouth. “That was hot, caveman. I want you to grab me by the waist of my clothing every time you kiss me moving forward.”

I smile as I wrap my arms around her and kiss her deeply and passionately this time. My tongue finds hers as I move it through her mouth. Her taste has become so soothing to me.

Her fingers thread through my hair, and she grinds herself against me. “Hmm, let’s skip dinner and go right to dessert,” she pants.

I let out a moan. “I would love nothing more, but the steaks are almost done. Let me pour you a glass of wine, angel face.”

She sighs. “Okay.” She looks up at me with slightly glassy eyes. “I missed you this week.”

I pull her hand to my lips and kiss it before admitting the same. “I know. It’s not easy, but your season will be over soon and things will open up a little more.”

I hope.

A few minutes later, we’re sitting at my outdoor dining table, enjoying the beautiful night. We end up chatting a lot about the Beavers in the playoffs. “How’s Kennedy managing the stress?” I ask.

She raises an unamused eyebrow. “I’m not your Kennedy spy. If you have a question for your daughter, ask her. In fact, I encourage it. She’s very easy to talk to. Try it.”