Juked

Chapter 10: Daniel, Part 2

Quincy shakes her head in humorous disbelief. "I swear this kid has the constitution of a grown man."

I bark a laugh as Quincy holds her nose and says, "Ohmygod, Chance, what did they feed you at day care?"

"Come on," I say, pushing past her and pulling her cart to drag it behind me. "Let's go over to that bench and get him cleaned up. There is no way anyone wants you to let that smell permeate through the store."

She follows me over to the same bench we sat on before and unstraps the baby from the carrier while I spread the changing pad out on the bench and pull out a diaper and some wipes.

"How old is he now?" I ask as she sets him down gently and undresses him from the waist down. He looks up at me, and I'm sure he's trying to figure out why I look upside down. He smiles and reaches for my face when I lean down to talk to him and keep him distracted from the mess his fingers could be getting in down below.

"Four and a half months," she says as she grabs him by the ankles and hauls his butt up in the air to wipe him off. "I can't believe it's been that long. He's grown so much in that time."

"He really has," I agree, wiggling my fingers at him to keep him entertained. "If it weren't for the fact we had been in this situation before, I never would have recognized him."

She c***s an eyebrow at me as she quickly slaps a new diaper on him. "But you would have recognized me?"

I chuckle. "Well, not necessarily without the baby strapped to you. But you guys do seem to make a lot of noise on that baby aisle. It's hard not to notice you."

She laughs, never slowing from redressing the baby and wrapping the dirty diaper in a plastic bag. Smart woman. My sister used to always forget those bags. The diaper bag would always stink because she'd forget the diaper was in it, too. "I guess we are loud. It's genetic, I guess. My dad always used to say he was from a big Polish family and Polacks are naturally loud."

I scoop up the baby as she uses an extra baby wipe to clean her hands and puts things away, sitting him on my lap facing me. "Really? You're from a big Polish family?" I say to her in my best baby voice while looking at him, making him smile a big toothless grin at me. "I have a big Mexican family, so you can't beat us in the loud department."

"That's right. How many kids are there in your family? Five or six?"

"Six of us total. Three girls, three boys, and all the spouses and kids."

"That's crazy," she says, sitting down after depositing the diaper bag in her cart. "It's hard enough having one. I can't imagine having six kids. Your mother must be a saint."

I smile, thinking about my loud, overbearing mother. "Pretty close to it. But boy, her wooden spoon sure could pack a punch if we got out of line."

We sit and chat for a while, neither of us really having anywhere we need to be. If I'm honest, I'm enjoying holding a baby again. My youngest nephew is three, and I kind of miss baby snuggles.

Not many men admit it, but we're big suckers when it comes to babies. We're just not necessarily comfortable with them, nor does it mean we want any of our own. They're just fun to play with.

"So what kind of job do you have that you can grocery shop overnight and still make it through the day?" I stand Chance up on my thighs, sending an over-exaggerated smile his way, causing him to wobble in delight as I support him.

"I'm pretty sure the only reason I make it through the day is because of the Starbucks next door," she says, watching the baby as he bounces and wiggles and drools everywhere. "I'm a hairdresser, so I'm on my feet all day."

"That sounds pretty brutal, being on your feet all day on such little sleep."

"It's probably better than sitting behind a desk. At least it's harder to fall asleep when you're standing up."

"Good point. " Chance reaches for my face with his chubby hands. I pretend to bite them before he can reach me. "Have you been doing it for a long time?"

She c***s her head to the side in thought. "Um, about six years now. I started off in college, but when my dad died, I switched over to cosmetology school so I could start working as soon as possible. I had guardianship over my sister Sarah, Chance's mom," She tilts her head to him. "I needed to have a career as quickly as possible. I've been doing it ever since."

"Wow, I'm impressed."

"Why?" she asks, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"You keep taking on the responsibility of raising someone. That's admirable."

"Well, what would you do in that situation?"

"The exact same thing you did," I say reassuringly. "I know a lot of selfish people who wouldn't, though. It's nice to meet someone who has a real respect for family values. Not enough people do these days."

She opens her mouth to say something, but before she can speak, we're interrupted by a little boy. He's probably eight or nine and obviously a fan by the look of awe on his face.

Even after all these years, it's still weird when people recognize me on the street. I get it, because I was the exact same way, but it's still strange when the attention is directed toward me.

"¿Me das tu autógrafo?"

"Claro. ¿Cómo te llamas?" I take the paper from him and scribble my standard signature and the number of my jersey on it.

"Gabriel."

"¿Juegas fútbol, Gabriel?"

"Sí." He smiles. "Soy delantero como tú."

"Que bien. Tienes que seguir practicando si quieres ser profesional. ¿Okay? Saca buenas calificaciones y hazle caso a tu entrenador."

"Lo prometo." I hand him back his paper. "¿Me puedo tomar una foto contigo? Mis amigos no me lo van a creer." He's smiling so wide. I remember what it was like to meet my favorite player when I was a kid. It's kind of magical. So of course I'm gonna say yes.

"Por supuesto. ¿Tienes tu teléfono?"

He hands it to me and stands behind me so I can snap the pic for him. We smile for the camera quickly.

"Gracias, Zavaro."

He takes the phone from me and races away, probably back to his parents.

I turn to Quincy. She has a strange look on her face.

"What?" I ask sheepishly. I know this just opened the door to her finding out about my job. It's not a secret but I'm enjoying her not knowing anything about my choice in career. I love what I do, but sometimes its nice to talk about other things, too.

"What was all that about?"

I chuckle. "I take it you don't speak any Spanish."

"Beyond the Pappasito's menu, not a word," she says with a grimace .

"How can you live in Houston and not know any Spanish?" I ask.

"I took a couple years in high school. I still know how to count to twenty, if that's any consolation."

"Impressive," I say, shifting Chance to my shoulder and patting him on the back. He's gotten wiggly in the last couple of months.

She quirks an eyebrow at me. "So are you going to tell me why some random kid came up and got a selfie with you?"

"It happens sometimes because of my job." She gives me a confused look. "He asked for my autograph. I'm a soccer player. I play for the Mutiny. The kid was just excited to meet a professional player."

Quincy sits up straight, like she's shocked by my revelation, but she recovers quickly. "That explains the overly muscular calves, I guess."

I give her a flirty smile. "So you've been checking out my legs, have you?"

"They're hard to miss," she says with a smile. "They are larger than the average legs."

Chance takes that moment to start squirming and getting fussy.

"As fun as this is, I think this is my cue to go home." Quincy takes Chance out of my arms, and he nuzzles into her neck. She straps him into his carrier.

"Did you get everything you needed, or do we need to swing back through the baby aisle?"

"We already have everything," she says as she stands up. "When you found us, we were browsing. You never know when you'll need to know where the gripe water is."

"Good point."

As we make our way to the checkout lanes, all I can think is this was the most enjoyable conversation I've had in a long time. Most beautiful women I spend this much time talking to are soccer fans so the conversation revolves around my job. But with Quincy, things are more free. It's refreshing.

We find a lane with a short line, and Quincy gets into it. "Thanks again for all your help, Daniel," she says. "It's been a lot of fun."

"Quincy, wait," I say as she turns away. She looks back at me. "Think you'd be interested in going to dinner with me sometime?"

Her face breaks out in a grin. "I think I could do that."

"Great," I say, smiling back.

We exchange numbers and go our separate ways. I thank my lucky stars I remembered to write a list of what I need to buy, because I can't focus on anything beyond a beautiful blonde and her killer smile.

Maybe shopping overnight has its perks after all.