AR - A dinner date?

You stand nervously beside Adella on the step as she rings the doorbell.

This house is not so different from your own, but at the same time it’s completely unfamiliar.

Maybe it’s the cooler weather, but it seems like Adella’s style has changed. She stands beside you in jeans and a leather jacket. She looks cool as hell, of course, but you feel as though when you first met her, she dressed a bit more glamorously. Now she seems almost rugged. If you’d known this was how she was going to show up, you wouldn’t have dressed up so cute in your flannel dress and black leggings.

The door opens and you see your hostess: a lovely blonde your mother’s age who wears a warm smile. She invites you in, and you smell something delicious. This woman’s name is Jessica, and she is married to the woman who put Adella up to coaching this soccer team.

Then minutes later you and Adella are at the dinner table in this cute home, sitting across from a couple twice your age. Oddly, they mirror you in certain ways.

Jessica’s wiry, short-haired wife is dressed like Adella. Meanwhile, Jessica wears a dress as stylish and feminine as yours. They are perfectly friendly, but you know that Stef is the leader of the Free Gurls, who are literally a biker gang.

So you are nervous.

“It’s great to meet you,” Stef tells you as she sips wine. “Now that I have, it all makes sense.”

“What does?” you reply.

“Adella,” Stef says with a smirk. “She’s been to the bar a few times. A lot of girls tried to flirt with her, but she always ran instead of sticking around.”

You blush, and Adella doesn’t look amused.

“You look a lot like your mom did when she was your age,” Stef goes on, but Jessica nudges her to shut her up.

“Adella, you never agreed to come to dinner with us before,” Jessica says diplomatically. “What’s changed? Were you waiting for Riley to come home?”

“No, I just didn’t need answers back then,” Adella tells her casually.

“Answers?” Stef looks taken aback.

“You knew I played football. But you did not ask me so aggressively to coach your team until you learned Riley was coming back,” Adella says, touching your hand.

Jessica stiffens and Stef makes a face. They exchange a look.

“Busted,” Jessica murmurs.

“Adella,” Stef says, smiling. “Are you accusing me of using you to get to your lovely, radiant,” Jessica pokes her again with her elbow, “…your stunning, soccer-star-celebrity girlfriend? In order to what? Get an edge in Gurlberg’s humble little winter soccer program?”

You blink, surprised. “Did you?” you ask.

“Of course,” Stef says with a shrug. “And it’s not my team, for the record. It’s the town’s team. My wife just happens to be on the school board,” she adds, putting her arm around Jessica, who rolls her eyes and drinks more wine.