The Baller: A Down and Dirty Football Novel(8)
“Of course I am. I’m always right. And damn good looking, too.” I opened the paper bag I’d been carrying and unwrapped the white paper, revealing the Reuben she’d wanted last week.
“You went to Heidelman’s.”
“Yep.” Or maybe the Ben’s Kosher Deli franchise that took its place ten years ago. It wasn’t important.
“I can’t wait to dig in. Can you hand me my teeth case?”
“Your teeth are already in your mouth, Marlene.”
She took a minute and confirmed I was telling the truth with a tap of her nail against her front tooth. Even though her mind was all over the place, her teeth were almost always a weekly conversation.
“Willow came to see me the other day.”
“That’s good.”
“Yep. She told me what she did.”
No idea. “Oh, yeah. What’s that? I can’t keep track of all the things Willow does anymore.”
“The pool. You know. You two should be ashamed of yourself. Next time the police won’t be so easy on you.”
It never ceased to amaze me how she could remember something from more than ten years ago crystal clear, yet not remember she put her teeth in five minutes ago. It was almost like her memories were fleeing most recent first. I hoped my memory of the pool incident never disappeared on me.
It was the first time I saw Willow naked. And the night I realized that the ache in my chest every time the girl I called Wild Willow did something to scare the shit out of me wasn’t pain. It was love.
“It was my fault. Willow tried to talk me out of it. She only hopped the fence to get me out. I threw her in the pool.”
Marlene looked at me skeptically. Rightly so. No one in her right mind would believe Willow had to be talked into anything that had an edge of recklessness to it. The girl had always danced on the blade of a sword, smiling, while I stood watching, waiting to stop the bleeding when she got cut. It was the most beautiful thing about her. And also the ugliest.
“This is my last warning. If you two get into any more trouble, I’ll keep you apart. The two of you act like a couple of screwballs together.”
I swiped half of her Reuben and promised to keep out of trouble. The irony was she’d threatened to keep us apart, but in the end, she was the one thing that kept us together.
Chapter 5
Delilah
“Whatcha working on?” Indie plopped herself down on the other side of my desk. She lifted her legs and sat Indian-style, even though she was wearing a skirt.
“Nice undies.”
“You can’t see my underwear.”
“Sure I can,” I bluffed.
“I’m not wearing any.”
“I hope you sat like that in the department-head meeting you just came from.”
“Of course I did.” Indie leaned forward and swiped a pile of papers off my desk before I could stop her. She thumbed through a few of the articles I’d printed. “Brody Easton, huh?”
“It’s research.”
“For what? An interview with Cosmopolitan magazine? I don’t see any sports-related articles here.” She spread the papers out with her fingers and fanned herself.
“For this week’s game.”
“Really?” Indie stopped fanning and plucked a page out of her fan. “What did you learn from this one?”
It was a picture of Brody in his underwear. Tight black boxer briefs. “I was looking at his knee to see if the picture was taken before or after his surgery.”
“You were looking at his dick.”
“I was not. The guy is a dick.”
“Who does it for you.”
“He does not.”
“Does too.”
“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes. “You know . . . he definitely has a unique story. First-round draft pick at twenty. Car accident mid second season. He was injured, but nothing too bad. Cut from the team before the start of the third season. Rehab almost two years later, then makes it back to the lineup as a walk-on. Three years later, Super Bowl MVP.”
“I remember when he got cut. He was in the news more than when he was starting for the Steel. Drinking and partying. Became a boy toy for a bunch of celebrity women.”
“How do you go from being a first-round draft pick to being cut from the team?”
“Drugs and alcohol.”
“But he wasn’t really known as a party guy until after he was cut. I’ve been digging around, trying to piece together the puzzle of Brody Easton, and I just feel like a few are missing. There isn’t anything about him having any issues, and the team didn’t cite any when they cut him.”
“The league probably didn’t want a black eye. Maybe he got hooked on painkillers from his car accident or something.”
“He walked away with only a few cuts and bruises. He wasn’t badly injured in the accident.”
“Was anyone?”
“He was alone in the car, speeding, and lost control.”
“Hmm . . . I don’t know. But maybe you can ask him during pillow talk.” Indie stood up. “When are you back?”
“Monday night.”
“Can I keep this?” She held up the photo of Brody in his boxer briefs. It was definitely a keeper.