I rolled my head to the side to look at Murphy. We were the same age, both came out of Clemson in the same AFL draft. Matt wasn’t on the sidelines, white as a sheet, sweating like a pig, purging the booze and pot and coke from his system. Matt was the goddamn poster child for clean living, and it showed.
“Remember what a basket case Murphy was before he got married and had kids?” Leon asked. “That dude made you look like a lightweight when it came to drinking and partying.”
“What’s your point?” I asked, covering my face with the towel, ignoring its stench.
“He found a nice girl and settled down, got himself off the booze and coke, had a couple of kids, and look at him. He’ll be the fucking team MVP this year.”
“Clean living will do that to you,” I said, pushing up onto my elbows. “But clean living can also be pretty fucking boring.”
“Maybe boring wouldn’t be so bad if you had the right person to get bored with.” He said it quietly. He was staring at Murphy and slowly nodding his head. I knew something was up.
“Wait a minute,” I said, pushing myself up to face him. I brought up my knees and hugged them to keep from falling over. I leaned my head around to look him in the eye. “Oh shit, man, say it isn’t so.”
He glanced at me from the corner of his eye, then a smile crossed his dark face. “I’m gonna ask Monique to marry me,” he said, referring to his on again, off again, bab
y mama who he had two small kids with.
“You’re shitting me,” I said, dumbfounded. I didn’t know why the news was hitting me like a ton of bricks, but it was. I felt as if I were being dumped. Leon, my best friend and party-partner for five years, was breaking up with me.
I felt myself getting nauseous again, even though there was nothing left in my stomach to heave. Maybe the news was hitting me so hard because Leon was the hardest partier and biggest groupie fucker on the team. His exploits were legendary. He would sometimes have two, three, four women at a time. And now this. Fuck. It was the end of an era.
I shook my head. “Leon Lewis is going to get married.”
“Yep, I got the ring already. Gonna ask her tonight when we have dinner with the kids.”
“But what about our victory parties?” I asked. I realized I had a little whine in my voice, like a little kid begging his best pal not to move away. “Dude, you can’t stop coming to our victory parties.”
He just gave me a big toothy grin and put a hand the size of a catcher’s mitt on my shoulder. “Sean, dude, you gotta grow up sometime, man.”
“No I don’t,” I said quietly. I glanced at Matt Murphy, all muscles and smiles and MVP awards and trophy wife and perfect kids. Fucker. I hated Matt Murphy. I muttered to myself. “I don’t have to grow up.”
Leon chuckled as he picked up his helmet and got ready to put it on. “You ain’t Peter Pan,” he said, getting to his feet and setting the helmet on top of his head. “We all gotta grow up sometime.”
“Not me,” I scoffed.
“Whatever man,” he said, shaking his large head. He nudged the toe of my cleat with his. “Word of warning. You keep this up and you’ll be watching the game from the bench on Sunday. Coach is thinking about putting Lockett in your spot if you don’t shape up.”
I glanced at Coach Rickets, who was standing on the field with Denzell Lockett, the star running back from USC the team had drafted to back me up. Lockett was six years younger than me and almost as fast. He was also hungry. He’d made no bones about the fact that he wanted my spot and if I didn’t straighten up, he’d probably get it.
I gave the coach a smile and stuck a thumb in the air. “Bad seafood,” I said. “I’ll be all right in a minute.”
Coach glared at me and shook his head.
Locket gave me a smile. Fucker.
I held out a hand to Leon and he pulled me up like a rag doll.
Dusting off my hands, I asked, “Has Coach said anything about putting Lockett in over me?”
Leon tugged his helmet down over his head and snapped the strap under his chin. He gave me a serious look. “Like I said, man, you gotta grow up sometime. And now would be a good time to start.”
Kate
I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my shabby little loft apartment, modeling a black miniskirt and red halter top. My long red hair was pinned up in a messy bun atop my head. I wobbled a little. I was doing my best to keep my balance in a pair of four-inch stiletto heels I’d bought on a whim years ago, but had never worn.
“How do women walk in these things?” I asked.
“Very carefully,” Dru answered with a smirk. “They do make your legs look amazing.”