Page 50 of Whiskey Wednesdays

Rudy’s face got red, and he ducked his head. I patted him on the arm when he turned back to his locker. It almost sounded like Coach Bailey was blaming me for their loss, and it stung.

I thought about his comment, and the team’s issues, a lot that night. On Tuesday I decided to talk with Titus about it. As usual, he was in the ice tub after practice.

“Hey, before you leave today can I talk with you about a couple of things?” I asked.

He cracked one eye open. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“It depends on how long it’s going to take. I’m fucking starving. And after losing this week, this place is depressing.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean. How about we talk over a late lunch? My treat, in exchange for your time.”

He cocked his head. “You think that’s a good idea?”

I stared at him. “What do you mean?”

He studied me, then smirked. “Nothing. How about Elmer’s in an hour?”

“Okay. And I also want to go through your injuries and recovery methods if we have time.”

Titus pulled himself out of the water. “Might as well.”

I absently threw him two towels and turned away so he could strip down in peace, my mind already thinking about our upcoming conversation.

Titus hadn’t arrived by the time I got to the restaurant, so I got us a table and ordered a sampler appetizer.

He slid in across from me at the same time the server brought the appetizer. The smell of barbeque wings and garlic hung in the air.

“Thank fuck. I’m famished. So what do you want to talk about?”

“The team seems to play like they barely know each other. How can we fix it?”

He sat back and stared at me. “You asked me to lunch to talk about the team?”

I stared at him. “Yeah.” Dipping a celery stick in ranch dressing, I crunched down on it. “Why aren’t you guys more in sync, or whatever it’s called? Ben said his middle school daughter’s softball team has more chemistry than you guys do.”

Titus studied me. “Huh. No wonder McCoy…” He trailed off and didn’t finish.

“McCoy what?” I asked as I scooped more dip.

“Never mind. The team is brand new, and it’s a feeder team.” I waited for him to elaborate, but he grabbed another chicken wing instead.

“And?” I asked.

“And what? Any of us could get called up, and we don’t know each other. That’s why we play that way.”

I made a face. “Well, that’s dumb. We need to fix it.”

“We?” He lifted an eyebrow and licked sauce off his fingers.

“Yeah. You’re the oldest and most experienced.” I leaned forward. “I think we should have a weekly team-building game night.”

He set his wing bone down, sighed, and rubbed his face with his napkin. “Well, fuck. How does this happen? I’m minding my own business, keeping my head down.” He glared at me. “I don’t like to get involved.”

I raised an eyebrow. “How did what happen? Me getting these fantastic ideas, or you whining like a little toddler?”

He smirked. “Both. A toddler?”

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