Page 19 of Delayed Offsides

Prankswith us are never easy. You’re either the brunt of them or dishing them out. And you’re never one or the other for long before the tables have turned on you. After a while though, we have to get creative with the pranks. Sometimes we reuse the same ones that never get old, but the creative ones, the kind you never think of doing, turn out to be the classic ones players talk about for years to come. Hair removal in your shampoo? Small time.

“I’m not sleeping in the same room with him,” Mase says again, like a broken fuckin’ record as we exit the hotel. He’s beyond pissed about the shower incident.

“In case you forgot, you shaved his head not too long ago,” I remind him. He had to know retribution was coming for him eventually.

“You trust me?” I lift my eyes to his as we walk back to the hotel after dinner.

“No. But you never kick me when I’m down.” He runs his hand over his head and the chunks of hair missing. “I’m going to fuck that kid up.”

I wink at him, dodging bystanders on the streets. “Your hair looks great.”

Mase raises his eyebrow at me. “Fuck you.”

“Be nice to me.” I slump forward, my stare on my feet slogging through the puddles around me. From the time we arrived in Florida, it hasn’t stopped raining.

“Why? You give me shit all the time.”

“I don’t know. I grew a vagina.” I groan, my voice drawn out and exaggerated. Two traits I’m very good at when I need to be. “Don’t make it worse.”

“Whatever.” But then he glances over at me, stepping around a group gathered on the streets waiting for a driver to pull up, I assume. Why else would you be just standing on the street? Mase eyes me. “Callie?”

“Yeah,” I mumble, like I’m admitting something I’m not proud of.

“What happened?”

“Fucked her when we left your place the other night, and now she won’t talk to me.” I shrug, the defeat weighing me down. It’s like I have weights on my shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe she regrets it. She said all this shit about Dave on Christmas, and I don’t know. Maybe it was too soon.”

“Ya think so? I mean, she was into it, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah, she was. But he really did a number on her emotionally.” Our eyes meet. “Have you talked to her?”

Mase shakes his head. “No. Did you try calling her?”

“Yeah. No answer. How’s Ami doing with it?”

Mase doesn’t answer right away, but when he does, there’s a certain amount of pain to his tone I recognize. Ami hadn’t been the only one traumatized by that day. Mase took it hard. He’d been the one to save her life, but his friend, a guy he lived with when he was new to Chicago, had nearly killed her. I think—just like me—he’s taken on a sense of responsibility for it. Mase sighs. “Therapy helps, but I think her dancing is what’s best for her. She started taking classes at a new place.”

“Does it ever bother you?”

“Oh, fuck yeah man.” He nods, burying his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “She fell dancing the other day and has this massive bruise on her arm. Took me days to touch her after that because it reminded me of that night.”

I can’t imagine what he must have seen that night he found her in the snow. I think about what if I’d seen Callie after what happened with Dave. I didn’t because she covered it up with a lot of makeup, but now that I know, it weighs on me.

We find a bar near the hotel and decide to get another drink, away from the rest of the team. We’re both quiet, drinking our beers and making comments about replays from last night’s games on the TV above us when Mase slides his eyes to mine. “So you think Callie’s not calling because she regrets it?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” I watch, wondering when he’s going to scratch his balls again because he’s doing it like every ten minutes. “So what, you washed your balls with the soap, and it took the hair off?”

He frowns. “Yeah, and my chest hair too. I look ridiculous.”

I grin, finishing my beer and waving my hand toward the bartender. “You have to admit, that was a good one.”

“No, it wasn’t,” he snaps, tossing a twenty on the bar. He’s in denial. If it had happened to anyone else but him, he’d be laughing too.

After finishing our drinks, we head up the street toward the hotel.

“Hey, hold up.” Mase grabs my arm and looks over at a man curled up next to the building. “Hey, bud.” Mase stops alongside the building. “You wanna get outta the rain?” he asks the older man who’s wearing a trench coat. Mase nods toward the hotel entrance. “You want a room for the night?”

I don’t do shit like this. For one, I don’t walk down alleyways, and I certainly do not approach the homeless. In my experience, everyone has been bitter to me. How can that be, right? I’m a loveable decent guy. What’s not to like?

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