Page 24 of Delayed Offsides

She sighs into the phone. “Leo?”

“Yes, it’s me. Now answer the fucking question.” I’m being rude. But fuck, you get told your dick looks like a razor clam and see how rude you become.

Mase slams his fist into my shoulder. “You better watch the way you’re talking to my girl.”

Ami giggles into the phone. “I’m sorry! It did at first glance.”

“Fuck you, it did not.”

“Hey, fucker.” Mase punches my shoulder again. “Don’t talk to her like that.”

I hold the phone away from my ear and stare him down. “She called my dick a clam. I think this warrants me being an asshole. How would you have liked it if she said that to you?”

He reaches forward and shifts his car into reverse, glancing into the backup camera. “She wouldn’t have because mine doesn’t look like a clam. Yours does.”

“The fuck it does.” I hang up on Ami and unzip my pants. Before he realizes what I’m doing, I fuckin’ lay my dick out. “Does that look like a goddamn clam,asshole?”

He won’t even look at it. “You’re going to put your dick back in your pants, right now, or I will punch you in the fuckin’ clam neck.”

Clam neck? Jerk. With a sigh, I put my dick away, fearing for its safety. Masehaspunched me in the dick before, and it hurt. Bad. He doesn’t threaten without results.

“What am I going to do, man? She won’t answer my texts or calls?”

“Fuck if I know.” Mase waves to the parking garage attendant as we pull out. “Maybe stop sending her dick pics and treat her like a lady.”

“I only sent one,” I mumble, staring out the window.

Is that what she wants? To be treated like a lady? Romance? I can do all those things. I can wine and dine with the best of them if she would give me a chance.

I don’t tell Mase any of this. Why? I already sound like a pussy. No need to confirm it.

Inside the locker room is when the real shit hits the fan. Not only did I send a text of my dick to Coach, but it’s being tweeted about.

Not only that, Remy immediately points out, “Looks like you sent that to your mom too.”

Looking down at my phone, I notice a partial text message through the slivers of broken screen. I can barely make out the reply she sent, but it’s my full name.

Mom:Leo Nathaniel Orting! That’s gross. I hope this Callie chick punches you for that.

The thing is, she won’t. The Callie I know will have laughed at that text and sent the drooling emoji, but apparently, she isn’t talking to me. Even sending a picture of my dick doesn’t get her attention! How far am I going to have to go on this one?

I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do about this situation. I don’t know if she’s pissed at me, avoiding me, bagging someone else to rid herself of the memory of us together, or she simply wants nothing more to do with me. If she’d answer her goddamn phone, I’d know. And the idea of Callie not being in my life… hell, in my bed… ever again? No. Not going to happen.

Maybe I pushed her too soon and lost her for good?

Or maybe she thought I sent her a picture of a razor clam?

No. She knows what my dick looks like.

* * *

Game 43 – Ottawa Senators

two days later

United Center

DidI tell you we’d basically hired Rosco to fuck with the guys on the team? We did. Mase even paid for his plane ticket to Chicago and got him a job washing dishes at a restaurant. Turns out old Rosco had recently lost his wife, lost his job because he’d been taking care of her, and then the medical bills piled up, and he’d been living on the streets for close to six months.

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