Page 2 of The Final Faceoff
“Of course. I mean, if I’m ever in Miami, I wouldn’t say no to dinner.”
The sigh he lets out is pure exasperation. “You’re a menace.”
“I prefer the term ‘opportunistic.’ See, I’m taking advantage of the situation,” I correct, sidestepping a man who is aggressively texting while walking, like he has a personal vendetta against spatial awareness.
“Someone opportunistic would’ve taken her number for future emotional blackmail, not for dinner with her professionally stable grandson.”
“Damn. Missed opportunity.”
His chuckle rolls through the phone, and the sound relaxes me. Sure, I was in multiple airports for almost thirty-six hours. But a call with Leif feels like . . . well, like I’m home.
I shift my bag again, clearing my throat. “Anyway, I’m officially in New York.”
There’s a pause—just long enough for me to glance at my screen and check if the call dropped. Then?—
“Finally. May I suggest taking a direct flight next time? How many stops did you have?”
I groan. “Ugh, don’t ask. I lost my water bottle and my carryon during one of the layovers.”
“Again?”
“You’re judging me,” I singsong.
“No, I’m impressed you still manage to arrive at your destination,” he says. “One day, I fully expect a call from Antarctica saying you got on the wrong plane.”
“You’re not funny, Leif.”
“I’m hilarious.” A beat. Then, casually he adds, “I’m in New York too.”
I stop short, blinking at the phone. “Nooooo.”
“Yeah.”
I sigh with sadness for my friend who’d sworn this time it’d be different. “You guys lost already? What was that? Like, only five games?”
Silence. Nothing but silence on the other side. Should I search on the internet to see how bad it was?
“Too soon to discuss it?” I ask.
“Too fucking soon,” he growls.
Oof.
“My agent’s working on a trade,” he mutters. “I’m done with the Arizona Armadillos. Every year, it’s the same shit.”
So, he’s not just upset—he’s done. I shift tactics.
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Yeah. Skip your sister’s place and come with me.”
I could argue with him that Jules and I have to be at my grandparents’ in a couple of days. She’s expecting me. We have plans. I don’t have much energy left for any of that so I just ask, “Where?”
“Not sure yet. I’m currently staying at my fathers’ penthouse for the next few weeks. At least until Jacob and I figure out some sponsorships and how to get me the fuck out of Arizona.”
A pause.
“After that, well . . . it depends.”
