Page 6 of Lucky Baller
“Team’s looking good this year.”
“Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”
Henry knows me well. “Yeah, Case talked me into a drink.”
“How are your folks?” he asks, wiping down the bar that I’m sure doesn’t need to be wiped down at all. A habit he’s picked up over the years.
“Good. Loving retired life.”
“You’re a good son,” he tells me. “I’m sure they appreciate all you’ve done for them.”
“They sacrificed a lot for me growing up. It’s the least I could do. And keep that on the DL. You’re going to ruin my street cred.” I grin at him.
He throws his head back in laughter. His deep, husky voice from one too many cigarettes is comforting. Familiar. “Like you’ve got street cred,” he counters.
“Damn, cuts like a knife,” I say, holding my hand to my chest as we both laugh.
“What else is going on with you?”
“First night of freedom.” I don’t mention Tessa or how she continues to shoot my ass down. I need to wrap my head around it before I start getting any kind of outside influences.
He studies me. “And?”
“And nothing.” I shake my head. Henry is like a damn therapist, always wanting to pull the juicy details out of you. Only he pries your soul open with booze, and before you know it, you’ve spilled your guts to him in the span of a couple of hours. I’m convinced he has some kind of bartender superpower or some shit.
“There he is.” Henry looks over my shoulder to where Case saunters into the room.
When I say saunters, it’s more of a glide, which is odd for a man his size. As the team’s center, Case Riley stands at six foot five and weighs in at two hundred and ninety-five pounds. He’s a big man, and the fact that he can stroll anywhere is a surprise to everyone. He’s damn good on his feet despite his size.
“You missing me, Barker?” he asks, sliding into the seat next to me at the bar.
“You called me, remember?”
“Three weeks, Barker. Three weeks we’re in lockdown, and you want to chill at home.” He shakes his head as if he can’t believe I would want to stay in for the night. If he’d ever slept on my Hastens mattress, he would understand. It’s extravagant but so worth it. As football players, we need to take care of our bodies. That includes a good night’s sleep. A man can’t scrimp on his mattress, not in our profession.
“I missed my bed.” I shrug.
“You and that damn bed.” Case shakes his head. “How’s the crowd?” He motions his head toward the main bar area as Henry slides a Corona in front of him.
“Busy, but then again, everyone knows that training camp is over. You know how they are. Any chance to catch a glimpse.”
“You’re a good man, Henry,” Case tells him. “It’s nice to be able to get out of the house, have a beer, and not be swarmed.”
“What?” I turn on my stool to look at him. “You feeling all right, bud?” I ask. Lifting my hand, I place the back of it against his forehead, just like my mom used to do when I was a kid. “No fever.” I smirk as he swats my hand away from his face.
“Fucker,” he mumbles under his breath. “So…” He takes another long pull from his bottle of beer. “What’s the latest?” he asks. I’m not sure if he’s asking me or Henry, but I choose to think it’s the latter and keep my trap shut about Tessa. I really don’t feel like taking his shit tonight. My ego has been hit enough today.
“Same thing, different day.” Henry chuckles.
“How’s the missus?” I ask. I watch as a slow smile brightens his wrinkled face. It also helps to change the subject, and I hope that keeps Case from noticing I’m a little off tonight.
“She’s mine.” He grins. “Gets prettier every day.”
“How long you been married?” Case asks.
“Forty years,” Henry and I say at the same time.
“That’s right.” Henry nods. “Last month.”
