Page 153 of The Locker Room
Leo gave him the remote, and he pressed play while his body
started to demand he shovel food down his throat in record quantities.
About halfway through, as the pre-game ended and the lights and music
started, he remembered to stop for his painkiller. At his whimper of relief
when he downed it, Leo grabbed the remote, pressed pause, and then
looked down at his bare foot, propped up on the big glossy black coffee
table that went with the leather couches and cream pale rug and giant
front bay window that curved around the front of the house as it faced
the lake.
His toe was almost as black as the coffee table, and Leo made a
little moan when he saw it.
“Press play,” Xander mumbled. “Chris was about ready to come
out.”
“What in the fuck did you do?” Leo asked harshly, and Xander
didn"t want to talk about it. Leo pulled his arm back with the remote
control, though, in a tight little concentrated fist, and Xander"s eyebrows
raised as he realized that Leo probably had the power to pitch the thing
through that big glass window from the couch.
“Don"t look so surprised, Superstar—I pitched in the minors for
three years after college, and it was my knees that fucked me over, not
my elbows. Now I will throw this thing into the goddamned lake if you
don"t tell Uncle Leo what in the fuck happened to that prime piece of
real estate parked on the fucking coffee table!”
Xander swore and leaned his head back. “I broke it,” he said,
embarrassed all over again.
“On the court? Because Malloy would have told me about that.”
132 Amy Lane
Xander looked at him miserably, pathetically aware that Leo could
learn pretty much everything he wanted to know with a few questions to
folks other people ignored.
