Page 158 of The Locker Room

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Xander was tired. He was exhausted, and his body ached, and

underneath the cast-iron chemical plating separating his toe from the rest

of his cadaver, there was some serious pain-throbbing-agony going on in

his metacarpal phalange. The only thing keeping him awake was the

knowledge that Chris was going to call him soon—he"d promised—and

he had to know Xander was watching the game.

In short, Xander was too tired to deal with what Leo was saying,

but worse? He was too tired to escape it, either.

“What were you talking about?” he asked, fearing the inevitable.

“I was talking about the color that was missing on the television

screen. Xander—that"s not Chris, it"s the way you see him. That"s how

he looks to you, when you"re both playing the game. He"s a good player,

and he"s going to make a fine living. But he"s not you.”

“I hope not,” Xander murmured, almost to himself and half-stoned

on painkillers and exhaustion. “Because that would make sex almost as

boring as masturbation.”

Leo was surprised into a guffaw before he picked up the phone.

“Hey, Edwards, how"s the cutest little free-thrower east of the Rockies?

Or are you west? My sense of direction sucks.”

136 Amy Lane

Leo"s small talk didn"t last long, though, because in a moment the

phone was in Xander"s hand.

“Hey, man, how you feeling?” Chris was all concern, and Xander

fought the temptation to reach out to the television screen and summon

back the vision. Damn, he was out of it.

“A little stoned,” Xander confessed. “They gave me some

painkillers, and I took one before the food hit.”

“Yeah? How long ago was that?”

Xander thought hard. “Right at the beginning of the game,” he said,

and Chris did some thinking.

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