Page 42 of Sure Shot
I hate my life.
When we’re finally done, I don’t even try to make conversation with the exhausted men who’d endured that practice with me. I shower as fast as I can and then try to make my escape.
Unfortunately, I manage to leave the locker room area at the same time as Jason Castro.
“Hey,” he says gruffly, as we both head for the glass tunnel that leads toward the main lobby and the street.
“Hey,” is the only reply I can think of.
“If you’re free the night after next, we’re all putting together some furniture for Silas’s girlfriend. She’s moving in down the hall.”
I blink in surprise, because it sounds like he’s asking for my help. “The singer?” I ask after a beat.
“Right. She just bought Dave Beringer’s apartment. So we could use one more set of hands. Delilah’s buying pizza afterward.”
“Oh. Sure. I’ll bring some beer,” I stammer.
“You know the address? 220 Water Street. We’re meeting up at my place. Just tell the doorman that you’re there to help with the move.”
“You got it,” I say as we step out onto the street. “I won’t forget.” But I wonder if somebody made him invite me, like it’s a middle school birthday party.
He stops when we reach the sidewalk. “Look, I’m sorry about that crack I made last night. That was egregious, and I shouldn’t have taken my personal bullshit out on you.”
Once again I’m startled, because it almost sounds like he means it. “Dude, don’t worry about it. Especially because it was true. The wife has no use for me. Dallas, though? They should know better.”
“Jesus.” Castro chokes on his laughter. “What happened there? Did they fuck up their salary cap?”
“That’s only part of it,” I admit. “After last season, there was some unhealthy scapegoating. Palacio blamed everyone but his Aunt Gertie for losing that second-round game to L.A.”
Castro sneers. “Is he as big a tool as he seems?”
I open my mouth to deny it, but then I realize I don’t have to anymore. “Let’s just say that if he’s moving furniture and having pizza, I’m finding a reason I need to be anywhere else.”
“Bummer. And you were co-captains?”
“Sure. On ice it’s different, you know? You don’t have to like a guy to play well together.”
“Uh-huh.” He looks like he doesn’t believe me, though. He’s twenty-four or twenty-five, and Brooklyn is the only big-league team he’s ever played for. He doesn’t know any different.
I’ll have to remember that.
“Every interaction I had with Palacio,” Castro says, “made me think he’s a big bag of dicks.”
“A big bag of dicks who can score,” I point out.
“Can we beat them in January?”
“God, I hope so.”
Castro grins. “Good. See you tomorrow.” He turns on his Chuck T’s and strides off toward Water Street.
On the walk back to the hotel, I check my texts. There’s two of them, and I have this moment of happiness, because I’m expecting to maybe hear from Bess. Honestly, I’m like a school boy with a crush. I can’t stop thinking about her, and I keep wondering when I’ll get to see her again.
A month ago I would have told you that I was too jaded to have a hot fling so soon after the end of my marriage. Sex was just about the last thing on my mind. But this week it’s practically all I think about.
Unfortunately, none of my messages are from her.
When I arrive at my hotel, the concierge offers me a fluffy croissant. I decline, because sometimes a guy needs some protein. “Do you have a recommendation for a Tex-Mex place that delivers?”
