Page 104 of Hard Hitter
“Your place?” Castro asked. “Like, yourapartment?Does it really exist?”
“Yeah, smartass. There won’t be enough chairs, but it’ll work.” Then he added, uncharacteristically, “I’d like you all to come.”
There was a stunned silence. Then Leo Trevi said, “I’ll bring a case of beer. And don’t worry, Castro, I’ll make sure there’s a light beer in there for you.”
Castro flipped him off, and everyone began stripping off their pads.
Before O’Doul hit the showers, he called Rebecca.
“What favor do you need now, Doulie?” she answered on the first ring.
He chuckled. “I need to feed two dozen players in my apartment ASAP. How would you do that if you were me? How late does Grimaldi’s deliver?”
“Nice of you to give me some notice.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Here’s what I’m going to do for you,” she said. “I’ll call Grimaldi’s myself and beg, because the team puts a lot of money in their pocket. The delivery will show up at ten fifteen because they close soon after that, but I’ll warn your building’s concierge in case it beats you home.”
“I owe you,” he said.
“No kidding, hot stuff.”
“Do you need my credit card number?”
“I have it memorized. Anything else?”
“Just that you’re a goddess, and feel free to come up and have a slice with us.”
She snorted. “I will. But now let me go so I can grovel to the restaurant for your insta-dinner. Bye.” She hung up on him.
***
There had never beenhalfso many people in his condo since the day he bought it.
Trevi had shown up first, given that his commute was only down the hallway. When O’Doul opened the door, the rookie dragged in a beanbag chair in one hand and a case of beer in the other. “You said there weren’t enough chairs,” he said, surveying the big room. “But you’re right—it doesn’t matter. Nice rug. Nice everything.”
“Thanks,” he said a little stiffly, relieving Trevi of the beer. He wasn’t used to this.
“Should I run out for paper plates and cups?”
“You don’t have to. I have a lot of dishes.”
Trevi dragged his beanbag chair over to the wall and plopped down on it. “Leave the door open for...”
“Hi!” Georgia said from the doorway. “I brought margarita mix. Because I can’t visit this place without drinking tequila. Too bad Ari’s not around tonight to mix it for me.”
It really was too bad. But Ari would be with her family tonight.
The buzzer on the wall sounded. When O’Doul pressed the button, the concierge informed him that a handful of players were on their way up. “Thanks,” he said. “There’ll be more, too.”
It was mayhem after that. There were jackets thrown onto his bed and players leaning on his kitchen counter, unpacking the pizzas. Rebecca had done a nice job of sampling the menu. Each pie had a different combination of toppings.
Players kept knocking on the door. Everyone took to yelling, “It’s open!”
O’Doul handed out napkins and beer. Every guy who came through the door had a six-pack, and the collection of bottles on the counter looked like the UN of beers.
When everyone was finally served and sprawled around his living area like Romans at a banquet, he made a plate for himself. He thought he’d stand at the bar and eat it, but Castro moved down his sofa, opening up a space that was sufficient if not quite as roomy as he would have preferred.
