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Rowan
Last night,I did my grocery shopping for the week, watched some film clips to prepare for the upcoming season, and constantly checked my phone in case I missed Leigh’s message saying she wanted my dick again. Sadly, she didn’t, but this morning she does.
Which makes me question what she does for a living that makes her available on a Monday morning.
I’m just leaving the locker room at the space my agent, Jagger Kale, found for his clients in Chicago. He got all of us together and chipped in to outfit the space with the best equipment. This way we can work out in privacy without people snapping pictures or interrupting us.
My phone rings, and I see a number I don’t recognize. Letting it go to voicemail, I pocket it as Tweetie pushes through the gym’s front door.
“Did you hear?” he asks me.
I really don’t want to sit here and entertain Tweetie when I have Leigh on her way to my place. But I don’t want to tell him why I have to rush off because I just don’t want to hear about it.
“The Falcons might have Conor ‘Pinkie’ Nilsen.”
My eyes widen. He’s the best goalie in the league right now, and I had the privilege of playing with him back in college. “I didn’t even know they were going after him.”
“We’re way too good of an offensive to not have a great goalie. Conor would be a great pick up.”
I feel bad for Erickson, because if Conor is in, Erickson is either out or becoming a second-string goalie. “Erickson isn’t bad.”
Tweetie crosses his arms and gives me that toughen up look. “He’s not. But when Jennings retired, maybe Erickson should’ve too. We’d be unstoppable with Pinkie.”
I still remember when Conor earned the nickname. Most people think it’s because he lost the top of his pinkie finger during a game, but it was first coined from Pink Floyd’s “Another Brick in the Wall” because his skills in the net are amazing, as if he’s a brick wall and nothing can get past him.
“It’s not official yet?” I ask.
Tweetie shakes his head. “Not yet. I’ll let you know when I hear.”
“I gotta go.” I slide to the side to walk around him, but he steps in front of me before I can pass.
“Where are you going?”
I shrug, trying to keep my expression neutral. “Home.”
He examines me for a minute, and I’m not sure what he’s thinking. There’s no way he knows Leigh is coming over.
“Ruby was outside at Peeper’s, putting up a for sale sign for the business. She said now that baseball season is almost over, she feels like she’ll get a better price than if she waits. So…if you see her, tell her not to sell it to some person who wants to turn it into a café or some shit.”
“Why don’t you buy it if you care so much?”
He laughs. “Shit, it’d be filled with women every night, and I’d be in debt from buying them drinks. A bar isn’t something I should ever entertain.” He pats me on the back. “Go get laid.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I walk toward the door, not looking back at him.
“I’m your best friend. You have that look on your face.”
“You’re my best friend?”
“Don’t deny it and hurt my feelings.” He disappears into the locker room, and I walk out the door, allowing it to lock behind me.
On the curb, I pull out my phone, waiting for my Uber, and see that the number that called earlier left a voicemail. I look at the transcription and see that it’s Conor, so I dial up the number, walking away from the door toward the corner.
It rings once before Conor picks up. “You sending me to fucking voicemail, Magic? Do our college years mean nothing?”
I chuckle. “Where are you calling from?”
“Shit, I keep forgetting. Is that why people aren’t picking up for me? Some girl got my number and spread it around, so I had to get a new one last week.”
