Page 9 of Love on the Waiver Wire
I look at the pale slice he’s holding out and shake my head. “No thanks, I ate before I got here,”
He nods, understanding. We’ve had several conversations about how disgusting Leo’s favorite pizza is.
Leo claps his hands from the family room, rubbing them together like a supervillain. “Okay guys, everything is set,” he says as he looks around. Baltimore Cobras players sit around the room, laptops open in front of them as they all log into the fantasy website to get ready for the draft. Leo has the prime seat on the corner section of the couch, while Dirwin sits next to him. Cooper rounds the counter and takes a seat on the other side where his laptop kept his spot, a plate of hummus in one hand while he uses his thumb to open the computer.
Tristen and Myles sit at the counter, and the other guys sit along the coffee table and are spread out around the room, leaning against walls. Some of them don’t mind others looking at their screens, while others, like Emmett Gardner, would rather throw themselves off a bridge than have someone see what they’re doing or their next move.
Which is honestly understandable, considering some of these guys are complete assholes and will absolutely steal a player if they think that you’re going to take them next. But that’s just fantasy football.
Sighing, I take a seat against the wall facing the others, opening my laptop to get ready.
“There’s only eleven of us?” Cooper asks, his head tilted as he tries to count us again.
Leo’s head whips up, his eyes a little wide. “Yeah, Ian couldn’t make it. He’s going to draft from home.”
We never draft from home. It’s one of Leo’s stupid rules. It’s a team bonding exercise, apparently.
Cooper looks as perplexed as I feel. It’s been years. We’ve moved the draft completely before because guys couldn’t make it. Two years ago a guy was kicked out of the league because there was no possible way he could make the draft, despite the fact that everyone is in town with almost open availability because of practice. It’s not like the guy had much going on.
But for Leo to be okay with someone we don’t know to not be here? It’s a little suspicious.
“I feel like we should ask more questions,” Tristen says as he spins on his seat at the counter, but not before closing his screen enough so no one can see. He cocks his head, his deep brown eyes staring daggers at Leo.
Tristen is one of the other wide receivers on the Cobras and one of the nicest guys alive. But he has always had a healthy dose of skepticism, which is something Leo has had to overcome with him. As a rookie he used to question everything, and it became a reasonable question of whether he was coachable. He’s learned a lot over the years, though, and is now one of the best on the team.
“For someone who got the first overall pick, it’s wild that they’re not here, but whatever,” Christian says from the other side of the room, his massive frame looking hilarious, leaning up against a small pillar.
Leo freezes for a second. “We didn’t have any other choice,” he says as he scratches the side of his face. “We needed someone, I found someone, they’re on the team, that’s what’s important.”
The guys all turn back to their computers, though the amount of eye rolls I count needs more than one hand.
I take a look at the draft order, spotting Ian up top.Cover 1, 2, 3, Let’s Go B?—
Why does that sound so familiar? I wrack my brain for the reference but it doesn’t come to mind. I’ll think of it eventually.
“Isn’t it a little weird that there’s a new guy first and then you and your best buddy are second and third?” One of the guys says.
Leo sighs loudly, groaning as he tosses his head back dramatically. “I was last last year guys; I’m not trying to screw anyone over. I take the job of commissioner super seriously. Anyways, the draft is starting in two minutes, time to get your shit together.”
I have a list of picks I’d like to make on the side. I have the second pick, which means that I could pick myself, but there are better players than me available. Although I’m good and definitely a first-round pick, I’m not someone that most people would pick first-round, either. My ADP is around 6, and although that’s really good, I strive to be number one.
But then again, apparently, there are people out there who would draft Leo first, which is truly wild. No one drafts quarterbacks in the first round, not even Leo, who picks himself if he’s available every year.
At 9pm on the dot, the clock starts ticking.
Most of us are on our game and don’t need the full two minutes to make our pick, but as the clock ticks down and there’s under a minute left, the guys start looking at each other, trying to figure out what the mysterious Ian is going to do. Leo sits forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in front of his mouth as he watches the clock tick on his laptop sitting on the coffee table in front of him. He looks almost worried.
Ten seconds.
Nine seconds.
Eight seconds…
Ding!
I don’t have time to read the pick before everyone’s heads turn toward me.
“What?” Emmett asks, his face twisted in confusion.
