“I live twenty minutes from here. If your night goes sideways, I’ll send you the address. You seem like you need a couple drinks after that bagel.”
“This day can’t go anymore sideways.”
“Haha. All good Ashton. You still have that game in Seattle everyone is talking about. Also, nice underwear campaign by the way, looking good half naked.”
He held Piper’s eyes for a moment, the green was doing something different this time and Piper could not stop staring. He knew he had been looking for too long. Jordan knew it too. Jordan stepped aside.
“See ya, Ashton, hang in there, Babygirl.” Jordan smiled with a light, comforting laugh.
Babygirl? Joan, who is this guy talking about? Am I now the older, uptight mess needing a young corruptor?
Jordan jogged off toward his sideline without looking back. Piper stood at midfield with his helmet still in his hand.
I lost my boyfriend and the game in twenty-four hours. What else could I lose?
Tank was waiting for him.
“What did the green-eyed dude want?”
“It was a handshake, Tank.”
“Uh-huh.”
Tank had nothing to add. He waited until Piper was next to him and then walked beside him and they went down the tunnel together with the crowd essentially gone and the scoreboard still reading 28-0, and if Tank had opinions about the handshake, he kept them.
Piper showered at the facility. He did not do any postgame press. He would be fined, and he was okay with that.
He put on a plain black James Perse T-shirt and jeans and took a car from the facility to the hotel, and when he pulled up, Tank was waiting at the valet stand.
“My mom’s place. Six. I told her you were coming.”
“I don’t want to. Nobody wants to see me after that performance.”
“I know. Come anyway. They all love you today, you won that game for Atlanta.” Tank laughed.
“Shut the fuck up, Tank,” Piper shot back. “Haven’t I been through enough today?”
***
Tank’s parents lived in a house in the Atlanta suburb of Buckhead. The front door was open when they arrived. The smell of something slow-cooked and peppery came from the kitchen. A television was on in the living room and he could hear his name coming out of a sports analyst’s mouth. Tank’s aunt called from the kitchen, “Edgar, get over here, it's been forever.”
Piper realized that Edgar was Tank.
“Edgar?” he said.
“Shut up, she is the only one that calls me that. You did not hear that,” Tank said.
“Your aunt calls you Edgar.”
“My mother named me Edgar. Do not take this information outside of this house or I will fucking end your career.”
“Noted,” Piper replied.
Tank’s mother came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She was smaller than Tank by several feet, and she hugged Piper, then she held him at arm’s length and looked at him.
“You look thin,” she said.
“I’m not thin.”
