Page 7 of Her Game Plan

“He’s your dad’s accountant?” Finley asks.

“No. Obviously not. Or maybe. I don’t know. And that’s the problem. He looks like he could be. And I’m not interested in that.”

“Okay.” Finley draws out the word. “Clearly a topic change is in order if you’re considering sleeping with a random sixty-year-old. Any news on your dad’s retirement? Hints at a transition plan or anything?”

“No.” I smack the table. “At this point I think the man is only doing it to irritate me.”

“What does Chris think?” Sage asks. “He’s set to inherit the team, right? Is he as anxious as you?”

My twin brother has never been as anxious as me. Coming out of the womb as a wealthy white male, he’s been blessed to have everything go his way. It’d be annoying if he wasn’t one of my favorite people in the entire world.

“No. Of course not. He’s been my counterbalance from day one. And Dad hasn’t questioned every life decision he’s made.”

“Probably because he’s always made the decision your dad told him to.” Sage takes a sip of her drink from the cocktail straw.

“That’s not fair. Remember when he went out for baseball in high school rather than playing football year-round like Dad wanted him to?” Defending my brother comes as naturally to me as breathing. And I know he’d do the same.

Finley lets out a chuckle. “That’s his big rebellion?”

“Well, it was that or a face tat,” I joke. “I mean, do any of us have room to talk? We’ve all followed in our fathers’ footsteps, rarely coloring outside the lines.”

Sage narrows her eyes. “Well, you’re currently wearing red and purple together, so I’d argue you color outside the lines.”

My bright wardrobe is my daily act of rebellion. It’s the one area of my life I choose not to follow the norms I’m forced into.

“I don’t know,” Finley argues. “She works in entertainment. Flashy clothes are probably considered in the lines.”

I glance down at myself. “I don’t think this is flashy.”

Finley looks taken aback. “You’re wearing purple pants with a red shirt.”

“Yes. But I’m not wearing any sequins, feathers, or sparkles,” I defend myself.

Finley rubs the bridge of her nose. “Do you know what the media would say if I wore that outfit to a Yeti game?”

“Thank God she finally realized there is a color other than black?” I volley.

Sage snorts, and I don’t miss the way she takes in Finley’s black joggers and black Yeti T-shirt.

Finley shakes her head, her long ponytail waving behind her. “I know there is a color other than black.” She points to the ice-blue lettering on her shirt. “Blue.”

A laugh rumbles out of me, and I let it keep coming, sinking into the teasing energy of time with my friends. I needed this. I would never complain about my dad to others, but work has been rough lately. He questions every idea I bring to him, and keeps saying things like, “let’s think about this,” and “I don’t think we know enough yet.” I do, Dad. I do know enough.

We stay for another hour, all but closing the place down as we eat, drink, and work our way through the current challenges of the professional sports teams in Denver. There is a new women’s football club in Denver; the Mile High City has never been this excited about soccer.

“They broke the single-match attendance record by almost 23,000 fans!” Sage reminds Finley and me. “It was the first game for the expansion team, and Denver showed up.”

“To be fair, they show up for all of us,” Finley argues. “We had historic attendance last year as well. And don’t people flock to Golden Field even though the team is pretty mediocre?”

“Hey! We’re not that bad. We just need a fucking pitcher.” Sage pops the knuckles on her right hand. “And no one wants to pitch at a mile high… And then there is the damn mile-high hangover when we’re on the road. No one wants to come here to play.”

Finley smirks. “I remain grateful that Denver is a top location for every other sport.”

“Yeah, because you all get to be in better condition than your opponents! It’s literally the most home field advantage. But no, not baseball. Pitches have reduced break and more homeruns are hit!”

“Have you considered blackmailing a pitcher into coming here?” I sit up straighter as the words leave my mouth. “Yes. Okay, hear me out. I’m onto something.”

Finley stares at me in shock as Sage laughs so hard her forehead is on the table, her shoulders shaking.