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“He’s probably bi since you yourself pointed out all the Rigger chicks he’s slept with. And I know for a fact he’s slept with Ira Whatsit—that ball boy or whatever you call them. That’s how I found out about his big dick. Ira said it wasn’t to be missed. He lied.”
Against my will, I pictured my teammate in the shower. He wasn’t exactly a porn star, but the man had assets. I wasn’t about to debate it with my assistant, though. That would be crossing a line. I grunted instead.
Mikey continued. “It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have hooked up with him in the first place. My dad would fucking kill me if he found out.”
I thought about Coach Vining discovering his slutty running back had fucked his baby boy. It wouldn’t be Mikey who’d get killed in that scenario.
“Well, I can’t uninvite him. Just stick near me or Sam and we’ll run interference.” I made a mental note to text Sam on my way to practice. He worked days as a contractor and some nights as a bartender, so calling him this early in the morning was a no-go. Ever since Mikey’s appendix had ruptured the second year he worked for me, Sam and I had become close enough friends to bypass Mikey from time to time, especially if it was related to protecting Mikey.
Mikey narrowed his eyes at me. “I can handle myself.”
It wasn’t the first time over the years he’d made the same statement. And he’d been right exactly zero percent of the times he’d made such a claim.
“Remember Jack?” I asked, ticking them off on my fingers. “Or Lonny, or Ben, or Marco?”
He gave me the evil eye and nodded at the casserole dish. “Eat your slop before you’re late.”
I pulled the top off the casserole dish and saw my absolute favorite breakfast dish. My heart did a little flip. “You made me egg surprise?”
“It’s called crustless sunrise veggie quiche.”
“No it isn’t. I named it when you first came up with is. You can’t fancify it just because you feel like it.” I dished out a huge portion, and Mikey slapped my hand away when I reached in for another half portion to add to it.
“I can and I will. One day I’m going to publish my cookbook, and it’s not going to be called egg fucking surprise. You’ll puke if you eat that much before practice. Why do you think I bought smaller plates?”
I glanced at the plate with a frown. “These are our same plates.”
“Pfft. Sure they are. Same plates. Stop being a pig.”
I squinted at the plate and turned it around on the place mat. The colorful design looked exactly like it had since I’d bought them my rookie year. “The decorator said they were from an art gallery downtown. One of a kind.”
“Well, your decorator’s art gallery must source from the same place as Crate and Barrel. What do you want me to say?”
I shoved the food into my mouth and groaned. Like clockwork, as soon as I’d downed half my portion, Mikey reached back to pour me a coffee from the carafe on the counter. I was sure he was already on his second, or even third, cup himself, but he didn’t allow me to have coffee on an empty stomach, and I sure as hell wasn’t allowed more than one cup.
“What are you doing today?” I asked, taking my first sip and savoring it.
“I’m delivering muffins to Kiki’s, two lasagnes to D’Angelo’s house, and a cold couscous salad to Hilltop Cafe.”
“The one with the feta?”
He nodded and took another sip of his coffee. “They’re putting it with their veggie panini on the daily lunch special, I think. I had to make four giant trays after it sold out last time.”
“Did you save me some?” It was a stupid question, and his facial expression confirmed it.
“It’s in your lunchbox along with grilled salmon, a big salad with eggs on it—shut up, I don’t want to hear it—an apple, some almonds, and your lunch smoothie.”
“I hate eggs in my salad,” I muttered under my breath anyway.
“Cry into your giant piles of money,” he shot back. It was one of his favorite expressions, and it kind of made me laugh every time he said it. Not that I’d tell him that.
“I can’t. Last time I did that, I tried wiping my eyes and my Super Bowl ring gave me a black eye.”
Mikey snickered, and that’s all I needed to hear to know I was going to have a great day.
And I did. It was the day after that when everything went to hell.
2
Mikey
I wasn’t a big football fan despite growing up immersed in it. Or maybe because of growing up immersed in it. But I still went to every home game out of habit. Maybe I’d stopped for a little while during the Nelson Evangelista years since he had a habit of making illegal hits that turned my stomach, but as soon as I’d started working for Tiller, suddenly I was interested again.
