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“Nah, I ain’t get a text,” Hunter answered nonchalantly, only to perk up once he realized, “Wait. When y’all start textin’, though?”
“Awww shit,” Gerald sang, on nosy time like usual when he approached where we were standing and asked, “Shorty’s inviting you over for dinner now?”
“Me and a few others,” I told him.
“But y’all been texting,” Gerald stated as a fact even though it wasn’t exactly true, his eyebrow raising as he questioned, “During what hours, specifically?”
“Man, that’s none of your business,” I chuckled.
“If you keepin’ it a secret, then y’all must be textin’ on the late-night tip,” Hunter chimed in.
“Or as I like to call it, sneaky freaky time,” Gerald added, using some goofy ass voice that made it hard for me not to laugh as I told him, “Chill out wit’ all that. Shakira and I are just getting to know each other as friends. She’s cool peoples.”
“Yeah, she is,” Hunter agreed. “But I’ma still need you to be careful with that, bro.”
Considering Hunter was the reason I even knew Shakira at all, it was easy for me to assume there was some validity to whatever information he had about her, that fact lowkey making me nervous to ask, “What you mean?”
“Kiki’s cool and all,” he sighed. “But her family ties are a littleumm… how can I put this?”
“They suspect as hell, G.”
Gerald was the one who’d filled in the blank while Hunter responded with a look that said he fully agreed with that assessment. But from what I’d picked up on through social media, along with what Shakira had told me herself, I honestly wasn’t surprised to hear it; though I did make sure to confirm, “You talkin’ about her pops?”
“Yeah, her popsis…” Hunter paused, giving it some thought before he shared, “I wouldn’t say he’s dangerous. He just ain’t exactly the type of nigga you wanna be associated with right now.”
“Because he’s into sports gambling?”
Shaking his head, Hunter answered, “Nah, he’s not justintoit on some casual, FanDuel, DraftKings type shit. That mothafucka is aknownprofessional sports bettor. There’s a difference.”
“And that is?”
This time, it was Gerald who explained, “A regular person betting a couple bucks on us here and there through those apps ain’t getting the league’s attention.But if tens of thousands of dollars,sometimes more, are being dropped for or against us on a weekly basis by a professional who has direct access to our starting quarterback?Andthey’re hittin’? That’s enough to send some eyes your way, bruh.”
I’d sat through the seminar on the league’s gambling policy enough times to know they weren’t lying. But the fact that they also seemed to know quite a bit about Shakira’s dad had me wanting to get other questions answered too. Mainly, “How much did he make off our playoff game last year; y’all know?”
“Shit, at least a couple hundred thousand,” Gerald answered. “Maybe more.”
“Damn, that’s crazy,” I sighed.
“Yeah, it is,” Hunter agreed. “And you know with how popular that shit is getting now, the league is probably looking to make an example out of somebody.”
“Another thing he’s not wrong about,”I thought, nodding along as he continued, “That’s not to say you can’t fuck with Shakira at all. You just gotta be mindful when it comes to her dad, and make sure that can’t nobody ever say you’re on some funny shit when it comes to how you’re performing on the field.”
The advice was much appreciated. And for that reason, I dapped Hunter up while telling him,“I got you”. Then I quickly did the same with Gerald who suggested, “Sounds to me like the easiest way to avoid having any problems is for us to go undefeated. I mean, the only thing they can accuse you of when you winningis…”
“Deflating footballs,” Hunter interjected.
“Or using performance-enhancing drugs,” I added, Gerald responding with a scowl that made me chuckle as I asked, “That didn’t go how you thought it would, did it?”
“Obviously not, nigga,” Gerald groaned. “Y’all know what I was tryna say, though.”
Even with its flaws, Ididknow what he was trying to say.
Losing a football game was easy. But to win one, there was so much that had to go right. So many factors involved that was honestly more than any single player could control. And while some would argue that even in winning there were ways for individuals to manipulate the point spread,aka do “funny shit”, I knew that would never be the case with me, making me feel a little better about the situation until I remembered my current circumstances.
Will I even be in position to win games?
Or will I be watching the season play out from the sidelines?
That thought brought me back to Shakira’s text.
I could either spend my night thinking about this football shit and more than likely drive myself crazy in the process, or I could take Shakira up on her offer and spend the night in the company of a beautiful woman who was trying to feed me.
Putting it that way made the decision feel like a no-brainer. And since it had been a little minute since I last saw Shakira in person, I was honestly looking forward to that part alone, my bottom lip pulled between my teeth just thinking about her fine ass when I finally texted back,“Tell me what time, and I’ll be there.”
