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Okay. Yes. Maybe they were, maybe…
Just breathe.
“Glad to meet you, Iris,” Carlson said. He didn’t shake her hand, instead gestured to a waiter. “Would you like a drink?”
“Water.”
The waiter came over with a glass of water infused with lime and she took it. Hud grabbed a frothy beer.
“Hud, you might recognize a couple guys here,” Gripe said, and pointed to a couple men standing not far away. “I think you played with them at the University of Montana.”
Hud waved to a man who looked over at him and grinned. Dark-skinned, big, he had a lineman look about him. “That’s Duke Emory,” he said to Iris. “Played center. And next to him, the big Irish-looking guy is Aiden McCowell, safety.”
“They’re our newest sign-ons,” Coach Carlson said.
“Excuse me, Coach,” Hud said and pulled her away. He walked over to the guys, hand outstretched. They greeted him with shoulder slaps and man-hugs. He introduced Iris to the men.
“You look so familiar,” said Duke. “Have we met?”
“Iris was an NCAA official for a while,” Hud said before she could wave him off. But maybe these men wouldn’t know about the kerfuffle with Pike. Old news, really.
They’d all moved on in the four years since.
“You still officiating?” asked Aiden. Nice-looking man, blondish-red hair, cut close, green eyes.
“Not for the NCAA,” she said.
“Hey, Hud.” Coach Carlson came over. “Let me introduce you to our coaching staff.” He gestured Hud over to a group of men.
“I’ll be right back,” Hud said. “You okay here?”
She nodded. She could talk football with the best of them.
“So, you’re going to play for the USFL?” she asked Aiden. “Why?”
“I was tired of playing practice squad for the Browns,” Aiden said. “I won’t get as much money, but frankly, I just like playing.”
“You look so familiar,” Duke said.
“I might have officiated at one of your games. You played with Hudson, right?”
“Yes.”
“I was on a crew who officiated in the Big Sky conference, and we worked your games.”
“Wait—I remember you. You officiated in the game against the Bengels.”
“Idaho State, the one where Hud got hurt?” Aiden said. He looked at Iris. “Yeah. You were the female official.”
She stared at him. “Hud got hurt?”
“Yeah, concussion. You don’t remember this?”
“It was college ball. A lot of players get hurt.”
“He was carted off the field.”
She stilled. “Wait.” Like a fist, the memory punched her. “Targeting hit. That was Hud?” Shoot, he’d told her this story. Why hadn’t she connected the dots? “I remember that. I called the hit. Ejected the player.” But her stomach knotted.
