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I should have guessed he wouldn’t be fazed. Conner’s no stranger to the world’s sordid underbelly. He’s played a central role in some really horrifying shit. Something we have in common.
Guns and organized crime don’t make for excellent dinner conversation so I steer the topic to football. This is a subject where Conner really shines. He uses his hands a lot when he’s talking and his sincere love for his sport, for his teammates and for his fans is real.
It’s admirable, his affection for the game. And enviable. Must be a trip to enjoy what you do for a living. I never even made it to college, instead jumping from the uptight palace of West Emerald Prep to the sleazy depths of east side corruption.
Conner hasn’t touched a drop of alcohol but I’ve polished off another beer while listening to him talk.
“Do you think you’ll finish your career in Em City?”
He leans back in his chair, laces his hands together over his broad chest and gives my question some thought. “Not my call in the end, depends on which direction the franchise takes. But yeah, that would be the dream.”
“The franchise is run by businessmen. You’re a huge crowd draw and the best QB in the game. They’d have to be fucking morons to let you go.”
He shifts and moves his elbows to the table, hunching forward with a glimmer in his eye. “Keep talking, Marchenko. I like where you’re going with this.”
“As if you don’t already receive heaping praise from all directions.”
“Every day. But it means more coming from you.”
I don’t need a mirror to know that my cheeks are reddening. No one else can get me blushing and tongue tied the way this guy can. “You have the whole world at your feet. Why would you care what I think?”
“Because you don’t hand out much praise. And because I like you.”
I’ll have to pretend I didn’t hear his last statement. “The Cyclones need to invest in better defense to give you some breathing room. It’s a heartbreaker to watch you brilliantly rack up points only to see the advantage unravel when the opposition gets the ball. And Digby’s retirement last year leaves a major blind spot when it comes to offensive tackles, which were already on the weak side. Next season you’ll be running for your life every Sunday if you don’t get more protection.”
He's already nodding in agreement. “Nice. That analysis beats the best sportscasters in the business. And you’re right. I’ll have to sharpen my running game so I don’t get clobbered and clock my brain out for good.” He taps his head. “There’s more than enough scars in there already.”
I never thought about whether his old head injury might impact his playing. “Is that risky for you?”
He winks. Then smirks. “Getting knocked down by a mammoth tub of testosterone is always risky.”
“But is it riskier for you than for others?”
His smirk disappears and the fingers of his right hand tap the flickering glass lantern in the center of the table. “When I was in high school my parents were told not to let me play. It’s not a hazard that disappears with time. A hard blow to the head would be a bigger deal to me than it might be to someone else. But the game is what I do. I doubt I’d know who I am without football.”
An invisible knot tightens in my chest. A fleeting thought of Conner meeting Lita’s fate and staring at nothing in an empty hospital room rattles me to the marrow.
“Ahoy there!” Our favorite fake pirate arrives to break the mood. He tops off our water glasses and asks if we can be talked into ordering dessert.
The beers haven’t supplied even a slight buzz. “No dessert for me, but I’m going to cave and get a real drink. Give me one of those Twenty-Nines.”
“Aarrrrgh, excellent.” Ahoy There adjusts a crooked black tricorn hat and swings to face Conner. “I’ll bring two, yes?”
Conner shakes his head. “Pass, my friend. I’ll be getting behind the wheel and I’m trying to make a good impression.”
When I bust up into wild laughter, Ahoy There looks frightened and retreats.
Conner blinks. “Feels like I missed a joke.”
Cutting off a final chuckle, I clear my throat. “It’s just surreal, the concept of Conner Wisemantryingto be impressive.”
“That far fetched, huh?” He rubs at his jaw. “Guess I ought to reevaluate my credentials.”
“Like you don’t know you’re impressive as fuck. Always have been. You never even needed to try.”
The words shot out of my mouth before I could think twice. It’s becoming a trend today.
His amused expression gives way to something more scorching. Sex is stamped in his eyes when they drop to my mouth.
