“What is wrong with that guy?” Hammer asks. He has three sisters and ever since his away-game hijinks with his ex, he’s turned over a new leaf. He’s been pushing his sisters at his teammates because he loves us and knows—despite our occasional propensity to be dogs—that we’re decent human beings and would make good partners…eventually. Actually, if there’s a guy who should be giving advice in a women’s magazine, it probably is Hammer. He claims he’s a reformed man.
“This stuff is fucking with Ace’s head.”
“I don’t know, man. You don’t treat a friend like that,” Hammer says dubiously.
“Don’t make me defend him anymore. He told me yesterday he’s not moving.”
“The D guys are already watching the boy on YouTube. The backfield was talking about him over at Bish’s place and they were more excited than they would be if a whole busload of prostitutes were dumped off.”
Bishop Green is charge of the backfield—the captain over the safeties, corners, and defensive backs.
“Terrific,” I say in a tone that conveys it’s anything but terrific. After shoving my feet into some boots, I grab my keys. “Come on. We need some food. Once we have something to eat, we’ll be able to think more clearly.”
I think of Luce and her diabetes. I wonder which kind she has. No wonder she made sugar-free cookies. She probably has to watch every bite that enters her mouth. What a drag. “And I need to call my mom.”
“What for? You sick?”
“No. I’ve got a med question for her.” I motion for him to go get socks and shoes on. “I’ll meet you downstairs in ten.”
Hammer gives me a suspicious look but leaves without argument.
Mom answers on the second ring.
“Hello, Matthew,” she says in her brisk manner. A stranger might assume she’s cold. They’d be wrong. Although she’s a pediatrician with a busy practice, she’s always made time for me and has come to a surprising number of games. “What can I do for you?”
“What kind of food can I buy for a diabetic?”
“Vegetables,” she answers immediately. “Stay away from corn. There’s a high sugar content in that. Essentially green things. Fruit is okay but not great because, again, sugar. Apples are good because they are high in fiber. Fish is low in saturated fats. Speaking of fats, fatty foods aren’t necessarily bad. You should take her out for sushi,” Mom suggests. “This is about a girl, correct?”
It is, although why I’m considering Lucy’s dietary needs in my grocery planning, I’m not sure. Or, at least, it’s not something I’m ready to examine very closely. The kiss the other night rocked my world in an unexpected way. “A friend of mine has it. I just want to be careful.”
“I can send you a list. You could buy her some sugar-free items as a treat. Only in moderation, of course.” I roll my eyes, which, if I did that in person, would earn me a slap on the ear. “Sugar alcohols like sorbitol are fine. Does she have type 1 or type 2?”
“I have no idea.” Just like I have no idea what sorbitol is. “Is that important?”
“Not for you, dear. I have to go now.”
I caught her in between patients, I realize. “Okay, thanks.”
“Love you, dear.”
She hangs up before I can respond in kind.
Hammer’s at the front door, punching something into his phone. He slips the device into his pocket when he sees me. Guilt is all over his face. “Who’re you texting?”
“No one,” he says innocently. At my steady glare, he caves. “Okay, Bish. It was Bish, all right? He had a good idea.”
“What is it?” There’s no point in not asking. Hammer will, well, hammer away at this idea of theirs until I give it a hearing.
“She’s in mock trial, right?” At my nod, he gains enthusiasm. “You need to present this to her as a case.”
“I’m not studying to be a lawyer,” I remind him. The conversation is put on pause until we both climb into my Rover.
“You’re the closest thing we’ve got. The only other guys that come close are Jay, who’s a psych major, and Eggers, who’s studying humanities.”
Jay’s a second-string linebacker and Eggers is a cornerback.
“I’ve never understood what a humanities major is.”
“Fuck if I know.” Hammer shrugs. “The point is, you’re the captain of the defense now that Masters has declared for the draft, so even if you weren’t into the law like you are, you’d still be the person to do it. And she slept in your bed last night.”
Goddammit. Since when do I have to be the “leader” of this team? I don’t mind calling the plays on the field. That shit is fun. Even going to the center of the field and trying to intimidate the opposing team’s quarterback during the coin toss is high on my shits and giggles list. But dictating what’s right or wrong for our team? That’s the fucking coach’s job, not mine.
“Hammer.” I shoot him a quick glare. “You did not tell Bishop she stayed overnight.”
Hammer looks guiltily down at the phone he’s pulled out of his pants pocket. “He saw her coming out of the house, and I might have said something about how you’ve got an inside track on her.”
I take a deep breath and count to ten so I don’t give in to the urge to pull over, rip off Hammer’s arm, and beat him with it. “What exactly did you say?”