Me: What’re you doing?
Luce: End of mock trial practice. May not make it home. Was so horrible may commit hara-kari.
Me: Can that wait until tomorrow? I’d like to see you again.
Luce: I plan to watch a psychological drama with my roommates. U?
Me: Losing badly at FIFA Soccer to Hammer.
“What about laying the lumber?”
I look up from my phone and share a smirk with Hammer. One particular college football commentator constantly uses some variation of “laying the lumber” or “laying the wood” when referencing a hard hit. Why? None of us can figure it out, but we laugh like we’re in middle school every time he says it. He says it a lot.
“Absolutely, you need to include that one,” I inform Hammer before returning to my texts.
Luce: Sounds thrilling.
Me: How hard and fast was that one-night rule?
There’s a long pause, and the stupid animated ellipsis cycles repeatedly from one end of the tiny gray balloon to the other while I stare at the screen like Moses waiting for the ten commandments to be inscribed in the stone tablets. Whoever thought of that texting feature should be shot.
Finally, the text comes through.
Luce: I don’t know. Suppose you can come over.
I get up the second I’m done reading the text. Hammer grabs my sweats. “What the hell? We’re in the middle of a game.”
“I forfeit.”
“You going to Lucy’s place? Have you talked to her about Ace yet?”
“I’m handling it.” I scowl. Way to be a buzzkill, Hammer.
“Handling it how? Because I was talking to Bish the other night and he said Ace hasn’t indicated that he’s interested in joining Bish’s backfield. Plus, he said that some of the O-line guys are pissed off about it and are looking for a little off-season throwdown. Situation is going to get out of control if you don’t do something.”
“Great. Why don’t you tell Bish to worry about getting the secondary in shape with the guys he has? I’ll worry about Ace.”
“This Lucy girl has to have some influence on Ace. I mean, look at Masters and Ellie. She’s got him wrapped around her finger. If she asked him to move to safety, he’d be doing drills with Bish tomorrow,” Hammer insists.
“I’m getting sick and tired of people lumping Ace and Lucy together. They aren’t a fucking couple.”
“Hey, man. Maybe not in Lucy’s mind, but he’s got her picture in his locker.”
“So fucking what?” Jesus, I’m reduced to being jealous of a girl’s friend. I don’t like that about me, but I can’t deny the truth of it. Every time I think of Ace and Lucy together, it makes me want to crush objects into tiny, dusty particles.
Hammer backs away. “Why don’t you put your guns away. We don’t have to talk about it right now. We can table it.” I look down and see my hands curled into fists. “I do have some advice about Lucy, though. First, you should admit your feelings to her. Girls love feelings. They love talking about their feelings. So tell her that she makes you think of birds and flowers.”
“Birds and flowers?” I gape at him. The last thing I think of when it comes to Lucy is birds and flowers. Big words, long blond hair, yes. Delicate, fluttery things? No.
“Second,” he continues as if I’m not even here. In fact, is he dictating into his phone? “Don’t ever mention that you had sex in the past. It’s good to be experienced but not too experienced. You want to be the gentleman in the streets, but the guy who can get his freak on—because you read it in a book—in the sheets. Third—”
I hold up my hand before Hammer can go on. “No, sorry. I don’t listen to your advice anymore.”
He looks hurt. “Why not? I’m a professional.”
“Your articles consist of how to recognize when your type is the asshole and what to do next and how to enjoy yourself when your partner is selfish, which have zero to do with dating.”
“They have everything to do with dating,” Hammer protests.
“If you have a vagina, which I don’t. I’m asking Masters.”
“Wait a second. Masters? Dude was a virgin six months ago.”
“And now he’s married.”
I run upstairs to the third-floor apartment and pound on the door. It swings open a minute later, and Ellie steps out, flushed. “Bye, babe.”
Masters is right behind her sporting sleepy eyes and a smug-as-shit smile. They just had sex.
“Ellie, just the person I want to talk to. I’m going over to a girl’s place. Should I bring something?”
“I don’t know. What’s the context?”
“We’re just hanging out.” Hopefully having sex later so I can wear the same smug-as-shit smile.
“Yeah, I’d definitely bring something. Maybe something to drink. A snack even. If you’re hungry, bring something for yourself.”
I know exactly what I’ll bring. “Thanks.”
Hammer’s at the base of the stairs looking offended. “I could have given you that advice.”
“Dude, fine. Next time I need some advice on obscure phrases for sex, I’ll come to you. Now get out of the way. I need to throw some clothes on and get to the Brew House.”
* * *
“HEY, ladies.”
Two girls, one with purple hair who I saw walking with Luce the other day and a brunette, stand just inside the entrance to Luce’s apartment. Both faces hold a certain amount of skepticism, as if opening the door wider might let in a host of demons, not just one dude.