Page 7 of Lessons in Lemonade

“No way. I’ll have Eric make it.”

Eric is a guy I found through the culinary program here at The Art Institute of Tampa. He wants to be a full-time personal chef, and well, I need to be fed. He wasn’t starstruck, didn’t ask to meet any players or get tickets to any games, so we hit it off perfectly.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“It shouldn’t. You love his food just as much as I do.”

He laughs, shoving his hand through his still wet hair. “Yeah, I do.”

Ten minutes later we pull into the condo building, and Zeus is waiting behind my front door for me as he hears us walk down the hall. His big tail is thumping hard on the floor and, like usual, I can barely get the door open before he’s on me.

“Hey there, big guy! How’s my boy?” I scratch ferociously behind his ears and rub his sides. There is nothing better than owning a dog. We never had one when I was growing up, but now that I have, I can’t see me ever not having one again. The love, the loyalty, the companionship—it suits me perfectly.

He circles around me and nuzzles me hard with his head.

“Yeah, I missed you, too,” I tell him.

Zeus was a spontaneous addition. I had honestly never even thought about having a pet—we do travel a lot during the season—but I was out for a run on Bayshore Boulevard, and I stopped in at the grocery store to pick up a few things for lunch. Outside, in a box, were three black puppies with a sign that said Free.

One look at Zeus and it felt like lightning struck through me, an electrical charge that shocked me, and I knew he was meant to be mine. That’s how he got his name, too—Zeus is the god of the sky. He controls the lightning and the thunder.

Of course, I had no idea how to take care of a dog. I took him to the vet, who couldn’t be certain what breed he might be or how big he was going to get, but I didn’t care. At the pet store I had the salesperson help me buy all the things he thought I might need, I got a book about caring for a dog and found a dog sitter for when we’re gone, and the rest is history.

Reid told me I was out of my mind, but I saw the way he looked at Zeus; he loved him instantly, too.

Now, over a year later, he’s eighty-five pounds of all black fur with just a tiny patch of brown on his chest, lean muscles, and floppy ears, and he’s just the sweetest boy.

Moving past him, I walk to the kitchen, drop my bag on the counter, and put the pies in the refrigerator. I do understand what Reid is saying about the sugar and unhealthy ingredients, but I just can’t help myself. Everyone’s got their weaknesses, and it just so happens pie is mine. Well, any sweet for that matter. I have the biggest sweet tooth.

From across the room, the sounds of Bryan’s name being spoken on the main sports channel catches my attention. Yes, I leave the television on for Zeus when I leave. I don’t want him to be lonely.

“Rick, I do think this is the year for Brennen and the Tampa Tarpons. They have every tool in their arsenal to make for the perfect season and go all the way.”

“I have to agree with you, Darren, and based on what we’ve seen just from the start of this season, the rest of the conference better watch out.”

On the replay screen between the two hosts is a pass Bryan made to Reid, another to me—the best wide receiver in the country, if I do say so myself—where I ran for an extra thirty-two yards, one of our defense crushing the offensive line of the Giants and sacking their quarterback, and one of our kicker completing a fifty-six-yard field goal.

Man, do I love highlights like this. It’s like reliving the adrenaline of the moment all over again and showing all my boys in action. Of all the teams I’ve played with over the years, this group of guys is by far my favorite. It feels less like a team and more like a family, and I’m picking up all the feel-good vibes everyone is throwing down.

Grabbing a glass of water, I hear my phone ding as I chug. Rummaging through my bag, I find it and see there’s a text from Billy inviting me over to his house for dinner (his wife Missy is cooking Mexican) and an Instagram notification. Dinner with them? Hell yeah—she makes the best guacamole. I fire off a text thanking them and saying I’ll come over, and then I open the app. There’s a comment from Meg on the photo I just posted, the one of me eating a bite of pie in front of the stack of pies at the training facility, the caption saying: Living high on the hog. Keep ’em coming, ladies.

Her comment says: Living high on the hog—more like being the hog. Oink oink, Jack. *pig emoji*

Ha, funny girl! A grin splits my face and I shake my head. She’s been giving me shit ever since I met her over the summer, and honestly, it’s become one of the highlights of my day.

Immediately after the wrap party at Zach’s winery, I found her on social media and turned on post notifications so I would see her through the noise. I followed the Instagram page for her restaurant, and she tagged herself on one of the photos, which is how I found her personal, private page.

Her feed is one hundred percent the girl I met at the party. It’s bold, full of color, and has a ton of pictures of her with her friends and cooking food . . . all in high heels. I don’t know how she does it, but I’m damn sure glad she does. Her legs are phenomenal, which I had to comment on, and so began the banter. Not a day has gone by where we haven’t poked fun at each other for one thing or another.

Did I want more with her? Absolutely, but she friend-zoned me pretty quickly, and well, I’m okay with that. You can’t win them all, and really I’m glad it didn’t happen, because I’m enjoying our exchanges way too much.

Responding, I add: Word is, eating chocolate-covered bacon is all the craze, and this pig’s got something you can dip in chocolate and eat.

Smirking to myself, I shove my phone in my pocket and grab Zeus’s leash. He runs to the door and sits like a good boy, waiting for me.

In my pocket, my phone buzzes with a new notification. Pulling it out, I see it’s Instagram again; Meg must have replied. When I open the app, there in the notifications is her response: the green puking emoji. I can’t help the laugh that bursts out of me.

Arroz con Pollo