Page 96 of Fair Ball

Long juts his chin out at me. “What are you doing in there? Fighting? We heard yelling out here.”

I block the entryway, so they can’t see inside my place. “What do you want?”

“Malcolm sent us. Said you’re not having a PR issue.” Long attempts to peer around me, but we’re all professional athletes, and there isn’t a whole lot of room to move with the three of us standing in the same three square feet of space. “But a girl issue.”

As I begin to close the door, Harold opens his big mouth behind me, all but screaming “Millie!” and Tremblay slaps his hand out to stop me while Long barrels past me, proving why he’s the top tight end in the league.

And he immediately stops short in the living room. “What the hell?”

“What?” Tremblay tears by me on a mission, like I’m torturing somebody. When in reality, it’s a demented bird. “Is that… Dude, you’ve got a bird? No way! Can I pet it?”

I heave a sigh and shut the door because these fuckers obviously aren’t leaving anytime soon, especially when Tremblay helps himself to opening Harold’s door, beckoning him out. The stupid thing hops on his hand, saying, “Hello, beautiful!”

Tremblay practically glows. “You think I’m beautiful?”

Long sniffs a laugh, pretending to preen in what I assume is an imitation of the hockey player but with a high voice. “You think I’m beautiful? Oh, bird, marry me.”

“Shut up.” Tremblay laughs good-naturedly then turns with Harold on his shoulders, like they’ve been friends for years. He asks, “What’s your name?”

“Millie, treat, please.”

“Your name is Millie?”

I plop down on my couch and lift my beer to my lips. “His name is Harold.”

Long assesses me. “I’m guessing Millie was the girl.”

When I don’t answer, Tremblay nods. “Definitely the girl.”

“I really don’t need to hear whatever bullshit your handler sent you here for,” I say, and they both ignore me. Long settles on one of the beanbag chairs while Tremblay goes to the kitchen.

“What does Harold like to eat?”

Although it’s the bird who answers. “Treat! Banana! Millie, treat, please!”

“Your bird misses her too.” So, it’s true what they say; Camden Long is a smug asshole.

“Go home,” I tell him, although I know they won’t listen since Tremblay’s returned with two beers, one of which he hands to Long, and then peels the banana.

I rub the heels of my hands against my eyes. “I can’t fucking stand you two.”

“Nice place you got here,” Tremblay notes, then takes a bite of the banana before offering some to the bird. “Got the river right there. Great views. Me and Jo are thinking about moving. Maybe we’ll check out this building.”

Long swipes his hand over his hair, stretches his legs out, totally relaxed. Like this is his home. “I thought you wanted a house.”

“I don’t want Jo to have to keep up with the maintenance on it while I’m away so much,” Tremblay says, petting Harold under his chin.

Long shrugs. “That’s what you hire people for. If⁠—”

“Why are you two still here?” I interrupt, and Tremblay raises his hand, as if it should be obvious.

“Hanging out with you.”

“I don’t want you here. I want you to leave, and you can take the bird with you.”

“As much as I think it would be fucking awesome to have a bird, I think Gus would have a problem with it.”

“Who’s Gus?” I ask and then immediately backtrack. “No, I don’t care. I don’t care who Gus or Jo are. Just go away. Leave me alone.”