Page 1 of Bluffed By the Offense

Chapter 1

Cass

If your dreams do not scare you,

they are not big enough.

~ Ellen Johnson Sirleaf

I take a long sip of my lemonade and dab at my temple and brow with a Kleenex from the box on my desk.

Once I start perspiring from the summer humidity, I don’t stop. I’m like a little sponge, only in reverse, exuding moisture in all the wrong places at the wrong times.

Does it matter that the AC is on in our office? No.

Do I glow? Also, no.

Apparently, Tennessee isn’t far enough south for me to have inherited the complexion of a southern belle. Instead, my wavy dark hair sticks to my forehead like it’s been pasted there. And what’s not stuck to my face is flying away in a frizzy rebellion against the month of August.

I came into Hearthstone Realty this morning with defined, smooth waves. Now they’ve puffed out into a semi-damp, unruly cloud. I grab for a hair tie in my desk drawer and stand in the open space between Loretta’s desk and mine.

“I hate August,” I tell her. “Except for preseason. I do love the early games.”

“Is there anything you don’t love about football?” Loretta teases me while I bend at the waist, tugging my hair into a ponytail and then twisting it into a messy bun.

I flip upright and purse my lips in thought.

I love everything about football.

The roar of the crowd. The physical prowess of the players. The strategy.

I love sitting in the bleachers or in my living room watching a game play out.

I love devouring a stadium hot dog while draped in a Thunder blue-and-orange plaid blanket.

I love tailgating, halftime, and those last two minutes when everything hinges on a single play.

I even oddly love memorizing players’ stats. And I deeply love my fantasy football team, rooting for the players I selected from all over the league to progress so I can accumulate points in a virtual competition.

I meet Loretta’s gaze. “Everything. I love everything … ” Then I pause. “... except Marcus Delaney.”

She shakes her head. “Back to him.”

“No. Not back to him. You asked if I loved everything about the sport. And I do. He happens to be the one exception.”

Her face takes on a scolding expression, but one with gentle love behind the warning.

“You’ve never met him,” I defend.

“Well,” she says, “I did see where he marched off the field without even a how-dee-do to the other quarterback after the Thunder lost the final playoff game last season. Reporters went after him like ducks on a June bug. They always do, don’t they?”

I know all too well how reporters go after people. And I’d feel sorry for Marcus if I didn’t know him personally. My sister, who is now engaged to a tight end on the Thunder, has definitely had her fair share of being relentlessly dragged through the media. In her case, they got it all wrong. When it comes to Marcus Delaney, it seems like the media caught a glimpse behind the public persona. And they did their job calling it out.

“He could have turned and shaken the man’s hand,” I say. “How hard is it to pause and say Good game? Even little league players do that.” My mouth pulls into a tight line. “Instead, he walked off without a backwards glance. It was rude. Sure, the Thunder had just lost. They were one game shy of making it into the Super Bowl. But a professional athlete doesn’t get a pass to act like a petulant child. Not when he’s being paid millions to do his job. And not when he’s a role model for young athletes everywhere.”

“I’ll give you that,” Loretta says. “But we all have bad days.”

“Doesn’t excuse how he acted. And trust me, it’s worse when you spend time with him off the field. Talk about bossy and full of himself. I don’t wish him ill, but Marcus Delaney’s not my cup of tea.”