Page 47 of Bluffed By the Offense

While I’m in the middle of writing my jersey number, the guy says, “So, you and Cass Carter? I was her high school history teacher.”

My pen almost slips. I steady my hand and finish signing.

My instinct is to immediately say no, but Kate’s voice is like a specter haunting me.

“She’s quite a woman,” I say.

It’s a vague answer, and it’s true. Quite a pain. Quite stubborn. Quite adversarial.

“Well, I’m happy for you two,” the man says. “Tell her Mr. Stevens said hello.”

“I will,” I say.

I picture passing that message on to Cass. Her eyes will narrow. She’ll look at me as if I have the man gagged and bound in my basement under a bare bulb. I chuckle softly to myself. How did I end up here? Women usually love me.

“Okay, well … nice to meet you,” Mr. Stevens says. “Have a great season.”

“Thanks. We appreciate the support.”

I pick the package of NY strips and toss it into my basket with the potatoes and broccoli. Then I drive home to my condo on the outskirts of town. Declan’s dad built these at the same time the facility was being built. A few other guys from the team live on this same property. The outer aesthetic matches the feel of the neighborhood just down the road, but the four-unit buildings scattered through a wooded area still stick out a little. They’re the only condos in town.

While I’m unloading my grocery bags, I call my mom, propping the cell on the counter with the speaker on.

“Marcus! How are you, baby?”

“I’m fine, Mama. How are you?”

“Good. Tired. Good and tired.”

We both laugh.

“How are you, baby boy?”

“I’m good.”

“Got yourself a girl?”

Kate or no Kate, I’d burn my own reputation to the ground before I’d lie to my mother. “No. It’s all publicity.”

“Mm hmm. She’s pretty.”

“She is that,” I admit. “She can be wild as a June bug on a string, though.”

“Is that so?”

“Don’t use that tone, Mama. She’s not my girlfriend. We did that photo thing, then O’Connell got the hot idea to fix us up on a date.”

“I’m glad the boys are lookin’ out for ya.”

“We look out for each other. It’s a good team. They loved the jam you sent.”

“I just picked some late season peaches the other day. I’ll make y’all another care package.”

“No pressure. I just want you to know they loved it.”

“I like spoilin’ you boys.”

She calls us all boys. Doesn’t matter if a guy weighs three hundred fifteen and tackles men for a living. He’s a boy in her book. And if he’s on my team, he’s one of hers.