Page 86 of Bluffed By the Offense

“Yeah. You’re right. I didn’t call out of the plays when I saw we might need a different strategy.”

“You just said I was right,” she says, a delighted smile lights up her face. “Marcus Delaney said I was right. Give me a moment here to bask in the glory of your admission.” She closes her eyes and takes in a deep, exaggerated breath. “Yeah. That feels good.”

I can’t believe I’m smiling right now. After that game—at Cass Carter.

“Anyway, it’s not your fault, QB,” she says. “I mean, it is your fault a little. Your offensive coordinator made the call. You just didn’t trust your instincts enough to pivot. But it’s an easy mistake to make. You just need to read the room when it comes to a strong defense like Carolina’s.”

“Thanks,” I say, staring at her—studying her as if I’ve never seen her before.

I’m tired. The game was rough. Maybe I’m just in a vulnerable position. For whatever reason, I can’t deny that talking to Cass helped lift the heavy weight I’ve been carrying since we walked off the field tonight.

She’s looking right back at me.

“Did you ever think you’d be sitting in bed giving pointers to the Thunder QB after a lousy game?” I ask.

“No. Did you ever think your best post-game analysis would come from an office manager at the local real estate office?”

I chuckle. “Hardly.”

Treyvon comes out of the shower. He’s wrapped in a towel again, his hair wet.

“You two still talking?” he asks.

“Yeah. We’re about to hang up,” I say.

Trey grabs something out of his suitcase and walks back into the bathroom.

“Just so we’re clear, I still think you’re bossy and self-centered,” Cass says.

“And I still think you’re stubborn and too quick to judge situations without having all the details.”

“Okay,” she says with a satisfied bob of her head. “Nothing’s changed.”

“Yes,” I agree. “Nothing’s changed.”

“Well, you better get some sleep,” she says.

“You better get some sleep,” I say.

“I might just stay up all night,” she says, putting her hand to her mouth to cover a yawn.

“Stubborn,” I say.

“Bossy,” she says.

“Goodnight, Carter.”

“That’s Cass to you.”

“Right. Well, goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Marcus. Sweet dreams of me running my fingernails through your hair.”

I chuckle. “Thanks. And, Cass?”

“Yeah?”

“Your talk helped.”