“Grab two, would ya? I already ordered pizzas for the both of us.”
I tilt back, peering around the doorway into the living room, brows high. Lamar.
He’s lounging on one of the couches, Patrick beside him, and the front pouch of his team hoodie is twitching. Guess he decided to stay in as well.
“Please tell me that’s Meatball,” I say flatly as I drop two beers on the tiny table before settling down on the other couch. I’d barely broken a sweat on my short jog and ended up walking most of the way back, so the shower can wait.
“What else could it be, babes?” he says cheerfully, gently tapping the bulge beneath his sweater. “He gets separation anxiety.”
I blink. Slowly. “You meanyouget separation anxiety.”
“Semantics,” he says, stroking Patrick’s head before giving him a little nudge my way. I swear, if he shits on my lap one more time, I might bring them back to my parents myself.
“Anyway, you looked mopey when you stormed off the field—we won, by the way—so I brought the emotional support animals. You’re welcome.”
I let out a breath and shake my head when he plops Meatball in my lap, snatching Patrick back for himself. The little guy lifts his pink nose, blinking up at me with those cute beady eyes, and shit, it actually helps. I can’t help but grin a little as I scratch under his chin.
“Congrats on the win, I guess,” I say as Meatball nestles into the crook of my arm like he owns the place.
“Pfft. We already had it in the bag before you left, dipshit. You know why they pulled you, right?”
“I fumbled.”
He gives me a look. “To give Rafa some playing time. Was this your best game? Definitely not. Far from it, even. But even when you’re not at your best like you were tonight, you’re still better than any other fucking player on the field. Nope. Coach didn’t pull you because you fumbled. He pulled you because we’re gone next year, and he needs to prep his new starter.”
I scoff. “Coach said I wasn’t in the game.”
“And that’s true. But that’s not why they pulled you and you know it.” He cracks open both beers against the edge of the table like some damn frat king and hands me one. “You know what’ll cheer you right up? Something amazing happened when we got back.”
I take a sip and lift a brow, not entirely sure I want to know what qualifies as “amazing” in Lam-Lam Land.
He holds out Patrick like he’s the almighty Simba. “Patrick defies all the laws of nature!”
I want to roll my eyes, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the twenty-something years we’ve been best friends, it’s to just roll with whatever nonsense he comes up with. “Okay… and why does our duck defy the laws of nature?”
“He just laid eggs!”
I blink at him and don’t even bother to catch Meatball when he uses my legs as a ramp to the floor and scurries off. “He what?”
“I think Patrick’s a Patrice! We’re gonna get babies!”
“You know that’s not how it works, right? You now have two female ducks and no male duck. They need to be fertilized and shit.”
“Yeah? But they laid eggs, right? Eggs mean baby ducks. He sat right on top of them.”
I blink slowly, raise my brows, and press my mouth into a tight line. Sometimes I honestly wonder if we hit him in the head with a football one too many times. “Do I need to call Kaylee?” I ask, mentioning my ex. Her mom’s the vet who gave us the ducks.
The big goof cocks his head. “Maybe. I’m also thinkingPatricemight be aPatrick. I think we switched genders.”
I swear my head’s spinning. “So what? Do we have transgender ducks now?”
“I mean, they can be whatever they want to be, right?”
I open my mouth, then close it again, and just decide to send Kaylee a picture of the ducks, because fuck it.
“Wanna watchReacher? Come on, buddy,” Lam says as he puts Patrick on the floor. “Go back to your babies like the good daddy you are.”
I shake my head as I watch him, orher, wander off to the open window. “Won’t the guys be mad we’ll finish this season without them?”
