“You call hersome girlagain and—”
Saints starts laughing hysterically.
“You’ll what, Coop? You gonna kick my ass oversome girl?”
I’m going to throttle him tomorrow.
“I should have known better than to call you about this.”
“And why is that?”
He’s practically snorting laughter through the phone at this point.
“Sabrina keeps your life in order. You’ve never needed an assistant like I do.”
“I keep my own life in order.”
“The hell you do.”
“Hire someone else, Coop. That’s all I can tell you.”
That’s not going to help me get to sleep tonight.
“Forget I called. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh, I understand what you need all right.” He continues with his incessant laughing. “I’m going to tell coach to give you the concussion protocol tomorrow. I think you have one. What’s ironic about this is that you’re filthy rich, marginally attractive—”
“Hey!”
“And so thick headed that you don’t realize what’s going on. You want Owens to sit on your face. End of story. That shit is funny.”
“Saint, I swear to fucking God!”
I want to reach through the phone and strangle him. My supposed friend. The only person besides Tito I tell anything to, and look what it gets me. The jackass is laughing so hard that the phone drops, and Sabrina ends up picking it up.
“Coop,” she says sternly.
“Hi, Sabrina, I—”
“Stop talking.”
“But—”
“Whatever you’re saying has triggered my husband into a fit of laughter and literally ten seconds away from peeing in our bed.”
“But I needed to talk and—”
“Stop.”
I shut my mouth.
“Peeing in my bed is not an option. So, I highly recommend that you talk about whatever this is tomorrow, because if I don’t get back to sleep in the next ten minutes, I could easily miscalculate someone’s payroll tomorrow.”
I contract Sabrina’s business management firm to manage employee payroll and taxes for all of my businesses. It’s probably not a good idea to get on her bad side. I didn’t think this through.
“I’ll talk to him later. Sorry, Sabrina.”
“Wise decision.”
