“Like the way I cried the day you handed over your manhood to Sabrina on your wedding day?”
I get a couple ofoohsfrom the guys.
“Hey, I don’t understand why you were crying for me. I get a home cooked meal and a blow job every night. What do you get?”
The therapy room fills with raucous laughter. Even the strait laced Doctor Collingswood cracks a smile.
“You’re such a jackass.”
I flick an ice cube at his head.
“I’ll take that as a compliment coming from you. Oh, by the way, guess what I heard?”
“Aren’t you the fucking busybody this week?”
“It’s about Owens,” he singsongs.
Of course, that gets my immediate attention. I take the bait.
“What?”
“That guy Jim from The Examiner was overheard talking about her. Something about her fat ass.”
“You’re lying.”
I can feel my pressure rising.
“Why would I lie? You think half of the team isn’t looking at Owens when she comes to practice in those fucking tight workout pants and tiny T-shirts with no bra?”
“Who’s looking at her?!” I yell to the room. “Who is looking at Owens?”
A couple teammates on my offensive line start slowly raising their hands. Belkin. Rand. Hobson. What the fuck?
“Sorry, but she’s hot, Coop.”
“Owens is not to be fucked with!” I bark.
“We know, dawg. That’s why no one has.”
“What else did Jim say?” I ask Saint.
“He’s taking your girl to dinner this week.”
“What?” I shake my head in disbelief. “It must have something to do with the interview I said I’d do. Owens doesn’t date.”
“Owens is doing a lot of things she didn’t used to do.”
“It’s not a fucking date.”
“Well, what else would you call it?”
“There’s no way that she would give someone like him the time of day. I’m telling you this is all about that damn interview that I already regret agreeing to.”
“Whatever you need to believe.”
“Yo, what the hell is she doing?” I splash the ice water angrily with my fist.
“Hey, watch it!”
