“Asshole.”
Grinning, I wave him goodbye. But once inside the Grouch, my smile fades. I think of Pen wearing the ring and I break out in a cold sweat. Something few people really appreciate is how good actors quarterbacks are. We need to be. I’ll need to be an excellent one for the next few months.
Thirteen
August
Some things can’t be texted. Or theyshouldn’t be. Not when it’s your brother who also happens to be your best friend. Discussion is needed, and truth? I don’t want a written record of this anywhere. I can just see it being pulled out at some future family meetup and being shoved in my face to much hilarity—for my brat siblings.
A call is in order.
March answers quickly. “Bro. Nice game. The way you lock-armed that tackle?” He starts laughing. “Fucking classic. I’ll never admit it at family dinner, but that shit was badass.”
From my end of things, all I’d seen was a brick-house defensive tackle charging my way, his helmet an enormous red ball. I could have run around in the pocket and hoped he didn’t flatten me before I’d thrown. But he’d been too close. So I simply put my hand on his helmet, locked my arm, and danced back, while I took the opportunity to throw.
Watching it on our playback assessment, ithadlooked like I’d been Super Quarterback, able to hold tackles at bay with ease. In truth, my ability to ward off a three-hundred-pound lineman with one arm, while appearing badass, was more about physics than anything else. But I appreciate the sentiment.
Huffing out a laugh, I turn on my truck and start the air. “What choice did I have? Not trying to get my bell rung.”
“The guys were impressed.”
March often watches my games with his teammates. When I was in college, I did the same for him and Jan as well. I still watch March play, though it’s often recorded these days.
“I have to tell you something,” I say.
“Oh, hell. I know that tone. It says,I’m guilty as all fuck and please won’t you help me out of it, oh awesome March?”
“Never have I ever said that.” Imighthave said something similar, but I’m not copping to the “awesome March” bit.
“Spit it out because we both know the truth.”
Sighing, I confess. “I asked Penelope to be my fake fiancée to improve my image for the team.”
Silence follows. Thick and judgy.
“Come again?”
“I’m not repeating myself.”
“Yeah... What the actual fuck were you thinking?”
“That she’d make a great fiancée.”
“She would. She’s very loyal and can keep a secret.”
“Exactly.” I knew he’d get it.
Another sigh comes through the line, this one irritated.
“Broseph, who the fuck are you trying to fool? More importantly, how are you going to keep your hands off her? Or is this a fake relationship with benefits, because somehow, I can’t see Pen going for that.”
“Now you’re just being insulting.”
“I’m speaking the truth. Sucks, doesn’t it?”
Scowling, I turn the air on high and glare out the windshield. “We’re getting along. This will work.”
“You’re going to get hurt.”
