“Dude, there’s a tree going through the house.”
“Yeah, the owner mentioned that,” Matty said.
He ran a hand through his strawberry-blond curls. His hair had made somewhat of a splash online. A group of overzealous fans had even dubbed themselves the “Curl Girls.”
“But maybe I can incorporate that into the house somehow.”
“Or maybe,” I suggested. “You could do the town council a favor and bulldoze the whole thing to the ground.”
As the two homeowners on the team, Matty had invited Soren and me to tour the old farmhouse before he bought it. Set about fifteen minutes outside of downtown Rose City and twenty minutes from the stadium, it was clear what had attracted him to the property.
Matty was a farm boy from rural Alabama. He wasn’t made for high-rises or city living. The house—which from now on would be referred to as the Bruised Banana—came with ten acres of land, two barn structures that were in worse shape than the house, and a pond that was home to ten different bird breeds.
It was a Southern boy’s dream, so long as you looked beyond the questionable sludge and debris.
Matty’s whistle tore through the air.
Seconds later, Matty’s basset hound puppy, Mo, came tearing out of a bush. I couldn’t help but laugh as she raced across the yard, ears flopping in the wind, and straight into Matty’s arms.
He rolled the dog over onto her back, cradling her like a baby. “See, Mo likes it.”
“Mo likes shoes and purses, too,” Soren deadpanned.
“She has expensive taste.”
Matty had learned very quickly into his relationship with Mo that she was a territorial bitch. She did not like other women in his life, and that included his now ex-girlfriend. After spending the night together, she and Matty had woken up to find what was left of her Gucci purse and heels in tatters on the living room floor.
She’d given him an ultimatum: her or the dog. She now lived in Denver. Mo, on the other hand, shared a California king with Matty.
“Just picture it.” Matty walked us out of the yard and into the house. “We gut the kitchen and tear down the wall between the dining and living room. This wall comes down, too.” He knocked on the flimsy drywall separating the downstairs bedroom. “That becomes part of the fully open concept downstairs. Almost like a loft space. The upstairs becomes my bedroom, and we put two more in the basement, along with a second bathroom.”
“That all sounds great,” Soren said. “But who’s thisweyou keep mentioning?”
Matty smiled. “So, here’s the thing—”
“No.”
Soren and I spoke in unison.
“C’mon, it’ll be fun.” Matty and I had two very different ideas of fun. “Plus, you just wrapped up a renovation of your own,” he added, gesturing toward Soren. “Andyou,” he said, pointing at me. “You spend every free Saturday at Lowe’s. Plus, it wouldn’t just be us. My oldest brother and his wife are both contractors. They’re going to spend November and December helping me reframe everything.
Soren smacked Matty’s back, hard enough to jolt the sleeping dog in his arms. “Sounds like you have your bases covered then.”
“What else do you have planned for the offseason, cap? Sleeping in every morning? Spending your nights watchingRuPaul’s Drag Raceon the couch with Clarke?”
Soren’s eyes lit up at the mere mention of his girlfriend. “Sounds good to me.”
“You’ll get bored.”
“You underestimate just how much I enjoy my girlfriend’s thighs wrapped around my head.”
“Jesus.” Matty coughed, sending me into another fit of laughter. “What about you?” he demanded when I finally caught my breath.
“What about me?”
“Do you and Nessa have holiday plans?”
I quickly referred to the fifth rule on Nessa’s list—the one that I had printed and folded up for safekeeping in my wallet.
