“You’re not hungry,” he asked as I pulled around to the pickup window.
“I am,” I said, pulling out my wallet.
“John, you can order real food for yourself. It’s okay.”
I shook my head as I looked over at him. “I’ll be fine. Don’t you worry.”
That look of confusion was back on his face that I was beginning to recognize. I turned back to pay the attendant, then took the bags when she handed them to me.
Passing them to Brent, I pulled into a parking space so we could unpack our food and eat.
“So what’s the plan,” he asked around a mouthful of mashed potatoes.
“We lucked out. Practice is open to the public today. If he’s there, we’ll find him quickly.”
Brent nodded and continued to eat. “We need to get his autograph and a picture as proof. We need to buy some Rush shirts or something.”
He was right. “We can stop in the team store at the stadium. But I’ll be the one to get the autograph. You take the picture. The fucker knows who you are.”
Brent grinned from ear to ear. “I’d love to walk up to that fucker and laugh in his face.”
“No,” I growled. “Absolutely not. You’re gonna get yourself in trouble like that. Does GQ know you’re such a loose cannon?”
He shrugged and shoveled in a spoon of macaroni and cheese. “This shit is good,” he murmured. “And GQ assigns me to the jobs that need a smooth talker. Phantom is too nice and Dare is too reserved. He sits back and assesses the situation while I go do the dirty work.”
“And by dirty work you mean…”
He grinned, like a chipmunk with his cheeks full of nuts. “I use my personality to get them talking. I can extract information from people without them realizing I’m doing it. They tell me all kinds of shit.”
I nodded, wondering if he’d used that tactic on me. Tossing my container into an empty paper bag, I drank some water as he finished off two pint containers of potatoes. Good to see his appetite was back.
When we reached the stadium, we walked into the team store to buy some merch. We wandered around until we found the cheapest shirts we could find. When he pulled out a bright orange t-shirt with the wordsMy D is Better than Your Don it, I couldn’t help but smile.
“I’m not paying full price for something I’ll never wear again,” he said, reaching for my shirt.
“What are you doing?”
Brent leaned in close and whispered to me. “I’m buying your piece of shit shirt. Can’t I buy my new hubs a shirt to throw away?”
I groaned and rubbed the bridge of my nose. “You’re going to get us kicked out of here.”
He grinned. “Only if we fuck in the dressing room.”
I burst into flames as he laughed at me. He was such a shitass, but damn, I loved being with him.
I put my hand on his back and urged him forward. “Pay for the shirts and let’s go. I’ll be outside.”
While he went to the register, I walked out of the store to check in with GQ.
Me: Heading into open practice. Will update you afterward.
The dots bounced on the screen as I waited for his reply.
GQ: Good. Don’t let him go off the rails. When will you be back?
Did he know him?
Me: Yeah, okay. Going to try to get a flight back tonight.
