Hard.As in,notan accident.
So I pushed that mangy pervert, which was a completely appropriate response.
Unfortunately, he lost his balance and toppled over backward, tumbling down quite a few of the steep stadium stairs. Like, alotof stairs.
And he took out a popcorn vendor on his way down (which later led to the crazy-viral meme of his barrel roll set to “Rollin’ ” by Limp Bizkit).
Yes, the jumbotron cameras captured my “violent outburst” just as it happened (though they missed the ass grab), so I was now the villain, public enemy number one—God help me—Football Karen.
Especially because we went on to lose that game.
Our star tight end who never made mistakes dropped a perfectly thrown pass just before time expired, but instead of blaming him for the loss, the entire city of Minneapolis was blaming me for giving the team “bad mojo.”
Apparently, I’d cursed the Coyotes.
It was absurd and ridiculous, but I was slightly terrified to think what could happen if Minnesota had a shitty season.
We might have to move states.
“Welcome, Duffy,” Kel said with a blindingly white grin, crossing her legs as I sat down. “You’ve had an interesting couple of weeks, yes?”
“You could say that,” I said, andof coursethe microphone screeched in a way that made everyone cringe and cover their ears.
Fabulous. The way to Minneapolis’s forgiveness is definitely to damage their eardrums.
“Well, we want to hear all about it,” Kell said, his bright smile matching that of his cohost wife’s. “But first, we’re going to bring out another guest so we can discuss it together.”
Oh, God.Were they going to bring out Carl? I’d memorized all the nicey-nice things my dad wanted me to say in hopes of making us marginally less hated, but I had no idea how to play a conversation with the pervy mascot who’d ruined my life.
“Who is it?” I asked a little too intensely, wondering if I’d be able to deny the urge to push him again if he dared show his snout in front of me. “Who’s here?”
Kel shot me a weird look, as if she hadn’t expected me to respond like someone on the edge.
Am I sweating?
“You’re about to find out,” Kell interjected through his cheesy smile, his eyes slightly widened like he was worried—or excited—that I was about to have a meltdown. “Friends, can we give it up for Coyotes tight end Connor Cunningham?”
My mouth dropped wide open—I caught a glimpse of it on oneof the many monitors mounted around the studio—as the crowd went wild and Connor Freaking Cunningham walked out onto the stage. Kel and Kell stood, so I stood, too, and I watched in disbelief as the man who’d single-handedly delivered my fantasy football championship last year grinned and shook Kel’s hand.
Connor Cunningham was a massive human. Six five, 260 pounds, with size 15 feet and a hand size of 9.63 inches. I’d seen him on the field at every single home game, and on our TV for every away game, yet still he somehow looked even more enormous as he stood there within point-blank range of my eyeballs.
He was wearing a red Coyotes pullover and dark jeans, very casual compared to his usual suited-up high-fashion pregame fit, yet he still appeared wildly stylish compared to my Amazon Basics black cardigan, long black skirt that I borrowed from my neighbor because my dad thought all my pants looked too “dodgy,” and three-year-old black flats that I’d Sharpied on the way to the studio to cover all the scuffs.
My dad and I had loved him since he’d been drafted by the Coyotes—the guy was a beast of a tight end—but we’d become superfans after he’d been the only person tosort ofdefend my actions.
At the press conference after the loss, when they showed him a clip of my “attack” on Coyote Carl and asked him about it, he laughed his ass off.
But when he stopped laughing, he said the most amazing thing.
Kind of makes you wonder what ol’ Carl did to deserve it, though, right? I didn’t see him ask for consent before the hug, so he might’ve deserved to get laid out.
I would never forget those words, because it felt like therewas at leastsomeonein the city who didn’t want to murder me for pushing down an oversized man-dog.
My breath caught in my throat when Connor looked at me, when he moved to shake my hand.Dear Lord, that is a handsome man.His blue eyes were all I could see as his big hand wrapped around my sweaty palm, and my breath was coming too fast as I attempted to speak but instead just moved my gaping mouth like a fish gasping for air…or water…How did fish breathe again?
The noise of the studio suddenly sounded far away, like I was in a bubble, and I felt light-headed and dizzy as Connor released my hand.
“I can’t believe your hands actuallyarenine-point-six-three inches—” I breathed out, unsure why I was saying it out loud—Is the audience laughing?—but unable to stop my words because his hand was ginormous.
