Page 23 of Cherry Picking

“Augie, I really don’t think—”

“It’s a mandatory session. I’ve decided.” He stands, stretching, and peels his jersey over his head. “You don’t have to put one on. You don’t have to be charming. You can sit in a corner and be an asshole, I genuinely don’t care. But you’re having a beer with the boys.”

I look up at him, defeated. “Fuck. Fine.”

Across the room, Charlie Foster is attempting to convince Kyo that he once scored a between-the-legs beauty in a shootout. Fozzy arrived at the deadline last year—hands like a magician, social instincts of a goldfish.

Kyo isn’t buying the story. “Tape exists,” he says. “Provide the evidence.”

“It was juniors,” Fozzy insists. “Before iPhones.”

“Phones existed in juniors. You’re twenty-three, not fifty.”

“It was a rural area! Terrible reception!”

“He’s lying,” Augie yells over, not even looking. “He told me it was a backhand flip last week.”

“It was a backhand between the legs,” Fozzy says with wounded dignity. “It was both. It was a masterpiece, and the goalie actually wept.”

The room erupts.

I find myself smiling despite myself. It’s a small, vapid warmth in my chest that catches me off guard. Four days ago, I was having a panic attack on a plane. Now I’m watching a kid lie about a shootout goal and feeling almost human again.

Maybe there’s hope for me yet.

My phone buzzes in my stall. When I grab it, there are two messages from my agent, an email from the league, and a single text from Evie. I ignore the noise and go straight to hers.

Evie

your dad finished the full afternoon set without a single threat from me. record it for posterity

also, he’s convinced your mustache is a “formal cry for help.” care to elaborate?

I huff a laugh through my nose. Augie clocks the shift instantly.

“Who’s that?” he asks.

I shove the phone into my bag. “Nobody.”

He cranes his neck, eyes wide. “Aw, Maxie. Is it a girl?”

I shake my head. “It’s just the woman taking care of my father.”

“Uh-huh.” He says it slowly, savoring the moment. “Sure. And she’s got you grinning at your lap like a teenager.”

“She’s doing an exceptional job at the thing I hired her for. Sue me for being relieved.”

I shove him off my stall and type a quick reply.

Briggs

the mustache is permanent. it’s the only stable thing in my life right now

Evie

tragic. but I admire the commitment to the bit

I pocket the phone before Augie can manage a second look. But the grin holds on, stubborn and unearned, and I don’t manage to kill it. Two texts from a gravedigger, and I’ve finally stopped bracing for the worst.