grab my stuff, then we can leave Tiger to her business.”
“Fine.” I’ve heard three-year-olds who whine less.
She gathers up her papers and heads for the back door. “You don’t have to run off. I have work to do at my place.” Her gaze moves around the mostly gutted house and she barely suppresses a laugh. “Make yourself at home.”
“You’re hilarious.” I mean it to be light and flirty, but it lands like the clang of a hammer hitting an anvil.
Her laughter trails behind her. I’d be happy that I made her laugh, but I know she’s laughing at me, not with me.
I see Duke staring after her and decide to take some of my sour mood out on him. “Seriously, man, get yourself together.”
“Did you see how she handled that jackass? It gives me hope that she could handle me too.” He elbows me in the side. “Know what I mean?”
I do know what he means, and I know he’s joking around, but the homicidal haze I’m glaring through doesn’t get the joke. “I’m not paying you to ogle my project manager.” The words are harsh and bitter, and I can’t take them back. “Shit. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You’re right, you shouldn’t have.” He jerks his head toward the back door. “I’m not serious. I was mostly giving you a hard time because it’s clear as day that you’ve got it bad for her.”
“It’s complicated.”
He laughs. “Aren’t they all.”
“Listen, man, I’m sorry about what I said. I was out of line.”
He slaps my good shoulder. “It’s okay, I’ll take it out on you during our workout.”
Great.
The reek of old jock straps, mildew, and sweaty teenage boys permeates every corner of the Ryder High locker room. I haven’t smelled anything this bad since I went to college. You just don’t find this kind of stench in a Division 1 university, and certainly not in the pros.
Shame. Because underneath all of the foul aroma is the sweet smell of school spirit, and a naive hope that you can take on the world and win. I’ve missed it.
Evidently, so has Duke, because he takes a deep pull of the fetid air into his lungs. “Ahhh, nothing like the smell of ass in the afternoon.”
“Nothing at all.” I laugh and throw my bag on the closest bench. “Let’s go say hi to Coach Freeman.”
Duke places his bag next to mine. “Wasn’t he coaching when you were in school?”
I lead us to the office at the end of the room. “Yeah, he was the defensive coordinator my senior year.” I laugh and shake my head. “Poor guy, he was only a few years older than most of us, and we gave him so much shit. It’s a wonder he still speaks to me. I was the king of the smartasses—every pun intended.”
“No. Not you.” Duke’s fake surprised tone is an indication that I’m not the only smartass in this duo.
Josh Freeman meets us at the door to his office. “You still owe me a vehicle, King. I had to sell mine because it smelled like dead poultry.” He shakes his head at Duke and says, “Little shits stole my keys and filled the cab of my truck with chicken feathers.”
I laugh and shake my head. “That’s got to go down in Ryder High history as the best practical joke ever.”
“Did you get caught?” Duke looks from Coach Freeman to me.
I try to stifle a laugh. “Not officially.”
“Shithead. Everybody knew it was the whole offense.” My former coach tips his head to me. “Led by you know who, but Coach Rhodes wasn’t willing to bench his star players.”
“What can I say?” I hold my hands out to my side. “There are privileges to being number one.”
Coach Freeman extends his hand to Duke. “Josh Freeman.”
“Duke Wayne.”
“Good to meetcha, Duke.” Josh turns to me. “You guys are welcome to all of the facilities. The kids are going to lose their shit when they see you, though. I hope you’re ready for that.”
“I don’t mind. And thanks for letting us work out here.”
“No problem, though I have no idea why you’d chose Ryder High School’s weight room over the facilities at Thunder HQ.” He holds his hands up in a what do I know gesture. “But whatever floats your boat.”
I make a noncommittal sound. No way I’m sharing how worried I am that this injury can’t be rehabbed. Only Duke knows how bad it is. The team doctors know it’s not great, but they’re paid to make sure