You’d think he’d be the most upset during the season. I read the sports blogs, sometimes. I can’t spend too much time on there because I get angry on Ace’s behalf, but no one talks about him being an NFL quarterback. In fact, no one really talks about him playing beyond college. When they talk about him, it’s almost as if he’s a liability to the team—one that the vaunted defense manages to overcome game after game after game.
But no, it’s the downtime that gets to him. Ironically, that’s when I get to spend the most time with him because he isn’t up at the crack of dawn for practice and going to bed early because of curfew. And in this mood, he’s not going to share anything unless he’s ready, so I try changing the subject, but he beats me to it.
“You see Matt Iverson again?” Ace’s tone is nonchalant, but I don’t miss the slight edge to it.
“No. Why?”
He shrugs, not taking his eyes off the game show. “Just wondering if he’s still bothering you.”
“He was never bothering me to begin with. I told you, he was nice.” This new topic is just as bad as the old one.
“And I told you, he’s a dog. You’re not in the locker room, Lucy. They’re all dogs. Or maybe they wish they were, because if they could lick their own balls like a dog, they’d never leave their rooms.”
Matt Iverson is a foot taller than me, ripped like a stone statue, and big enough to break me in half. I nearly swallow my tongue at the image of the big guy bent over, sucking his own dick because that is kind of hot. Wisely, I don’t share this thought with Ace.
“Guys like Ives spend hours on Instagram before away games, looking up sorority pictures or local ‘talent,’ as they call it. Then they private message these girls and set up hookup dates. On every single away game,” he stresses.
Okay, that is skeevy and gross when Ace puts it that way, but something impels me to pony up yet another defense of Matt. “They’re young and single, right? And as long as they aren’t hurting anyone, then it’s none of my business.”
“Hammer, Ives’s best friend, nearly sat a game last year because he’d been injured by his girlfriend. He went to an away game, hooked up with a local. His girlfriend drove up to surprise him.”
I grimace. “I can guess what happens next.”
“Not really. He convinces his side piece to hide in his gym bag. Girlfriend comes in, starts making out with Hammer, his dick still wet from his previous go around.” I hate it when Ace gets like this, but I started it, so I have to sit back and let whatever is bugging him eat its way out of his system. “But it’s hot in the gym bag, so the side piece pops out and tries to leave. Almost makes it out before the girlfriend sees something move out of the periphery of her eye. The two get into a big fight. Hammer gets bashed on the forehead with a lamp. That’s Ives’s best friend.”
I don’t point out that the story is about the best friend and not Matt but I get Ace’s point. Matt is exactly that expensive purse. I give up on offering up excuses for him and instead, pat myself on the back for relegating him to the bad for me column along with carbs and too much liquor.
“Speaking of girlfriends, what’s going on with you and Stella? I’d think she wouldn’t be thrilled about the blonde in your bedroom.”
“Eh.” He shrugs carelessly. “Stella’s always unhappy about something. Why do you think she’s sleeping with me?”
“I don’t know. Because you like each other?”
He looks at me in disbelief.
“What?” I throw up my hands. “Why is that such a stupid statement?”
“Stella and I hooked up because she lives to piss off her dad, has a weird fetish for quarterbacks, and knows she’s not going to break my heart when she’s done with me”—I open my mouth—“or vice versa,” he finishes.
I snap my trap shut. Apparently they have an enemies-with-benefits arrangement. I mean…
“Say it.” He sighs and gestures for me to start talking.
“Sorry! But I thought you had real feelings for her. That one night we hit up that new club along the East River last semester, Stella spent the whole night talking to the basketball guy and you went home in a bad mood.”
“My mom had called to tell me Rascal was sick, remember?”
Rascal was Ace’s dog. He passed away soon after that call.
I nod, but remind him, “You looked more pissed off than grief stricken.”
“Can we just drop it? I want to talk about how you and Ives hooked up.”
“I didn’t hook up with him!” I protest but feel myself turn an alarming shade of red because last night I had a pretty dirty dream.
“Then why are you asking questions about him and defending him?”
I curl my hands into fists so I don’t give in to my urge to slap Ace silly. “You’re the one who brought it up! I told you I hadn’t seen him, and then you decided to tell me some awful story about two of your teammates. What’s going on, Ace?”