“I told you it was nothing,” he says curtly. At my frown, he mumbles an apology and heaves himself to his feet. “I’m going to shower and get ready.” He sniffs his shirt. “I stink. Pick out something for me to wear, will you?”
I guess we’re done with Stella and Matt. Tight-lipped, I do as he asks. There’s no point in pressing him because he’s not going to say anything until he’s absolutely ready. I rummage through Ace’s things and find a clean pair of jeans and a royal blue long-sleeve T-shirt with a waffle texture. After tossing the clothes inside the bathroom, I unpack my things.
Ace wanders out, dressed in the clothes I picked out, his wet, brown hair looking darker than usual.
He stops by the bed and traces the raised letters on the mock trial packet. “You don’t even like football players. You once told me that dating a football player seemed about as exciting as dating a block of cheese.”
“Are you still on this?” I rub my temples. I can feel a headache coming on. “I’m not going out with him and you’re right. I find most football players to be boring. You all have tendency to talk about only one thing, which gets boring after a while.” Except the two nights we talked, Matt didn’t say one word about football. I was the one who brought it up. God, am I ever going to get him out of my mind? Stop it, I order myself and refocus on Ace. “I love you, Ace. And I love all of your friends, but all you guys do when you get together is talk about the game. Different routes. Throwing down the seam. The seam? Really? Who thinks of these names? They’re all so sexual.”
“Guys think of them. That’s why they’re sexual. And if you think we’re bad, you should watch some wrestling. They have moves like ‘going out the back door’ and ‘rear naked choke hold’ and the ‘camel clutch.’ ‘Running up the seam’ is innocent compared to all that shit. Besides, guys only have one thing on their mind.” He points a finger at me. “Remember that.”
I refrain from rolling my eyes. I’ve gotten this lecture from Ace once a semester since he discovered sex. “What about food? Isn’t food important?”
“Only in the context of getting more sex. Proteins to keep it up.”
“Ewww. Can we not talk about dicks and hard-ons?” I shudder. I hit him with a pillow, which he wrests easily from my grasp. He might only be the quarterback but he’s still damn strong.
“Have you taken your medicine?” He jerks a chin toward his desk where my box of needles, medication, and blood tester rests.
“Not yet, Dad. But thanks for the reminder. I haven’t done this for the last ten years by myself or anything.”
He shrugs off my testiness. “Just making sure.” He abruptly, and wisely, moves on to a different topic. “Are you sure you don’t want me to say something to that Heather chick?”
“And say what?”
He pats me on the head. “Dunno. Stop making my best friend’s life miserable. I know you aren’t a fan of conflict.”
I give him a hug and realize he’s just looking out for me. “No, it’s too late. We’ve already spent the money on the registration. Is everything in life so expensive?”
Ace doesn’t have an answer because there is no answer. We both grew up in modest families. We are in that sweet spot where our parents make too much money for the really good grants, but not enough to pay for our schooling. Ace has a full ride due to his arm and I’ve got a half-tuition scholarship, but neither of us has a lot of extra spending money.
“I don’t think you should have given up your closing position to her,” he tells me as he pockets his ID.
No money for Ace. He doesn’t need to buy a drink on this campus. Everyone else is happy to buy it for him.
“She’s better at it than I am.” Or at least that’s what I believed after hearing her audition. I’m having second thoughts.
“"Meh, you’re smarter than her.”
“You haven’t even seen her in action.” And smarter doesn’t mean better. The debacle of my freshman year pretty much proves I suck at closing argument. “Besides, it was a condition of her joining the team. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices for the better of the team.”
He snorts. “Making selfless sacrifices means you get left behind.”
Classic Ace. Always looking out for himself, but maybe I should take a page from his playbook. After all, my mock trial team can’t make it out of Regionals and Ace took his team to the National Championship game. “Well, on that depressing note, you should go or my inspirational closing argument that I’m writing for Heather will be full of negativity, and I doubt we’ll win any points for that.”
Gratefully Ace accepts that. “Are we still up for the movie this Thursday?” he asks.
“What movie is that?”
“The Expendables 3.”
I make a face. A bunch of aging action stars running around making jokes I don’t get because I never watched the original movies to understand the references? No. “I close the Brew House on Thursday.”
“Not to worry. Movie’s over at four forty-five. Besides, you promised,” he reminds me.
“I’m sure I was drunk.”