“Not at all, but if you don't stop that thumb, we're going to be having sex in public, and I don't think we want to get arrested again so soon after getting the last set of charges dropped,” I purr, leaning further against him. “That wouldn't be cool. If you wanna go have sex outdoors, we can book a vacation to Hedonism or one of those places in the Dominican Republic.”
“Huh, and I thought T-dot had those sorts of places,” Tyler teases me, causing me to roll my eyes.
“The only idiots who use that phrase are pretentious douchebags,” I remind him.
We spend the rest of the walk home laughing and trading jokes, much better than last time. We pause outside our building, and Tyler pulls me into his arms, his fingers brushing a lock of hair out of my eyes. “Oh no Tyler, we can't,” he softly mocks in a bad falsetto. “We can't.”
“We can,” I answer, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Because sometimes, fantasies do come true.”
We kiss, soft and sweet, our passion there but restrained for now, knowing that upstairs, we're going to go at it for hours before sleep overtakes us. Okay, maybe not hours, he still needs his sleep. He’s got practice tomorrow.
Fantasies can come true.
“April, can I speak to you in the office?”
“Okay Mr. Larroquette, I'll be right there.” I close the lid on my laptop and go in. We're flying to Vancouver late tonight in fact, giving us a full day to adjust to West Coast time before playing BC in their stadium. I'm going to be glad when this is over, as we go on a two week home stand after that, before our next away game. Two weeks at home sounds heavenly.
I go into the GM's office, and see a grave expression on his face. “Have a seat, April.”
Oh, it must be bad, if he's using my first name. “Okay, sir. Have I done anything . . . wrong?”
“You? No, your work's been fine. I just received a phone call from Baltimore,” Mr. Larroquette says, rubbing at his temples. “Since you and Tyler are seeing each other, I figured I might as well let you both know at the same time. Just a moment.”
Tyler arrives a few seconds later, dressed for a light practice before everyone gets on the plane later this evening. “Hey Mr. L. Coach said you wanted to see me right away?”
“Yes. Have a seat please, Tyler. I was just telling April, about ten minutes ago, I got a phone call from Baltimore.”
“Baltimore? You've got some friends in the States?” Tyler asks, taking a seat. “A hockey friend or something?”
“No. Actually, it was a friend of a friend who called. Mr. Newton, the General Manager of the Baltimore Marauders. Have you been keeping up with League news from the States?”
“Just from Jacksonville. I've got a friend who's a rookie for them, Duncan Hart.”
“Ah, the Wildcats, good team. That's beside the point. Mr. Newton's in a pickle, Tyler. It seems in their most recent game against New York, the Marauders lost both their first and second string quarterbacks to possibly season ending injury. Their second stringer might be back in time for Christmas, but right now the only quarterback he has on his roster is a forty three year old vet who makes Vince look like a sprightly spring chicken. He called me because he wants someone who he can plug into his offense and have a prayer of actually winning some games.”
“What are you saying? He offered me a contract?”
“Scaled rookie minimum. The Americans are on week six of their season, so by their scale, for the rest of the year you'd be paid two hundred and fifty thousand for a rest of the year deal. If you can lead Baltimore to the playoffs, you get a bonus as well.”
That's a lot of money. “Why are you telling me this? We fly to Vancouver this evening, and I didn't expect that you'd be so willing to get rid of me after my charges were dropped.”
The GM sighs, and runs his hand through his hair again. Tyler's right, I think he's rubbing his own bald spot down. “Tyler, back in the eighties the League and Canada had a bit of a problem. You see, they wanted to expand north of the border, and we wanted to expand south. Then there was the whole jumping issue, which had quite a few players jump from Canadian teams to American teams, stiffing us in the process. Lawsuits flew on both sides of the border, and in the nineties, when we wanted to try again expanding south, a deal was struck. Clause Fifty-Four.”
“You and your clauses,” Tyler mumbles, and I have to agree with him. The standard contract is twelve pages long, who can memorize all that boilerplate? Well, who besides Mr. Larroquette? “What's clause fifty-four, and why do you say it like it's in capital letters?”