As the door opened fully, Baller saluted Grady with a can of Bud Light. “Don’t worry, Gabe’s babysitting.”
Oh boy. “I guess I’ll go find your parents.”
“Maybe swing by the bathroom first,” Baller suggested with a wink, and then they were gone.
Fuck. He probably had a point.
MAX LOVEDhis team. Like, he really loved them. He loved them so much he endured two whole minutes of jokes about scoring with Grady after he scored with the team, drinking from Grady’s cup (gross, but also hilarious), not being afraid to get into the dirty areas, etc.
Finally the PR team made them quit because they wanted some footage they could actually use, and no amount of bleeping would cover the innuendos.
The party moved from the locker room to a stretch-limo-bus thing to Bishop’s place, where there was catering and a DJ and Jell-O shots and champagne. And beer. And—yeah, it was a good party. Max spent five minutes carrying the Cup around like a teddy bear, but it was heavy and didn’t leave a hand free for the kind of cup he could drink out of by himself.
Somehow he ended up sprawled next to Bishop’s girlfriend—where the fuck was Bishop? Max had no idea—listing slowly sideways while she hiccupped through a TED Talk on why cryptocurrency was stupid. Max nodded along until someone came by and said, “Hey, Allie, there’s pizza in the kitchen,” and she said, “Oh myGod,yes.”
So Max was saved. But now he wanted pizza. Except getting up off the couch seemed, when he tried to lift his head, like it might end badly. With vomit.
Then someone sat down across from him and handed him a paper plate with a slice on it. Max’s eyes teared up. “Oh man. You’re awesome.”
Gabe Martin clapped him on the back. “Eat up.”
Max already had the pizza halfway to his stomach. “Where’s your husband?”
“Puke and rally,” Gabe said. “Haven’t had to say that since juniors.”
The wordpukemade Max’s stomach churn. “Oh God.”
“Eat,” Gabe repeated. “Or it’ll be you next.”
Max ate.
“Grady didn’t want to come to the party, eh?”
Max sighed. “I think he didn’t think he’d be welcome.”
“Fair.”
Max nodded, then immediately stopped. The room continued to bob for several more seconds. “Yeah. He’s also awesh—saweosme. Awesome.”
“Uh-huh. You want some more pizza?”
Max looked down at his plate. The pizza had disappeared. The beer in his stomach did not appreciate its new company. “No, thanks, I’m… I’m good. Uh….”
“Hey, hey.” A bottle of Gatorade appeared. Ooh, blue flavor. “Drink this.”
Gabe Martin was some kind of angel. In a different universe, Max would swoon. “’Kay.”
He drank the Gatorade.
Time slipped away from him. The Gatorade bottle mysteriously emptied. Another appeared. Max talked to Gabe and Allie and Dante, when he finally slouched out of the bathroom, and then Bishop appeared and said, “Hey, Max, your ride’s here.”
“My ride?” Max looked at Dante. He thought it was Dante. There seemed to be two of him. There was a Gabe in the middle. “Did I call a cab?”
“I called your keeper.” Gabe stood and pulled him to his feet. “Since you wouldn’t stop talking about him anyway.”
“Whaaaaat?” Max complained. “Come on, I’m not that bad.”
“I did not need to know about Grady’s tattoo,” Gabe said. “Or how it lines up with yours when you fuck.”
