Page 33 of The Player

When the fuck am I not? A few minutes ago. My brain loves to tattle on me. To mock me and make me realize what a bastard I am.

Me

She’s my best friend, of course, I’m going to be nice to her.

Lies. It’s all lies. She hasn’t been my best friend in years. Well, I’ve always thought of her as my one and only friend. But yeah, I screwed that up, didn’t I?

B

Does she know that?

Me

Of course she does. I’ve known her since she was in diapers.

B

Yeah, well, the way I remember it, you broke her heart, and you’ve not talked to her in ten-plus years.

Me

It doesn’t mean we aren’t friends.

B

Fine. Do you want to hang out tonight at the bar then?

Do I? I could blow some steam off. The idea of touching another woman after I’ve had my hands on Julie makes me sick.

Me

Who’s gonna drive?

B

Remember Dickerson?

Oh hell, the right-wing that always fumbled the ball. Is he still around? I always figured he’d be in jail.

Me

Yeah.

B

He runs the local Uber. Well, alright, he’s the only Uber driver here, but he can pick us up.

Me

How late does he run?

This has got to be the weirdest conversation I’ve had with my brother. Then again, I’ve not spoken to him in over four years. Hell, I need to spend time with him.

B

Until ten. We will be home by nine since we both have therapy tomorrow.

Me

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