Page 77 of Interception

“What the hell? You regularly witness the mayhem in my house. You know I’ll be fucked if I ‘let loose.’”

He claps me on the shoulder. “That’s the only kind of fuck you’re getting any time soon. May as well enjoy it.”

Anders throws his head back, getting a good old laugh at my lack of action.

“Low blow, brother. It’s not a laughing matter at this point. This might be the longest I’ve gone without sex since I was eighteen. I’m dying.”

“So, this is the girl you were mooning over, right?”

“Yep.”

“I never thought I’d see you settle down and get married with two kids. You need to at least have one drink. We have to toast to you becoming a dad and a husband.”

“Fine, one drink.”

While he orders a round of bourbon, I pull Hunter aside. “Do not let me get shitfaced.”

“Relax, Coop. Zee already text me with strict orders that you better chill out and have some fun. You’ve got a cool wife and a night off from daddy duty. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“She did?”

“Yeah. She loves you.”

“I guess a couple of drinks won’t hurt.” Famous last words.

It’s been a while since I’ve been accosted by fans. It’s impossible to avoid when you happen to be hanging out with two of the biggest sports personalities around. Anders is three sheets to the wind, staring into the bottom of an empty bottle of Jack Daniels after a couple of hours. He looks suspiciously similar to me the last time I was out with him—checking his phone every five minutes and ignoring the advances of at least a dozen eager baseball groupies.

Hunter is adept at fending off women these days. Everyone in this town knows and adores his Lady Fumble.

Me? I’ve been signing autographs and showing anyone and everyone cute pictures of my wife and kids. I’m that guy. Lame! I thought it would give the clear signal that I am not up for a hook-up, but apparently being a dad is a major turn-on. I’ve been handed at least six napkins with lipstick marks and phone numbers. One chick even offers to blow me in the restroom.

This shit just doesn’t appeal to me anymore. I take a few photos with fans just to get rid of them, and there’s always one who tries to steal a kiss. I manage to sidestep her, so she’ll have to make do with a blurred photo of me getting the fuck away from her. That’s when I know it’s time to go home.

“I’m going to hit the road, guys. I’m already the worse for wear.”

“Lightweight.” Anders is slurring his words at this point.

“Nothing lightweight about having a hot wife to go home to.”

He pulls me in for a hug. “I fucking admire you, Coop. You’ve got it all. I want that.”

“Then I suggest you call whoever has you checking your phone tonight.”

“You’re like the Dalia Lama of relationships, bro. That shit is deep.”

I turn to Hunter, who’s laughing his ass off. “Will you make sure he gets back to his hotel room? He’s drunk as a skunk.”

“Can do. You good to get home?”

“Yeah. I’ll get a cab. I can come back for the car tomorrow.”

“Cool. Give the boys a hug from Uncle Hunter. I’ll catch up with you on Sunday. We still on for dinner?”

“Yes. When are you going to knock up that wife of yours? I see the way you are with Aiden and Blake.”

“That’s a conversation for another night.” That’s not a no. Vaughn’s considering it. I know him too well for a placating answer to hold any weight with me.

“Later, bro.”

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