Page 59 of All Signs Point to Malibu

I’m still plagued with the thought that night at my weekly poker game. A tradition that has become almost sacred as it’s my only real tie to my former life. Sunday nights when my football buddies and I sit around the poker table in my basement, with beer and snacks on hand, trash-talking one another, I forget that my career is over and that these athletes have gone on to accomplish all the things I’d set out to do myself.

Luckily, their skills on the field don’t translate to the poker table.

“Royal flush,” I say as I put down my hand and drag in a stack of poker chips. Even distracted, I’m still stealing their hard-earned league money.

“Motherfucker,” Damien Jones—quarterback for the San Diego Rogues—says as he tosses his cards onto the table. “This is bullshit.”

He says that every week. He’s the worst player of us all but thinks he’s hot shit, so he’ll never fold. Good thing the guy’s bankroll can support his lack of poker face.

I take a swig of beer, emptying the bottle, then reach into the cooler next to me for a new one.

My cell phone chimes on the table and I see a text from Hailey that reads:

Eight forty-five my place tomorrow morning for party setup. Don’t be late.

I grin. Her bossiness is starting to grow on me.

Damien nods toward the phone. “Looks like someone’s gotta booty call lined up for after we leave.”

The other guys laugh and rib me for my playboy ways. It’s a reputation I’m okay with upholding among my happily married bros. They’d never believe I was actually feelingactualfeelings for someone anyway, and I’m not sure I believe it just yet. After my conversation with Mr. J, I’m not sure I can allow those feelings to continue.

As if I have any control over the matter. If I did, I wouldn’t have caught them in the first place.

Damien deals out the next hand and I clear my throat. “Hey, what do you guys think of the whole bro code thing?” Maybe it doesn’t apply in adulthood.

“Bros before hoes?” Jeremy Dexton—a linebacker for the Santa Monica Heat—asks, collecting his cards and peering over the outsized, gold-trimmed dark Gucci sunglasses he borrows from his wife.

“No, more like dating someone’s ex.”

Jeremy shakes his head. “That’s like dating a dude’s sister. You don’t.”

I nod. That’s what I thought...

“No exceptions?”

Damien sends me a curious look. “Which one of our exes are you trying to hook up with?”

I scoff. Before marrying his beautiful, amazingly patient wife, Alexis, Damien had the worst taste in women. This guy was like a magnet for gold diggers. “It’s not like that. I was just curious.”

Jeremy sends me a look. “There are enough women in this city that you don’t need to fuck up a friendship to get laid.”

Loud and clear.

But what if it wasn’t just about getting laid? Did that change the rules?

It’s after midnight when I complete my pitch document to Coach Baxter. I took Warren’s advice—though I’ll take that secret to the grave—and did my research. Baseball plays, stats, etc... I couldn’t coach a team,yet, but I was able to identify key areas in a player’s career where they could use some guidance.

I’d always thought that researching and truly understanding the industries was a waste of time. My glimpses reveal most of what I need to know—which team to sign with, which to avoid, future injuries... But maybe I could develop my business a different way. Still use my ability, but rely on it a little less.

I scan the presentation a final time, then hit Send. I yawn, stand and stretch.

“Ouch, ouch, ouch.” My entire body is sore from the sports training with Warren yesterday. I can barely lift my arms and I was tempted to slide down the banister this morning to avoid tackling the stairs.

Three hours learning some sports basics had been tough, but Warren was an incredible coach—patient, informative, and sincere in wanting to help me.

But there had been a distance I could feel.

Obviously, the day before in my pool had unsettled him as it had me. So, it had been a relief that he was focusing on the task at hand and keeping any ridiculous flirting at bay.

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