Page 44 of Quarterback Sneak

Never heard that one before.

“So, I’m here at Micro Pub finalizing the arrangements for Beth’s party. Do you want to join me for a few beers? I figured since the girls are tight, we should start hanging out.”

Fingers on the keyboard, Sam typed in his ID and password and hit enter. The screen changed to a plain white one with a blue border and jazz hold music began to play. “Thanks for asking but I have an on-line class starting in about two minutes.”

A woman’s voice cut in above the din of the bar noise. “Aaron, guess what? I’m getting off shift early. Do you want to have a beer here or go to my place?”

The sound cut out. Aaron must have placed his hand over the microphone. Great, Sam was about to get embroiled in more drama. From the woman’s comment, Aaron was more than friends with her but looks were sometimes deceiving. How many women had been linked with him unfairly? Maybe he should just hang up and pretend the call dropped.

“Sorry, some people don’t know the meaning of the word no,” Aaron said.

Did you say no? This wasn’t his business except Ivy and Beth were best friends. He genuinely liked Beth. Just not her choice of men. “An occupational hazard.”

“Shit yeah. So how’s the knee? I tell you, if the team doesn’t sign you soon, there’s going to be a riot. People in this city love you.”

“Seattle has great fans and I’m lucky to have them on my side.” His one consolation throughout this ordeal was the outpouring of support he’d received via email and social media posts from Pioneer fans. He loved the sport as much as they did and wanted to play, despite his pragmatic point of view.

Once again, the now familiar feminine voice, faint and garbled, came over the line. “Roommate…phone…in couch cushion.” Silence as the microphone was blocked followed by bar sounds.

It didn’t take a genius to put the pieces together. He stifled a curse. Same game, different players. Once again, Sam was the middle man. After that little snippet of conversation, there was no denying he had heard too much. Now he felt obligated to disclose what he found out to Ivy. Unable to stomach the conversation any longer, he spoke into the receiver. “Aaron, my class is starting. I have to go.”

Without waiting for a response, he hung up. He rubbed his temples, a dull throbbing pain behind his eyes. He hated relationship drama and was glad Ivy proved levelheaded. Some people thrived on the chaos. Sam had seen enough to last him a lifetime.

The laptop screen timed out and he wiggled the mouse to reawaken the session. Still no start to his class. Impatient, he clicked on his grant application, the screen went white, and a box popped up: file corrupted, unable to open document.

What the fuck? His heart raced at the message and a horrible sinking sensation weighed him down, even worse than before.

Jazzy conference music continued to mock him as he tried to open the file again and received the same result. “Son of a bitch.” He’d been working on the document for a month. It couldn’t be lost. Webinar forgotten, he opened another browser window and navigated to his cloud storage drive where the backups were stored. Logging into the portal, he found the document and sighed in relief.

Sweat beaded his forehead and his hands began to shake. What was wrong with him? Calm the fuck down. He tried to open the backup copy and received the same error. Then he recalled he’d overwritten the files when Howler had been there. The timestamp confirmed his suspicion and if he were the type, he’d break down and cry. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t.

From what seemed a long distance away, the conference leader began the introductions. A surge of dizziness nearly toppled him from his chair and his stomach rolled. Pushing out of his chair, he barely made it to the bathroom before a new hell took ahold of him.

Chapter Seventeen

“Hey Ivy, how’d the call go?” Beth rounded the corner by the prep station, her hand on her hips.

“As good as could be expected given the circumstances.” Ivy picked up the pasta dough, punching it before she kneaded the pliant ball. After wrapping up the specifics on the Seasoned Chef photo shoot, her earlier conversation with Alice had turned to Sam. She picked up the rolling pin and began to flatten out the dough, putting the brunt of her frustration into the action. “I told her that I’d love to be on the show but Sam wasn’t part of the deal. She said she agreed.”

“Did she mean it?” Beth picked up Ivy’s phone that sat on the counter and typed in the code.

“I have no idea. She didn’t come out and say I was no longer being considered. But then she had to leave the call for another appointment so that’s as far as it went.” Ivy wasn’t hopeful, especially given the coolness in Alice’s tone. She had expected the reaction but it didn’t make it less disappointing.

“Hey Ivy, the meat rep is here,” one of the cooks called out from across the kitchen.

Ivy glanced up at the clock over the prep station, biting her lower lip. She’d been so caught up in her head, she’d forgotten all about him. “Wow, it’s kind of late in the day for him.”

“He’s probably making the rounds. From what I hear through the grapevine, we’re not the only restaurant to get some bad meat from them.” Beth scrolled through Ivy’s phone, fingers flying across the tiny keyboard. “Aaron better find his phone and quick. I’m going through withdrawals.”

“Which should tell you something. You’re on your phone too much.” Removing her rubber gloves, Ivy dropped them in the garbage can.

“Yes, mother,” Beth said, never taking her eyes off the screen.

Shaking her head, Ivy strode over to the meat case and inspected the contents. The roll wasn’t immediately visible and she lifted a few boxes to see if it was tucked in the back. Nothing. “Beth, there was some raunchy smelling hamburger that I marked for return. Did you throw it away?”

Beth looked up from the phone, wrinkling her brow. “I haven’t thrown anything away. Hey,” she called to the prep cook. “Did you do anything with the hamburger in the meat case?”

I didn’t see any hamburger in the meat case, only the roll in the sink I used to make the minestrone for tomorrow’s lunch,” the man said, hefting a crate of tomatoes from a push-cart and sliding it onto the countertop.

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