Page 35 of Draft Pick

“Hey man, what you doing?” Lincoln asked, losing his smile.

We had to make things work on the field, but no one said anything about what happened on our own time. Ulysses was arrogant enough to think he could crash our party without consequence but one wrong word, and he’d learn the hard way we didn’t play like that.

“Look, I’m just trying to make amends, you know. Let me buy you guys a drink,” he said, gesturing for another round that we didn’t ask for, but I was curious if he was genuine. Far be it from me to keep a man from humbling himself.

“Don’t worry about it,” I told him. “We all get mouthy at times.”

“Yeah, true, true but if I’d known what you were going through…I wouldn’t have busted your balls so hard. I mean, damn, tough break, you know?”

I shared a confused look with my boys before turning to Ulysses. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“The baby, man,” Ulysses said, shaking his head. “I can’t imagine. That’s why I wear double gloves, you know? I ain’t taking no chances with some chick trying to get me for 18-plus years for a few minutes of fun. Fuck that, you know?”

Both Zay and Lincoln straightened, immediately sober. Lincoln leaned forward, getting in Ulysses’ face. “You better start making sense real quick because you’ve killed my buzz and now I’m pissed. What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Chill man, back off, it’s not my fault your golden boy has shit for hands and for brains,” Ulysses retorted, abruptly rising from the chair when he realized the danger he was in. “Ask your boy. He knocked up some chick.”

“Get the fuck outta here, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Zay barked, rising to shove Ulysses away from our table. “Jesus man, you can’t even spread a decent enough rumor anyone would believe.”

“I ain’t lying, ask him,” Ulysses growled even as he backed away. “Go ahead, ask him.”

Lincoln advanced with a growl, and Ulysses took that as his cue to put distance between our group, which was the smartest thing he could’ve done, but my head was spinning.

Zay shook his head. “Can you believe that prick? Some people have their heads shoved so far up their ass their tonsils smell like shit.”

But I had a sick feeling in my gut.

Starlie?

Lincoln realized I’d gotten really quiet and peered at me with concern. “You okay? You look like you’re gonna be sick.”

Zay piped in, trying to be helpful. “Don’t give that guy another thought. He’s just trying to yank your chain because McKinley chewed his ass after the game because of that sack. Don’t let him ruin your night.”

But it was too late.

“Yeah, I know,” I said, pretending to shrug off Ulysses’ bomb, but I had to talk to Starlie if only to quell the turmoil in my gut. After a few minutes, I made a show of being tired, calling it a night early. I threw down some money to cover my part of the tab and made Lincoln promise to keep an eye on Zay, then bailed.

It was late — I shouldn’t go straight to her apartment — but I couldn’t stop where my gas pedal put the car.

I needed an answer.

Now.

It was close to midnight,and my shift was closing at the restaurant. My feet were killing me, and my back was already aching, but it was the epic level of fatigue that I couldn't seem to manage. My jaw cracked with a yawn as Sloane and I walked to our cars, ready for the night to end.

"Are you okay? You look exhausted. You have really dark circles under your eyes."

I laughed ruefully. "If that's your way of telling me that I have that pregnant glow, you need to work on your delivery."

Sloane chuckled, immediately apologetic. "Sorry, I'm not good at this, but yeah, you're totally glowing or maybe you're just sweaty, I can't tell."

It could definitely be sweat. It was hot as balls tonight.

"That late night rush was insane. You'd think the Wolverines just won the Super Bowl with the way everyone was talking. I mean, it was cool they won their first game of the season, though," Sloane commented, casting a glance my way, but I was determined to avoid talking about Cason and nodded without commenting. She took the hint and dropped the topic.

It'd been weeks since discovering I was carrying Cason's little Bambino, and my small circle of friends knew but no one else. I purposefully kept the circle of trust small because I hadn't decided how I was going to handle telling Cason — or if I was going to tell him at all.

I told Darby I wasn't going to tell him, but I'd vacillated between telling and not telling him, and I wasn't any closer to a decision.

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