Page 89 of Who's Playing You
“WAGs? Oh, I don’t think I’ve ever heard that before,” I said while I began feeling like maybe I should’ve asked Nicholas some more football questions last night instead of letting him have his way with me on every piece of new furniture that we got delivered yesterday.
“Wives and girlfriends, darlin’. You one of ‘em? And if so, which one of those lucky fellers down there belongs to ya?”
I couldn’t help but laugh with him now. “Oh. Well, yeah I suppose I do qualify then,” I said feeling bashful all of a sudden. This would be the first time I’d refer to Nicholas as mine in public and the thought of it had chills running through my body. “Um, Nicholas?” It came out more like a question rather than a statement.
“Nicholas? Well that’s not too much help there, darlin’. Which one? We got a few of ‘em down there,” he said.
“Soba,” I elaborated.
His head whipped over to me and his eyebrows were up in his hairline. “Soba? As in thequarterback? Well hot diggity, darlin’, you sure did snag yerself the prize pony, didn’tcha now? That’s at least how I look at the kid, that I snagged the prize pony from the draft that is,” he said and now I was more confused.
“Aw hell, darlin’, you look confused. And I realize I never introduced myself. I’m Atticus Banks,” he said in his southern drawl. “I own The Rage.”
“Ohh,” I replied, full understanding hitting me. “It’s nice to meet you Mr. Banks.”
“Ah, darlin’, none of that Mr. Banks stuff, that was my daddy. We’re old friends by now, you and me. Atticus’ll do just fine,” he said as he gripped my hand with both of his after I went to shake his hand. “What about you, is it Mrs. Soba or?”
I let out a little forced laugh, “Oh, ah, no. My name’s Scottie… Anderson,” I finished.
He didn’t let go of my hand just then but looked at me more closely, “Say,” he began. “Scottie Anderson, you say?”
“Yesss?”
“You wouldn’t happen to be that there painter, would ya?” his question took me by surprise.
“Oh, why yes. I am a painter. I also teach at Stetson U up in New Hope. But I’m not sure I’m necessarily who you’re thinking… unless you’re in the arts department at Stetson.”
“Now hang on a minute, darlin’. It’s not every day you meet a painter by the name of Scottie Anderson. And I don’t believe in coincidences. So let’s straighten this up right quick. Is one of your paintings calledSunset’s Breath?”
I felt my face flush. That had been one of my favorite paintings that I’d done some years ago and was one of the first pieces that the gallery had sold for me.
“Yes, that’s one of mine,” I admitted.
“No shit! Darlin’, you gotta let me introduce you to my wife!” he exclaimed at me, getting really excited. “You are her favorite artist! My wife, you see, she’s an art collector - connoisseur if you will so indulge the little missus - and she discovered your work a year or two back, andphewwy!She’s put me and every other art dealer on the hunt ever since!”
“Oh my goodness. I’m flattered - th-thank you,” I said.
“I’m not lettin’ ya outta my sight until my Trina gets here. When I tell you she’s a fan, I mean, she’s afan! I think she’s been able to snatch up about six of yer pieces and she tells me it ain’t enough,” he said and began laughing.
“I’d be so happy to meet Trina, and I’m sure I can get her in touch with the gallery that represents me,” I shared with him.
“Ahh, she’s already had me talkin’ to ‘em. She called ‘em too but they told her they didn’t have any pieces at the moment, and that there was someone who’d get priority to scoop ‘em on up ifthey got any new work. So then tell me darlin’, what do I gotta do to get my Trina on that list of yers?”
I just laughed at his earnestness and the level of praise that flooded me had me feeling ten feet tall. “Don’t worry, Atticus, I’ll make sure Trina has her pick.”
He hooped and hollered, garnering the attention of all of those in the suite with us. “Scottie, you just became my new best friend. Now, tell me, is our boy down there ready for this?” he asked as he gestured to the field below, where when I followed his line of sight, I could see Nicholas throwing the football around.
“He seems to be pretty confident,” I shared, but kind of felt like I was talking out my ass. “Although, to be honest with you, he doesn’t talk too much about his work when he gets home. He’s pretty humble in that regard.”
“Humble?!” Atticus jumped back and raised his voice an octave when he said it. “Are we talkin’ ‘bout the same guy? That one - right there - jersey on with the number one on the back? Soba?”
I laughed and replied, “That’d be the one.”
“Humble? Well, I’ll be,” he drifted off. “Darlin’, you do realize that your beau down there’s got himself a reputation right?”
Hearing that, I couldn’t help it when my mind jumped to a reputation of him dating and or sleeping around.
“He’s known asThe Divain the football world. You don’t get yerself a nickname like that, darlin’, without reason. I’m surprised his ego fits in the stadium, if I’m being honest witcha.” He then stopped, looked at me and then continued in a softer tone, “But… since he got here to New York, to be totally honest witcha, he’s not the guy we were expectin’. And I’m sayin’ that in a good way. We thought maybe he was just getting adjusted, or maybe his reputation was blown out of proportion - we weren’t sure. But he’s been, well, he’s been an asset to this organizationso far - far beyond what we ever thought we could expect. I’m just hopin’ that he’s the player that we’ve been-a-waitin’ for to help turn this franchise around.”
