Page 147 of Divorced from Number Thirty-Eight
I hold the frame close and whisper,
“I hate you, Gray Roberts.”
Forty-Seven
Gray
“You’re not here,” I groan, gripping the edge of my hotel room door, preparing to slam it shut.
“I’m here. Suck it up.”
Then I’m being shoved back and Leo’s striding into my room, bottles of beer clanking together as he sets them on the dresser, dropping the box of pizza beside them.
“What are you doing?”
He toes off his shoes, snags a slice and a beer then drops back onto the bed. “You’ve pissed off Smitty—congratulations on that, by the way. That might have been the first quiet flight we’ve had since he was traded to the team.”
I scowl, but since Leo seems to be settling in for the long haul, let the door slam shut.
Then, because it’s there—and because I skipped the team dinner Smitty organized—I walk over to the pizza and beer and help myself.
Leo doesn’t speak as I eat a slice. Then two more.
As I drink a beer. Then two more.
Only after I’ve finished does he ask, “You sufficiently satiated now to not bite my head off?”
I glare at him.
He just grins, helps himself to more food and drink.
I eat another slice, drink another beer.
“Am I turning on Parking Wars?” he asks. “Or are you?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m here with your dumb ass instead of bingeing crappy TV in my room so the least you can do is let me watch my favorite hotel show.”
“You have a hotel show?”
He snags the last slice of pizza. “What? You don’t?”
“I usually just watch shit on my phone,” I mutter as he picks up the remote, feeling overly full and a little buzzed and far less edgy as he turns on the TV.
“Lame. Middle of the night cable TV has some serious gems.”
“Like Parking Wars?” I ask as he pulls up the guide, inputs the channel…and then I’m lying in bed next to my teammate, watching people get parking tickets.
“Why is this entertaining?”
“It’s Philly,” he says by way of explanation.
And I guess, after having played against Philly, it is.
“So,” he says several episodes later, “you want to talk about it?”
I go stiff. “Leo,” I warn. “I already got this shit from Smitty. I don’t need to hear it from you.”
