When he sat, I took the empty seat beside him. “You and Tariq must be tight.”
His face took on a strange cast. “Yeah, these are actually Court’s tickets.”
“Who’s he?”
“Courtney Crawford.” Julius’s pause wasn’t dramatic, but caught my attention. “She’s, uh, Tariq’s wife. She said she wasn’t going to use the tickets, so he gave them to me.”
A game against the Packers? “This is a big game to miss.”
“Yeah.”
What he didn’t say, and how he looked off in the distance, spoke volumes. Was trouble brewing in the Crawford marriage? There was more to the story there, but I didn’t ask.
We kept the conversation light and focused on the game. When the first quarter was coming to a close, Tariq flattened a running back and sprung the ball loose, sending all the players scrambling for recovery. The suite erupted in shouts, but Julius’s was the loudest.
“Do you miss playing?” I asked when the roar in the crowd finally receded.
“Nah. Maybe, but then Tariq talks about two-a-days, and fuck that. Or Court will text how he comes home looking beat to shit.”
Julius made a face and took a long sip of his beer, as if trying to shut himself up. What was this reaction? He didn’t want me to know Tariq’s wife had texted him?
I should have left it alone, but I was curious. “How come she’s not here?”
“She . . .” He sighed. “Ain’t a secret, I guess. It’s not working between them anymore.” He glanced around the room, checked that no one else was listening, and leaned closer, his voice going low. “Tariq’s my boy and all, but she can do better.”
The picture snapped into focus.
“Holy shit, Julius,” I whispered, stifling my grin. “I’m guessing Tariq doesn’t know, or he wouldn’t have given you the tickets.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You want to fuck his wife.”