Chapter 2 #2
“Yeah, and the kid bled all over the place because Cowher’s wife had one of those really solid suitcases, the ones that cost like a grand, you know?”
“Can we maybe move on from this story now?” Duffy asked her father as the entire place laughed.
It was funny as hell, the way these two were almost oblivious to the audience as her dad referred to her as “the kid” when she was in her twenties.
“I’m pretty sure you set up this interview to discuss something other than my unfortunate airport head wound. ”
“How about I jump in now,” I said, ready to make the Coyotes organization proud while noting that she’d just admitted her dad set up the interview, not her. Which actually made perfect sense somehow. “Because I’m dying to apologize to Ms. Distefano.”
“I already told you that sometimes people drop passes, so you don’t have to apologize,” she said with the wave of a hand, and I couldn’t tell by her straight face if she was being a smartass or if she genuinely thought I was apologizing to her for the loss.
“I mean, it was right there and definitely catchable, but Brown was also wearing you like a shirt so there probably should’ve been a flag. ”
“Oh, there definitely should’ve been a flag,” I agreed as the audience laughed at her criticism, “but I’m actually talking about Carl’s behavior.”
“You think Carl should’ve gotten a flag?” she quipped.
More laughter. Again, who the fuck was this girl? It was like I was being roasted—and flirted with—by some random sports fan who had a lot of opinions.
I kind of loved it.
“What I think is that the Coyotes organization would like to apologize for the actions of our former employee and assure you we don’t take fan safety lightly,” I said, forcing myself not to fall into jokes because not only did I need to nail this PR shit, but this was genuinely important to me.
“We value your attendance at our games and have zero tolerance for this type of behavior.”
“Um, thank you,” she said with a wrinkle between her brows.
“And we’d like for you—and your father, of course—to be guests in the owner’s suite for this weekend’s game.”
“Hot damn!” Tony said with a grin.
“That’s really nice and I accept the apology,” she said, shaking her head and clearing her throat, “but I think it’s best if we watch from home this week.”
“Duff,” her dad said sharply. “Are you nuts?”
“Are you?” she said, once again forgetting the audience when speaking to her father.
“This is nice and everything, but I’m not going back to that stadium until I know we’re not going to get hit in the face with hot dogs and hooshed with beer.
We’re staying home until we clinch a spot in the playoffs and are no longer considered a jinx. ”
“I’m sorry,” Kell interjected. “Did you say you were hit in the face with hot dogs?”
“And what exactly is ‘hooshed’?” Kel asked with an amused smile.
“So you think we’ll make the playoffs this year, huh?” I asked, turning in my seat to face Duffy. “Even with my butterfingers?”
She rolled her eyes and said, “Spare me the false humility after 1,263 receiving yards last season, Cunningham.”
“Oh, someone knows my stats by heart,” I teased, clueless as to whether she was a fan or a hater.
It was impossible to tell.
“Only because you were on my fantasy team,” she replied, but she was smiling.
“And how’d you do?” I asked, not surprised in the least that she played.
“I won the championship, of course,” she said with a huge grin, looking cocky as hell.
I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “Well, you’re welcome, Distefano.”
“Oh, thank you so very much, Man-Doing-the-Job-He’s-Paid-to-Do,” she said, and even as she rolled her eyes, I could tell they were sparkling with mirth.
“Seems like you should have to buy me dinner or something,” I said with a laugh, “since I’m basically responsible for your win.”
“Down, boy,” she scoffed. “You were important, but it was actually the kicker who sealed my dub.”
“But you don’t want to go to dinner with a kicker, do you? I mean, I don’t even think they eat meat.”
“How do you know I do?” she replied, tilting her head like she’d scored a point.
“Oh, she eats meat,” her father interjected. “The kid loves a T-bone so much that I have to remind her to take small bites.”
“Really,” I said, unable to look away from Duffy. She was watching me with a smartass grin. “The kid inhales her food, does she?”
“Like a lion on a wildebeest,” her dad replied.
“Kill me now,” she said with a helpless laugh, and I couldn’t stop myself from joining her.
“Wait, wait, wait—back up,” Kel said into the microphone, standing up and holding out her free hand, silencing the audience.
She looked like she was about to break the story of the century when she looked at the crowd with wide eyes and said, “Connor Cunningham, did you just ask Duffy here out on a date?”
That made Duffy’s mouth close and her eyebrows knit together in confusion. I don’t think she meant to say it out loud, but as she looked at me, I heard her quietly mutter, “Did you?”
Holy shit.
I looked back at her and shrugged helplessly.
Did I?