Chapter 2 #3
Resting my chin on my knees, I think about how easy it would’ve been to join my mom in running her antiques store. She has so much knowledge and visibility and stock. But no. I wanted to work in sports. I wanted to be a podcaster.
Dad says I got it from him. He used to sleep with a football when he was a boy. My uncle JR said my dad could catch any ball thrown in his direction. It’s how he got the nickname “Velcro fingers.”
Even if it was a crotch shot thrown by a three-year-old, he’d catch it. I know, because I was the three-year-old doing the throwing. Then he gave it all up for Hollywood. Then for us.
“What happened tonight?” Lindsey pats my arm, and I rest my head on her shoulder.
“That bitch Siri let me down,” I groan. “I knew I couldn’t trust AI to help me. Aren’t there documented cases of her sending people into lakes?”
“If you follow a computerized voice into a lake, I’d say that one’s on you,” Lindsey grouses before breaking into a giggle. “Who does that? Do they think Jesus actually took the wheel? Or the lake is magically going to turn into solid ice?”
“You’re asking me to explain what people think. You know that’s impossible.”
Her smile twists into an amused frown. “What happened?”
My shoulders drop, and I exhale deeply. “Knox Bradford got into my rideshare.”
Her body stiffens, and she sits up quickly. “The Knox Bradford? New Orleans Saints quarterback Knox Bradford? Number 6?”
“The very same,” I say quietly, embarrassed.
“What the hell was he doing taking an Uber? Don’t those rich athletes all have cars to drive them around? Isn’t he worried about the paparazzi?"
“That’s what I wanted to know.” I give a rueful laugh. “Right before he yelled at me and accused me of being a plant and sabotaging him and trying to make him miss his flight.”
Her eyes widen even more. “Noo… Siri didn’t take you to the airport?”
“She did not. She got stage fright and completely froze up on me. When I realized what was happening, it was too late. I tried to double back, but oh God.” I shiver. “He was so awful and angry and just… mean.”
“What did he say?”
“He yelled at me to go left!”
The room falls silent, and my bestie studies me a beat. “And?”
Shaking my head, I feel my shot kicking in. “It wasn’t what he said. It was the way he said it. GO LEFT!” I shout the words as loudly as possible.
“Jeez, Melody.” Lindsey puts a hand over her ear. “Warn a person.”
“Then he kept shouting directions at me the whole rest of the drive. Even after I knew where I was going.” I mimic his voice in the most unflattering, nasally way possible. “You’ve got one job…”
My arms are crossed, and I’m considering a second shot of tequila when everything stops.
“One job,” I whisper as my brain begins to formulate a plan. “He’s got a lotta nerve saying that to me. He’s the starting quarterback for the Saints, and he makes more mistakes than I can shake a stick at. Everybody’s pissed…”
“It’s his first year. The offensive line is still coming together.”
“Maybe… and maybe it’s time to stop treating him with kid gloves. He can clearly dish it out. Let’s see if he can take it.”
“I’m afraid this is the tequila talking.” Lindsey’s tone is worried. “What are you going to do?”
I scamper across the mahogany floors to where my computer sits on a small desk. Pulling on my headset with the attached microphone, I click a few times and start to record. Lifting my chin, I close my eyes and remember everything about last night’s game.
“What about that playoff game, Saints Nation?” I pause a moment, infusing my voice with gravitas.
“How much more sloppiness are we going to tolerate from this rookie? Knox Bradford had a clean shot down the field and a wide-open receiver, yet he threw it into double coverage like he was autographing the ball and handing it to the defense.”
Lindsey’s eyes blink even wider, and she clasps her hands over her mouth.
“K-Brad wants to be Cher and turn back time to when we wore black electrical tape over the Ss on our ball caps. In one season, he’s trying to turn the Saints into the Aints, and I think we all should be asking WWDD, What Would Drew Do? I’ll tell you what: He’d have found an open receiver.”
I continue on, recapping what went down on the field tonight. Die-hards want a full picture, and I’m happy to focus the entire show on our number one hot shot.
When I’m done, I take off my headset and quietly place it on the countertop. Then I lean back in my chair, steepling my fingers in front of my lips as I think about this.
I’ve never gone low. I’ve never dogpiled a player for making mistakes. I’ve never come down hard, but the gloves are off. I’m not a shy violet, and he shat on the wrong girl.
I’ve got one job? He’s got one job, and why didn’t he use his car service?
“You sure you want to do this, Mellow?” Lindsey’s voice is quiet, but I catch a hint of excitement creeping into her tone.
We’re sailing into uncharted waters, but I didn’t say a single false word just now.
My jaw is set, and I give her a curt nod. “Send it.”
Go left on that, Knox Bradford.