Page 26 of Big Stick Energy
“Did you find Fluffy?” he asks.
“I’m sorry?”
“Fluffy. He’s theEcheveria.”
There are two tiny pots on the vast coffee table. “Do you mean this plant that looks like a tiny artichoke? Is Fluffy edible?”
“No, asshole, don’t eat my plant. And don’t water the leaves, just the soil. Not too much.”
“Sure, Dad.” I can’t believe our fearsome two-hundred-pound goalie has me watering a plant the size of a golf ball. But we all have our hobbies. I spill a little water on the table and smear it away with my fist. “What’s in this other pot?” I squint at it. “Looks like… a human bone.”
“It’s aLithops. But don’t water Stoney. It’s not time.”
“Whatever you say, killer.”
Ignoring my dig, he guides me around every room of his penthouse, where I get to water a half dozen more succulents with names that follow their shapes. There’s Spiky, Creepy, and Ralph.
“Wait… Ralph?”
“He justlookslike a Ralph. Only a tablespoon of water for him.”
“Uh-huh.” As if I’m going to find a measuring spoon in his kitchen. I eyeball it instead. “How come you didn’t do this before you left for the Hamptons?”
“I was hungover and forgot. Today’s your road trip, right?”
“Yeah, just as soon as I’m done here. Hey—you got any snacks?”
“Probably. Help yourself to whatever you can find.”
I retrace my steps to the kitchen, abandoning the watering can and opening his pantry. “Hmm. Granola bars. Chips. Oh! Can I take this bag of chocolate-covered almonds? Darcy likes dark chocolate.”
“How do you know?” he challenges me.
“It’s a long season. Everyone knows she likes dark chocolate. And she likes fruit but hates bananas.”
“Dude, not everyone on the team has the GM’s assistant’s whims memorized. Maybe it’s your captain’s energy. Or…” He chuckles.
“Or what?”
“You’ve got a thing for her.”
“Doesn’t everybody? She’s hot.”
“She’s objectively attractive,” he agrees. “But I’m not a walking list of her food choices, and I don’t know which fragrance she wears.”
“Daisy Love by Marc Jacobs.”
There is a deep silence on the line. And then a chuckle. “Yeah, you aren’t obsessed at all.”
“Obsessed? Who’s obsessed? I just… notice things.”
“Uh-huh.” He laughs. “Have a nice trip. How long is the drive?”
“Four hours.”
“In your cozy Porsche, with Darcy in a dress, right? Because you’re headed to a party? And smelling like… what was it called? Daisy Love? Since you’re not obsessed, it should be no problem.”
“Thanks for the chocolate almonds,” I grumble before hanging up on him.
