Page 24 of Zone
“Do we,K-Brad?” His tone is sarcastic, and I’m hot-headed enough to imagine punching him right in that smug grin.
I’m also smart enough to know that would be the wrong move.
“What the fuck, BA?” I rest my hands on my hips. “You’re siding with that chick?”
“She’s smart, and she knows football.” He walks parallel to me in the direction of the lockers. “We’re on track. You going to step it up and start scoring some touchdowns?”
Shaking my head, I walk with him all the way back. As hard as I’ve worked to prove myself, I keep on having to do it all over again.
“Yeah.” My tone is sharp, perhaps a bit angry. “I am.”
“Good.”
We part ways, and I go to my locker where I strip off my jersey and toss it into the bin followed by my practice pads. I’m about to head for the shower when I see Devin Banks appear at the door, waving for me to come over.
I walk over in my shorts wondering what our team’s nerdy data analyst wants. I hope it’s some inside tip on Seattle’s weaknesses, player patterns, or holes in their defensive line.
Because that’s his job.
If it’s a breakdown of all the shit I got wrong in our last game, I’ll be cutting it short. I’ve heard enough for one day. Not to mention my own personal replay track is running in my head.
“What?” My tone is sharp.
Devin is undeterred. He’s even smiling, practically bouncing on his toes. “Ready to owe me big time?”
Not what I was expecting. “I don’t know.”
“I found her.”
My brow arches. “Her… Who?”
“I heard some of the guys saying you wanted to find that Quarterback Princess. You know, the girl who’s been giving you such a hard time on her pod?”
“Yeah, yeah.” I wave a hand. “I know.”
“Well, you asked, I delivered.”
Surprise hits my chest, causing me to take a step back. For months, ever since this bullshit started, I’ve been turning it over in my head, wondering if I should confront her, make her say all her crap to my face, or let it go.
Austin thinks I should let it go. Hell, even Baker thinks I should let it go.
Actually, Baker thinks we need to have some good, solid hate sex, but I’m not going there.
I’m also not letting it go. “How did you manage that?”
He’s a data guy. I expect him to say he did some high-tech surveillance shit like cross-check her IP address or triangulate the frequency of her transmission.
I have no idea if any of that is real, but it’s what I expect.
I do not expect him to say, “I ran into her and her producer at Tropical Isle. She left her credit card at the bar, and I offered to return it to her.”
“They gave it to you?”
“I paid her tab, so yeah. They assumed we were friends.”
He produces a Discover card with palm trees all over it. The nameMelody Dunneis in the bottom left corner, and I slide my thumb over it, thinking. It almost feels like I’m holding a golden ticket.
“How do you know it’s her?” I glance up at him.
