Page 8 of Center Sneak

“Yeah.” His voice is curt as he pulls right up to a small row house on a dark, quiet street just outside Boston proper.

“What are you doing?”

“Parking?” There’s an extra question in Sebastian’s voice.

“Right in front of her house? Haven’t you ever watched a movie before? You never park right in front of a crime scene.” My hands are in the air, motioning to a spot farther away.

“Oh.” Sebastian shifts gears and steps on the gas to creep down the street. He pulls the truck into park and then turns to face me. “So, what’s the plan?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Do you have a plan?”

“No! I don’t have a plan!” His voice shrieks higher. “I thought you had a plan!”

“I always have a plan.” It’s true. Kind of. There’s always something up my sleeve. “The box will be left on her front steps, and then we’ll observe from the truck.”

Sebastian lets out a heavy exhale. “Oh, yeah. That makes sense.” He pauses, but then a thought crosses his mind. “Wait. What if she has a camera? Don’t you think she’d recognize us, especially me? I, uh, kind of stick out.”

“I’ll do it then. You stay here in the truck, ready to go.” I bend down to pick up the reusable tote bag at my feet and grab a mask of Quinn Banks, our star quarterback. There was an extra mask lying around the locker room tonight, and I swiped one before we left. Don’t ask me why. I have no idea, probably from a leftover prank or a running joke, but it’s coming in handy now.

And no, I’m not setting Quinn up for prison if I somehow get caught. Quinn and I have very different body types as a lineman and a quarterback. No one can look at footage and claim that Quinn was involved. They’ll just think it’s an enraged fan or something. Maybe. Hopefully.

“I can’t decide if the mask is a great touch or a terrible one.”

“Best if you don’t overthink it,” I comment.

“Probably true.”

I unbuckle my seat belt and reach for the box in the cab of the truck, but it’s a little larger than I expected.

“Here, let me help.” Sebastian grabs the bottom and lifts it over to the front seat, where it’s now sitting on my lap. I try not to think about the fact that there are several pounds of shit in there. However, there are several layers of pink tissue paper between the crap and the box, so that helps ease my mind a little. Also, some confetti and glitter, just because.

I grab the handle of the truck and nod to Sebastian.

“Good luck.” He returns the gesture, and off I go, my feet hitting the sidewalk. I turn to examine all angles to ensure the street is still silent and notice Sebastian jogging behind me, also in a Quinn Banks mask.

“I forgot I had one of these in the truck.” He points to the disguise on his face. “I couldn’t let you do this alone.”

“Thanks, buddy,” I say as I pat his back with my free hand.

We stroll side by side on the dark, tree-lined street in our black getup and QB masks, not looking suspicious at all.

If it weren’t April and completely still outside, you might think it’s Halloween given our outfits. Nope. We are two dudes on a mission.

We stop in front of her house, and I’m about to take a step forward with the box in my hand, but then it completely disappears.

“Nope,” Sebastian says as he grabs the box. “I need to do this.”

“Understood.” I nod in agreement. Sometimes a man needs to take care of his own shit.

I hang back and watch him move forward, walk up three brick steps, and drop the huge box on the front steps of house sixty-nine.

Sebastian turns his head to face me, and there’s a gigantic grin on his face, the biggest smile I’ve seen tonight. In slow motion, he rings the doorbell, and then books it down the steps and runs straight to me. Now, this man is a professional athlete, yes, but he’s also well over three hundred pounds. He’s one of the slowest runners during practice right now, if not the slowest.

He finally makes it to me, and we turn and run the hundred feet back to the truck. We jump in, but Sebastian doesn’t start it up.

“I want to watch,” he whispers in the pitch-black of the cab. We both turn to face the back window but duck so we are out of view, which is not going great since we’re both oversized men, even in his large pick-up.

“Okay.” My voice is low as we watch the front door of house sixty-nine open.