“I’ve already been. It’s duck mating season, and even that didn’t make me less pissed at you. I need to see you right the fuck now.”
“What is duck mating season like? Are there feathers just flying everywhere?” I ask as I near the heavy doors that lead to the player’s lot.
He ignores me. “You didn’t return my calls last night.”
I stop in my tracks as I reach the end of the hall. “Shoot, man. I’m sorry. Last night was crazy. The auction and all,” I say, but the truth is, I wasn’t in the mood to chat after what went down.
“When the whole town is buzzing with you suddenly being attached and your contract is coming due, that is shit I need to know.”
I laugh. “Everyone seems to know. Greenhaven even mentioned it.”
It’s like a teapot whistles on the other end of the phone. I hear Ford suck in his breath through his nostrils. He might start to hyperventilate. “I’m a tree. I’m a calmly rustling tree. I’m one with the universe,” he says, in a deliberately placid voice.
“You okay, Ford?”
“One with the universe . . . mmm.”
“Ford?”
“Oh, sorry. Excuse fucking me. I was practicing my yoga mantras so I don’t whack you upside the head when I see you in two minutes.”
I glance at my watch. “You’re ambitious. Did you have jetpacks installed on your feet?”
“I drove. I’m outside the field.”
“You’re here?”
“You say that like it’s a surprise I tracked you down. Did I or did I not track you down in the first place?”
“You did.”
Ford Grayson is a determined bastard. We give each other a hard time because this man has my back completely. He sought me out during my final season of college ball. I swear, the second I walked off the field after our bowl game—we won, thank you very much—he was waiting for me. He made sure I signed with no one but him. I love the man. A few months later, I went in the first round of the draft, and he landed me a sweet deal with the Renegades. That deal is the reason my mom lives in a beautiful three-bedroom home overlooking the water in Sausalito with her dogs and boyfriend.
Oh, and that deal is why I never have to work again if I don’t want to.
But I want to.
I love what I do as much as I love breathing. It’s life. It’s sustenance. It makes my bones hum.
“And I did again. I’m at your car,” Ford tells me. “My assistant, Tucker, is here. He’ll drive mine home since you and I are going somewhere so we can have a little chitchat right now.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“Ominous doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
8
Ford tosses a chunk of white bread to a duck at Mallard Lake in Golden Gate Park. The waterfowl swims faster through the pond and dips his green head below the surface to grab the snack. He raises his beak, downs the bread, and quacks his appreciation. My agent fires off another piece, and a quartet of ducklings paddle through the water, fighting happily, it seems, to tear it to shreds.
I stroke my chin. “It’s not really duck mating season, Ford.”
“You have brains and beauty.”
“Speed, too,” I say.
“They were busy in the spring. The babies were born in July, I think,” he says, dipping into the brown paper bag he holds and tossing one more hunk of bread into the water as if he’s lobbing a curve ball. He played in the minors before an injury curtailed his baseball career.
“Are you calm now?” I ask, gesturing to the placid water. The small pond is edged by a quiet path and a smattering of flowers.
Ford slaps on a smile, his straight white teeth gleaming. The man looks like a million bucks, from the tailored black pants, to the white shirt with green checks, to the polished shoes. Not a blond hair on his head is out of place. His hair wouldn’t permit it. “Like a Zen beast.”
He chucks another piece then inhales deeply before he turns to me, setting the bag on the grass. He’s a gesticulator of the highest order, so he needs his hands free to talk. “Okay, I’m ready now. Tell me again what went down last night.”
I raise one eyebrow. “Everything?”
His blue eyes nearly bug out. “Everything. I’m your priest, your shrink, your Sherpa, your wife—”
I lift up a hand. “Just quit while you’re ahead.”
He waggles his fingers at himself. “Give me the deets.”
I share a solid CliffsNotes version with him, from Maxine, to Sierra, to Violet, finishing with, “That’s why everyone thinks Violet is now my girl, since otherwise, Maxine would want to play with the produce.”