“I think you’re underestimatin’ how much I’m gonna eat.” He surprises me by not only unbagging everything but by finding room in the refrigerator and cabinets as well. I just assumed he’d disappear into the abyss when we got home the way he’d done the day before with dinner cleanup and leave everything to me.
Don’t get used to it, I remind myself.
“Would you please take that wig off?” I’m watching him guzzle a sports drink, wiping his mouth on the hem of his T-shirt. “You look ridiculous.”
“Shit. I forgot I had it on.” He pulls the headdress off, itching at his scalp. “Damn thing was hotter than a steer’s balls.”
I snicker. “You know how hot a steer’s balls are?”
Duke removes his sunglasses, bright blue eyes gazing back at me. “Obviously.”
“Wait. Seriously?”
“I grew up on a ranch, Josephine, so of course I’ve felt a steer’s balls. I castrated enough of ’em.”
He leaves the room and leaves me standing there.
“Wait. What?” I follow him to the stairs, demanding answers.
“Tell me more about the balls!”
5
duke
Tell me more about the balls!
I grin as I shut the door to my bedroom, tossing the wig and hat to the bureau drawer, laughing to myself at the look on her face.
“’Course I’ve felt bull nuts. What does she think happens on a ranch?” I realize I’m muttering to myself, removing my Mickey Mouse T-shirt and pulling on a hoodie, the weather outside a bit too chilly for short sleeves.
Once I change into gray sweatpants, I mosey on back downstairs to eat that chicken before it gets cool.
She is nowhere to be found, probably back up in that office of hers, ignoring the fact that I’m here.
I had fun at the grocery store—almost didn’t go ’cause why should I when that’s what she’s here for, but I’m glad I did. I got to see the annoyance on her face when I called her Josephine, a name she clearly doesn’t like.
Good.
Makes it more fun.
I turn on the TV in the corner, picking apart the chicken, digging into the warm deli vegetables and the hot mac ’n’ cheese.
“Shit, bud, if you keep eatin’ like this, you’re gonna be in rough shape when the season starts.”
Eli warned me on our call yesterday not to get too comfortable. All hell was gonna break loose after our little announcement, and eventually, the media would find me. Shortly after that, training camp would start, and if I’m out of shape from eating like crap, it would come back to haunt me.
I’d be wearing solar suits and drinking gallons of water to sweat it all off…
I shrug.
Whatever. I’d worry about that later.
Once I finish my chicken—the entire damn thing—I toss all my containers in the trash.
What is Posey gonna eat for dinner?She hasn’t said anything about sharing or wanting chicken. I guess I should have asked before scarfing it down.
My stomach rumbles, unsatisfied.