It’s so rude.
Duke:I can hear you thinking.
Posey:NO SIR, YOU CANNOT
Duke:Maybe the problem is that you need more practice telling a dude what you expect and what you want. You know—set expectations and shit.
Who is this man, and what has he done with Duke Colter? The Duke I’ve been living with leaves the toilet seat up, eats cake that’s not intended for him, breaks things on the patio, wears wigs to the grocery store, and burps without saying, “Excuse me.”
This man makes too much sense. Not only that, he sounds so wise. Like, his advice is good.
Posey:I can’t just tell a man off for the sake of PRACTICE.
Duke:You sure can.
Posey:How about I let you know when the opportunity presents itself…
Duke:You do that.
I stare at the app, at the green dot by his name, unsure of what to say next. We've written ourselves into a corner, it seems, and I’m so bad with men I have no idea how to get us out of it. Which could explain why I’m single, ha ha.
I don’t reply to Duke.
There’s too much going on in my mind to find a suitable comeback.
8
duke
Ihave to spend the day fixing this damn patio rail.
The one I busted with my own damn ass; I should have known the fucking thing wouldn’t hold my weight the second the baseboards creaked and squeaked when I’d lain on the hammock.
Oh well. No sense in dwelling on it.
Besides, it’ll give me something to keep my mind off work.
I’d had a call with Eli this morning—the bastard had woken me from a dream—about finalizing the statement that together, the head coach and I will be making to the press at the press conference Eli was in the process of scheduling:
“It is with great pleasure the Dallas Steers are happy to announce that we have acquired Duke Colter from the New York Condors—we are thrilled to have him as a part of this team, and we believe he’s going to be a key asset for us as starting wide receiver.”
The floor will then be open for a few questions, all of which will be handled by the general manager, the coach. Eli and I sit quietly on the side, me with a pleasant smile on my face.
I wish we could get it over with and get the show on the road. All this waiting is making me stir-crazy.
I pull the broken piece of wood from the deck and toss it down into the yard with confidence, having fixed and mended a million railings. Barbed wire fencing.
A noise catches my attention that’s not coming from my hammer removing nails, followed by a flash of bright yellow in my peripheral.
I set the hammer down and stop yanking.
Turn my head to see a gray-haired woman watching me from her yard; I see eyes, hair, and her nose but not much of the rest of her.
I set out to ignore her, but it’s impossible—I’m used to people watching me. Fans mostly, who stare when I’m in public because they’re too nervous to approach or don’t want to bother me. But this? This little old lady is lurking.
I’m crouched on one knee when she addresses me. “You there.”
Shielding my eyes from the glare of the sun, I glance over at her. “Hi.”