“So like, what, the GM?”
“Not just. Your manager and the owner as well.”
Holy fucking shitballs. Say what?
“Are you going to tell me what this is about, Scott?” I said, playing the part of a paranoid player. “You better not tell me I’m getting cut!”
“You’re kidding, right?” Scott asked, genuinely sounding unsure. “Would the Yankees cut Babe Ruth?”
“Of course I’m kidding,” I said. “What’s it about?”
“I think it’s best if you see for yourself,” Scott said.
I didn’t want to believe it because I felt like it would somehow be jinxing myself. But between his excited tone, the fact that I was due for a possible extension, and how the Giants liked to conduct business…
Was I about to get the raise of a lifetime here?
Again, I tried not to think about it too much. It could have been an insultingly lowball offer; it could have been an offer for me to partake in some community service or some sponsorships. Scott had a way of trying to sell what he was doing to me as he did selling me to the team, a tic of sorts that I had never quite managed to get him to shake. But what else could it be? If the manager, the general manager, and the team owner, for fuck’s sake, were all there…
“Oh, almost forgot the most important thing,” Scott said with a laugh. “We’re pushing the meeting back to two so the owner can make it. Hope that’s not a big deal.”
“Aw, Scott, you’re cutting into my lunch break; no, of course that’s fine. Head to Giants’ headquarters then?”
“You got it, bud. See you then.”
I placed the phone back on the kitchen counter with an overwhelmingly positive feeling that I was trying my best to combat. I…
There was a very significant chance this was about to be the nine-figure contract so often discussed on SportsCenter, online, and in coffee shops. I was about to get richer than even my father and grandfather had become with Ferrari Wines.
I couldn’t let myself get carried away. There were many other things this could be, things that by themselves were unlikely but together were a possibility. I’d already had enough good things happen with Izzy and me that I didn’t really need to have a contract to make me happy.
But holy fuck, could life get any better? I was in my athletic prime. I’d met the woman of my dreams, and we’d just had one of the best nights and mornings of sex ever. She had some things she had to worry about, sure, but if she stuck by me, I’d make sure those problems didn’t ever get serious. She would be safe with me.
The only real problem, as I saw it, was that now I had an extra hour of time to kill before I headed over to the meeting.
I wound up deciding to make a pit stop at Ferrari Wines, given that it was between my home and the Giants’ headquarters, to pay a visit to Brett and Layla. Layla, apparently, was flying out somewhere and had already left, but Brett, as his usual role as the family sommelier, was kicking back at the vineyard, content to relax until the day began.
“What in the world do they pay you to do? Look hot?” I asked as I approached.
“Yes?” he asked. “What in the world do all your sponsors pay you to do? Look like a meathead?”
“Touché. Funny you should say that, though. I just got off the phone with Scott. Says he wants me to come to headquarters around two to meet with, get this, the fucking owner and GM.”
“Fuck, for real?” Brett said, dropping all façade. “You know what this means, right? You’re about to get traded or you’re about to get paid, but either way, you’re about to be on ESPN’s front page all day today!”
I chuckled.
“I wouldn’t know, I try not to go—”
“Bullshit,” Brett said with an eye roll. “You can say you don’t read the press, but your reaction to the TMZ shit told me everything I need to know.”
The letters “TMZ” did nothing to help my blood pressure, but in fairness to my brother, he was right. So I let that one go for the time being.
“Anyway, any word from your girl?”
“My girl?” I said, even though I absolutely loved the way that rolled off the tongue. “We talked a little bit last night. It’s good. I think we’re moving in the right direction.”
“Uh-huh,” Brett said dryly. “And by ‘talked a little bit last night,’ do you mean you screwed the fuck out of each other?”
“Christ, Brett, have some decency!”
“Yes, because you always do,” he said with a laugh. “Look, man, I’m happy for you. There’s no need to hide the truth from me. You know I’m not the pap.”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s fine. We’ll see what happens.”
I swore I wasn’t superstitious.
“Oh, got your voicemail last night. Everything all good on that end?”
“Seems that way,” Brett said. “Dad’s on a flight home now. When I pressed him, he just said things were settled.”
A brief pause followed before Brett chuckled.
“You know, I know you and Layla think the rumors are bullshit, but I think there’s some truth to them. You know this isn’t the first time Dad has suddenly had to run off to Vegas.”
“For work.”
Brett frowned at me and then rapped his knuckles on my forehead as if knocking on a door.
“Hello, Nick? Do you have a brain in there? It’s sounding kind of hollow right now. Look, I got no proof, and for all I know, I could be the stupid one for believing this nonsense. I just think
