Page 69 of Hell Bent (Portland Devils #5)

OPPORTUNITY KNOCKS

Alix

Carlton didn’t waste any time on Tuesday morning.

“Another fluke play,” he said. “Once in fifty years? What the hell? How am I supposed to bet if one team keeps getting lucky? It’s like putting all your chips on red in Vegas, because the wheel’s come up red five times in a row. Then the second you place that bet, boom! It lands on black.”

“Actually,” I said, checking his wiring on another fire-suppression system, “the odds are exactly the same every time on that roulette wheel. Fifty-fifty.”

“Not if it’s come up red five times in a row.”

“Even then. The wheel has no memory. Half the slots are red, half are black. Fifty-fifty, every time. If you want more control over the odds and you’ve got the head to calculate them, get good at poker.

Anyway, football games aren’t roulette. They look like it, because they can turn on such tiny things that the score seems random, but the picture’s more complicated than that.

Too many variables to calculate them all, so people tend to seize on a few aspects that are easier to understand. ”

“You mean the Devils are destined or something.” That was LouAnn, who fortunately was working and talking.

“No,” I said. “Nobody’s destined to win football games.

I mean that statistically, they’ve been winning close games, and I do believe in statistics.

I don’t know the reasons, but I can guess on some of them.

Coaching. Leadership. Composure. But who knows?

That’s why you actually have to play the game. ”

“Your boy’s one hell of a clutch kicker,” Carlton grunted from where he lay on his back, tightening a connection.

“Composure,” I said again.

“But the Devils are playing the Niners in the Super Bowl,” Carlton said, laboring to his feet again.

“Yes,” I said. “So?”

“So that’s Robillard’s old team,” Carlton said. “They waived him. He’s going to have emotion, especially in his first Super Bowl.”

“Emotion’s not good.” That was Royce. “You’ve got to be cool.”

I wanted to snap, “You’re nineteen years old.

What do you know about being cool, or about Sebastian’s mind?

” But I didn’t. I’d like to say that was because I had a nice cool rejoinder of my own, like, “I guess we’ll find out,” which was obviously the right thing to say.

In actuality, it was because my phone rang.

It was Howard. Again.

Another trek across the site—drying mud now, because Portland was putting on a deceptive show of sunshine today, like they were just teasing with that winter deal—during which I hastily calculated my options in various scenarios and tried to do some of that rational thinking, but mostly came up with something more along “take this job and shove it” lines.

Then I was knocking on the trailer door and stepping inside .

Howard was sitting at his desk this time. Once again, he said, “Have a seat.”

I did. I also took off my hard hat, gloves, and jacket, to buy myself some time and slow my heart rate. Six seconds on the clock, I told myself, and you line up to kick that field goal the same way as always. Unfortunately, I wasn’t Sebastian.

“Shoot,” I said, once I’d completed my disrobing performance, which Howard watched without expression.

He said, “There’s an opening for a project engineer. I don’t make the decision, but I make the recommendation.”

I blinked. This was not what I’d been expecting. “You mean me? Is this a … a job interview? You realize I just put in for a half day off after the Super Bowl, right?”

He said, “You always piss on job offers?”

“No. But why me?”

“Again,” he said, “bad answer. It’s more responsibility.

More money. Less time grubbing in the mud, more time looking at blueprints.

” He shoved a paper across the desk at me.

“Job description. What you’re doing now, but on a bigger scale.

Responsible for seeing that your piece of the project gets done, and it’s a fair-sized piece. Be ready to work your ass off.”

“You’re offering this to me even after I gave you lip last week?”

“You know why women don’t get ahead?” he asked.

“That shit right there. You stand your ground, which is OK, but then you worry about it and wonder if you should take it back. I’m going to want to know when you disagree with me.

I could overrule you, but I’m still going to want to know.

If you can’t get in my face and tell me, what good are you? ”

I blinked. “All righty, then. See, that’s why I prefer this work environment. Despite the mud element.”

“Because you’re tough,” he said. “Once you get over being a nice girl. What was that thing you were doing before? ”

“Investment analysis. Private equity. What I was preparing for, anyway, once I graduated. What I was interning in.”

“And you’re not supposed to tell the boss he’s wrong in that job?”

“No. You’re supposed to be tactful and ask probing questions in a just-wondering tone.”

A huff of laughter greeted that. “That’s some weak sauce right there. No wonder my 401(k) doesn’t do better.”

“Groupthink can be an issue,” I agreed. “So. Tell me more about this job.”

Sebastian

It was late Saturday afternoon, which meant that I was heading out tomorrow for an entire week.

Monday would be my first Media Day, too.

I’m not saying I was nervous, but I’m not saying I was comfortable, either.

What did you even say? As little as possible, I decided.

Better to be boring than an asshole. I stirred the pot of turkey and quinoa chili on the stove—Ben had offered to help me cook it, to my astonishment—and when I heard the front door open and the skitter of Lexi’s toenails as she galloped off to do her Official Greeting Committee deal, I told Ben, “Fix the toppings, would you? What we talked about—chopped onion, chopped cilantro, grated cheese, sour cream. We’ll wait until the last minute for the avocado, so it doesn’t get brown. ”

“You know,” Ben said, “I can hold an idea in my head for an hour. You already told me, dude.”

“Right,” I said. “Hold it, then.” And headed off to say hello to Alix.

No exhausted sitting on the bench today. She had a foot on that bench, in fact, was whipping her work boots off like it was a race, and saying, the moment I’d finished kissing her, “Want to go for a run with me?”

I blinked. “You sure? After working all day?”

“I’m fine. It’s only when I’m having my period. I’m not having my period, and I want to go for a run. Plus, you know—” She lowered her voice. “Exercise endorphins. Increased testosterone. The harder you go, the more it increases. Isn’t that good news?”

I was smiling. You bet I was. “That,” I said, “is excellent news. Oh,” I remembered. “Ben.” And yelled, “Hey, Ben!”

He came around the corner and said, “You don’t have to yell. I was right there.”

“Want to go running with us?” I asked.

He looked at Alix, who was all but bouncing on her toes, and said, “I’ll pass. I’ll stay home and stir the chili.”

“You sure?” Alix asked. “I want to get into a better routine, and I need a partner.”

“Hey,” I said.

“You leave tomorrow,” she said.

“Yes,” I said, “I’m aware.”

Ben said, “I’m looking up schools, actually. Researching.”

“You are?” I said. “Why didn’t you mention it?”

He shrugged. “You’ve got other stuff to think about. Anyway, it’s going to be my school. Alix said I wasn’t just a passenger on your bus, and OK, that’s symbolism, but I get it, all right? So I’m doing the research.”

“You going to share that research with me?” I asked.

“Sure,” Ben said. “When I’m done with it. After the Super Bowl.”

I digested that, then told Alix, “Go get ready, then, and let’s go.”

She wasn’t blazing fast, but she was fast enough, and she was strong, too, powering up the hills with Lexi’s leash in her hand as we headed into Washington Park.

She didn’t say anything for the first mile or so, and I didn’t, either.

I ran behind the two of them, partly so she could set her own pace and partly so I could look at her ass in her stretchy running tights—hey, I needed to get in the mood if she was expecting high-testosterone sex after this—and did not think about the Super Bowl, my first Media Day, or any of the rest of it.

I thought about how championships are won during the offseason, because I wasn’t counting any chickens.

I was going to make sure I came to training camp ready to contribute, wherever I was, and trail running was part of that.

A gym in that new place wouldn’t be a bad idea, either. Ben would like a gym.

Eventually, we got to a wider trail, and I sped up to run beside Alix and asked, “Why haven’t we done this together before?”

“Well, first,” she said, “because we both work too much, and second, because you get plenty of exercise. I want to run something by you, if you don’t mind.”

“Shoot.” My heart had started to beat harder, for some reason. It was that vibration she was giving off.

“The boss called me in again this week. Howard, the one you met. I didn’t realize you’d invested.”

“Yeah, I did. Seemed like a decent bet. No worries, I don’t have that much sunk into it, if you’re about to tell me that the site’s on a fault line or something.”

“I wonder what your version of ‘not that much’ is,” she said.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Not right now. And this was something else.”

Ah. We were getting into it. “Go.”

“I thought I was getting fired,” she said, “because I did ask for a half day off for the Monday after the Super Bowl. Ben and I will fly out Saturday night. Or maybe—” She broke off.

“But you’re not getting fired,” I said .

“No. He told me he was recommending me for a project engineer job. For a promotion. Man, was I surprised.”