Page 153 of The Locker Room

Leo gave him the remote, and he pressed play while his body

started to demand he shovel food down his throat in record quantities.

About halfway through, as the pre-game ended and the lights and music

started, he remembered to stop for his painkiller. At his whimper of relief

when he downed it, Leo grabbed the remote, pressed pause, and then

looked down at his bare foot, propped up on the big glossy black coffee

table that went with the leather couches and cream pale rug and giant

front bay window that curved around the front of the house as it faced

the lake.

His toe was almost as black as the coffee table, and Leo made a

little moan when he saw it.

“Press play,” Xander mumbled. “Chris was about ready to come

out.”

“What in the fuck did you do?” Leo asked harshly, and Xander

didn"t want to talk about it. Leo pulled his arm back with the remote

control, though, in a tight little concentrated fist, and Xander"s eyebrows

raised as he realized that Leo probably had the power to pitch the thing

through that big glass window from the couch.

“Don"t look so surprised, Superstar—I pitched in the minors for

three years after college, and it was my knees that fucked me over, not

my elbows. Now I will throw this thing into the goddamned lake if you

don"t tell Uncle Leo what in the fuck happened to that prime piece of

real estate parked on the fucking coffee table!”

Xander swore and leaned his head back. “I broke it,” he said,

embarrassed all over again.

“On the court? Because Malloy would have told me about that.”

132 Amy Lane

Xander looked at him miserably, pathetically aware that Leo could

learn pretty much everything he wanted to know with a few questions to

folks other people ignored.