Page 65 of Who’s Playing You (In The Nick of Time #1)

NICK SOBA

W e were already well into November, the Thanksgiving game fast approaching. I couldn’t wait to see my two best friends. It’d been over six months since the three of us had all been together.

I was equal parts excited and nervous.

I was nervous because the guilt of what I’d done had only grown, and every time it did I would unconsciously scratch at my tattoo.

I think that I got lost in myself and also in Scottie over the summer - completely distracted.

But then, as soon as the season officially started, it was as if the guilt grew with every game.

Every game that we should have been playing together.

But how could I ever come clean to them about this? I just couldn’t.

Instead, I was doing the next best thing, and that was to make things right. And how was I going to do that? Well, since I now had Scottie, I could go to Plan B, which was to get us all traded to San Fran.

When I spoke to the heads at San Fran last winter, we had an unofficial handshake deal that they’d scoop us up when trading season started. There was no guarantee that we could make it happen, but I’d work my magic to make it happen if I needed to.

I could be extremely persuasive.

So as long as the three of us kept playing some of the best ball we’d ever played, well then, San Fran was ready and willing to sign us right away.

And if that were to be the case, what would the point be in telling Loving and Papas about how I screwed them over? And besides, if we all got to San Fran after this season, what would the one year apart really matter? It’d just be a little side note in the margin of our story.

Or at least that’s what I continued to tell myself.

I realized that I could keep this secret to myself for the rest of my life just as long as I managed to make the trades happen come spring. And if I didn’t… the uncertainty of it all is where my conscience really was working overtime.

As if sensing that I was thinking of them, my phone went off like a cannon with the two of them going on about the upcoming Thanksgiving Day game between their two teams.

Trickie Nickies

The Holy One:

Humbled? You throwing INTs this early in the week?

I’m on a bye week and am coming with popcorn

The Holy One:

You better pray your O-line remembers how to spell “block” because my boys are coming for your neck.

The Love Machine:

Bring it. Just know my girl’s gonna be in the front row watching me torch your defense.

Here we go.

The Love Machine:

She said she’s looking forward to meeting you.

I’ll give her an autograph.

The Holy One:

No one needs a one hit wonder signature.

Oh, the Saint has arrived.

The Love Machine:

Says the guy bringing a not-girlfriend to the game.

LMAOOO right! Like what even is that, Nik? You bringing your emotional support reporter or what?

The Holy One:

She’s not my girl. She’s there to write a story. And everyone’s gotta eat so she’s coming to dinner with us.

The Love Machine:

Translation: she lets Nik eat but won’t taste him back.

She’s a cougar, she’s gonna get hers first.

The Holy One:

Don’t fucking call her that. And none of y’all better look at her sideways.

The Love Machine:

So he cares. Interesting. Very girlfriend-adjacent behavior.

“Don’t look at her.” “Don’t breathe near her.” “Don’t call my thirty year old girlfriend a cougar.” But she’s not my girl.

The Holy One:

Y’all done? And how do you know she’s thirty?

It’s called Google. You should try it.

Not even close to being done. I’m bringing a camera crew for when your “not-girlfriend” introduces herself as “just a friend”. I want to watch your heartbreak on repeat.

The Love Machine:

Don’t worry, she’ll sit with my girl. Mine has a way of getting the truth outta people.

The Holy One:

So we’ve all got cougars? Guess Trickie Nickies never stray far.

The Love Machine:

When you’re the hottest trio around, can you blame them?

The Holy One:

Let’s just focus on the game.

You mean the game where Loving gets sacked six times and your “friend” leaves early from boredom?

The Love Machine:

Bro, I’m gonna light you both up so bad on Sunday, ESPN gonna run a 30 for 30 titled “When Trash Talk Goes Wrong”.

The Holy One:

Hope you got that speech ready for postgame. I’ll send flowers to your funeral.

And I’ll be there, feet up, drink in hand, watching the fall of two mediocre franchises from my VIP seat.

The Love Machine:

We’ll see. But just know, my girl’s hotter, my stats are better, and I don’t have to explain what we are every time someone asks.

The Holy One:

You’re right. You just have to explain why she keeps liking my photos.