Free Winter Ball by Amy Lane Page B

Amber. You broke up for unspecified reasons, about five months before Trisha and I broke up. The fact that you’ve been seeing someone is a big deal. C’mon, man—you’re my only friend who doesn’t practically live online—hook me up with some real-life details!”
    For a moment Skipper wanted more than anything to tell him about Richie. Carpenter loved liberal political causes. If Skipper was a betting man, he’d put down actual money that the fact that his love life had magically changed from an “Amber” to a “Richie” wouldn’t do more than surprise him.
    But… but Richie hadn’t said it was okay, and that held him back. Richie had said they’d see each other over the weekend, but that wasn’t a confession of… of commitment or anything.
    It was just “Hey, man, what’re you doing next weekend?” “Well, I thought we’d try that fucking thing again, what do you think?” “Fucking sounds great, Skip—how about fuck my ass again!”
    Richie and Carpenter saw each other all the time. They liked each other. Skip couldn’t tell Carpenter about the… the new thing, the fucking thing, because that just wouldn’t be fair.
    Skip looked at his phone again, longingly. It would be so much easier if he and Richie could just text , the way Amber used to text him. Stupid shit—catching up on your day sort of shit.
    Actually….
    “How do you know when you’re okay to text someone?” he asked Carpenter thoughtfully. “I mean, is there an etiquette or something?”
    Carpenter scratched at the scruff on his cheeks. “I don’t know. Are you going to see this person again?”
    Skip smiled, thinking of how excited Richie had been. “Yeah, this weekend. You know, uh, after the game.” And before the game, and God, wouldn’t it be great if they could see each other after practice as well?
    “Wow—you found someone who would work around your obsession with soccer!” Carpenter let out a low whistle. “This is serious. You’ve ditched many a LAN party for soccer, my friend.”
    Skip rolled his eyes and checked his call light. So far it had been pretty low-key, and they were getting close to lunch. “C’mon, let’s go walk to that deli on the corner,” he said, hitting his break signal and gesturing for Carpenter to do the same. “And you know, you could play too. It’d be good for you.”
    Carpenter paused in the act of hitting his break signal. “I must have had too much coffee this morning. I could have sworn you just said I could play on your precious soccer team.”
    Skip shrugged and Carpenter hit the signal anyway. “Why not? It’s rec league, man—nobody’s in it for the blood, you know?”
    Carpenter rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I suppose the fact that I’m a fat asshole who cannot possibly haul this piece of meat down the field has totally escaped your notice.”
    Skip frowned and together they trotted out of the building toward the sandwich place at a decent clip. Apparently November had called a halt to the shiny, blustery days of fall and ushered in the low-hanging fog and dank days of the season. Ah, well, it meant that Skip’s run after work that evening would be a little more pleasant.
    “Look, since it’s winter ball, we do running and drills on Thursday night. Show up for practice and learn some of the plays. I’ll bring some of my old gear—it’ll fit. We’ve only got one sub this season—just having someone to sub for the defenders would be great. You can be the guy who hangs out in front of the goalie and just keeps the box clear.”
    Carpenter grunted, but he was keeping up with Skip and Skip wasn’t going slow. “Are they gonna hate me if I lose the game for them?”
    Skip remembered the time he’d kicked the ball into the goal and it had bounced off the post and halfway downfield. In a stroke of luck, the opposing team’s midfield had trapped it midbounce and kicked it into the Scorpions’ goal for the win. The team—mostly the same guys—had laughed all the