Chapter 9: Rowen, Part 1

I rap my knuckles on the door of the apartment twice and wait for it to be answered. I'm late. I know. But I needed extra time to ice down my legs after today's practice. Practices seem to be getting harder, not easier. I understand, though. We're in the middle of a season and playoffs are coming up. I have to be in tip-top shape in case one of our starters gets injured.

Looking around, I make a note of the area. It's a pretty nice neighborhood. Inside the loop. Close to the stadium. It's actually not that far from where I live, which is information I'll keep to myself.

While most of the newer teammates, like myself, have at least a thirty minute drive to work and have at least one roommate, I live alone in a garage apartment just ten minutes away. Having a dad with lots of connections comes in handy sometimes. Which is not something I will fess up to tonight.

The door swings open to reveal Daniel, my team captain, grinning widely with a lit cigar in his mouth.

"Welcome to poker night, Rookie!" he yells a little too loudly. I assume they've already started hitting that whiskey he promised when he invited me over. "I hope you brought all your hard earned pennies because I plan on taking them from you tonight."

"I'm not worried," I reply, making my way in the door. "There's something to be said for desperation when playing poker."

He laughs and slaps me on the back as I follow him into the living room, a giant poker table set up. After a rousing chorus of hellos from the guys that are no longer holding cards, I pull up an empty chair next to Christian. The smoke is thick and the chips are piled high in center of the table.

"Fuck. I'm out," Randall Shahriary says as he throws his cards on the table. "Fucking Shivel. When did you get this good at poker?"

Shivel grins like the Cheshire Cat. "I told you not to get your hopes up, old man. You can't keep up with us youngins anymore. On the field or off."

Shahriary stiffens just slightly at the jab. It's not a secret that he's one of our older players. As a retiree from the Premier League in Europe, he's been playing for the Mutiny for a couple years now. Sammy Marshall and Luca Montoya are also former Premier League players. Neither of them look too happy about the comment either.

"Watch yourself," Luca says as he leans back in his chair. "Thirty-five might seem old to you American pussies. But we've been playing since you were in diapers. We got tricks you've never even seen."

Shivel puffs on his cigar. "Those tricks certainly aren't helping you geezers in poker, that's for sure."

Luca rolls his eyes, stands up and mumbles something about needing another beer.

"What's your poison?" Daniels asks me while we wait for the last two standing to finish their show down. "I've got the hard stuff right here." He shakes a half-empty whiskey bottle at me. "But there's some Shocktop in the fridge."

"Beer is much more my speed, thanks."

"Luca!" Daniel yells. "Grab the rookie a beer!"

I barely make out his response through the swinging door. Although it sounds like I'll have a beer in hand soon.

"What are you gonna do, Sanchez?" Shivel prods Christian who is still looking at his cards in concentration. "You've been staring at those cards for ten minutes. You ready to give up yet?"

Christian takes a deep breath before grabbing a few colored chips and tossing them in the middle of the pile. "I raise you."

Shivel chuckles and takes a drag off his cigar before tossing in some more chips. "Call. What you got, mother fucker?"

Christian lays his cards on the table, revealing two kings and three queens.

I look at Shivel, who is trying to come across unaffected. But years of people-watching has made it easy to see his tells. His fingers twitch just slightly and his eyebrows raise just a miniscule amount. He's won and he's just drawing it out as long as he can. Asshole.

"Not bad," Shivel finally says. "But not enough to…" he slaps his cards on the table and jumps to his feet. "… beat a full house, bitch! Wooo!" He raises his arms in victory, still hooting, before reaching across the table to scoop up all the chips.

"Son of a fucking bitch," Christian yells and slams his fist on the table. "How does he keep doing that?"

"My money's on cheating," Sammy says, tossing his cards to Daniel so he can shuffle.

"Shut up, old man," Shivel responds. "Don't hate just cause I took your hooker money."

Sammy rolls his eyes. "No one here pays for hookers, asswipe. No one except you."

"I don't have to pay for hookers." Shivel starts stacking his chips in neat little piles while Luca passes beers around and everyone else stretches or fidgets, getting ready for the next round. "Why do I need hookers when I got a group of whores that show up at my place after every game?"

I feel myself stiffen and hope I'm not turning red, especially since he's looking right at me.

"Shut up, asshole. You're a real dick. Would you deal already?" Christian turns to snip at Daniel who is still shuffling the cards while Shivel makes a lewd gesture in Christian's direction. I watch the cards as Daniel starts passing them around, but I can feel Shivel still looking at me, waiting for some sort of response. Sure, Tiffany keeps crossing my mind, and even my dreams. But I don't know her that well. Or at least, not enough that this conversation should even affect me at all.

"Rowen seemed to like one of the cleat chasers. A lot," he finally says. "Isn't that right, Rookie?"

I look around and all eyes are on me. Quickly, I shrug. "Not sure what you're talking about." I take a swig of my beer, willing the redness not to creep up my neck and give my embarrassment away. This isn't a conversation I want to have. But Shivel won't let it go.

"You were in that room with Tiffany for an awful long time. Did she show you that thing she does with her tongue? It's Santos's favorite. Ow!" he yells as Santos punches him in the shoulder.

"What happens behind closed doors stays behind closed doors, you dick." Santos picks up his cards to sort them in his hand. "Isn't that a rule you made up?"

"Chill out. Your wife, ain't here. Besides. I wanna know what happened behind those closed doors with our newest teammate here."

I shrug. "Nothing to tell." I look around and see everyone watching me, waiting for me to give them more information. "Really. We hung out for a while. Talked. She's a nice woman."

Nate Funderling snorts. "Nice. Yeah. That's what she is."

A few snickers are heard around the table before Christian makes us re-focus on the game. I'm grateful because as much as I don't want to be, Shivel is pissing me off. I can't quite get a gauge on him yet, but I'm pretty sure every interaction he has with me is for the sole purpose of rattling my cage. Maybe he's more intimidated by my abilities on the field than I realize.

Instead of focusing on his verbal jabs, I concentrate on doing what I do best off the field… observe. However subtle they are, every one of the guys here has a tell. Luca starts taking slow, deep breaths whenever he thinks he has a good hand. Shahiary chews his lips. Christian rubs the back of his neck. Sammy, Luca and Nate all suck at poker so they're out long before I can figure them out. And Daniel, he's so lit there's no telling what his tell is. You could tell him he already folded as soon as the cards were in his hand and he'd believe you.

It takes a few hands, but I'm able to take most of Shivel's winnings from him, which pisses him off and seems to make everyone else happy.

"Fucking shit," he says, throwing his most recent losing hand on the table and stalking off. "I'm going to take a piss."

"I'm going to get a beer," Christian says as he stands and stretches. "What do you want, Rookie?"

"I'll come look. I need to stretch my legs anyway."

"Those extra up-downs making you a little sore?" he asks me with a smile.

"I didn't know it could get worse, man," I admit. "I haven't been this sore since rookie camp."

"Gotta get you up to speed if you're gonna step in for a starter. Want another Shocktop?" He digs around in the fridge. "Looks like he's also got some Bud Light, Shiner, oh here's a shandy."

"Shiner's good."

He hands me a bottle and opens his own, taking a long swig.

"Hmm. Grapefruit shandy. Not bad," he says reading the label.

"Where the fuck did you get that?" Daniel asks as he walks through the door. Christian and I both pause. Daniel's been all smiles and laughs all night long, so the anger in his voice stops us cold.

"Uh, it was in the fridge. Sorry, man," Christian says. "I didn't realize it was off limits."

Daniels scrubs a hand down his face and takes a deep breath. "No. Sorry. I got it for my brother. He won't need it. Have at it, man."

"Have you still not talked to your family?" Christian asks, setting his bottle on the counter and crossing his arms. Daniel ignores him. Christian waits patiently until Daniel stops riffling through the fridge. "Zavaro."

"What." He tosses a bottle top in the sink.

"Have you still not talked to your family?"

I know I'm missing something. I don't know a whole lot about Daniel, but what I do know is that he's really tight with his family. So to not be talking to them would explain why he's been shit faced all night.

"Leave it alone, Sanchez," Daniel says with a glare.