Chapter Two

 

“So nice of you to dress for the occasion, Finn. Lucky for you that the owner of this place is a big football fan, and ignores the fact that you show up from time to time looking like you slept in your clothes for the past three days.”

Jordan gazed pointedly at Finn’s faded jeans, a holey T-shirt bearing the image of the vodka brand he was the spokesperson for, and the well worn pair of gray Vans on his feet. Finn’s dirty blonde hair was on the shaggy side since he was overdue for a cut, and the three-day stubble that covered his cheeks and chin was definitely not of the designer variety.

Finn shrugged at Jordan’s mockery, then dipped three French fries at one time into a mixture of ketchup, Dijon mustard, and blue cheese dressing that he’d first concocted in the sixth grade. “Unlike you two, I don’t have to wear a suit and tie to work every day. And I would have probably changed - not to mention shaved - if the conference call I was on hadn’t run overtime, and I didn’t want to piss Max off by being late and disrupting his precious schedule. Believe it or not, my friends, I actually do work for a living.”

“Hmm. So you say,” mused Max as he eyed the odd dipping sauce on Finn’s plate with distaste. “But from what Jordan and I have observed over the years, we’re not exactly sure if it’s a case of you working hard or hardly working. And may I say that is the most disgusting looking slop I’ve ever seen. Not only are you dressed like a beach bum but your eating habits are nauseating.”

In response Finn merely dunked several more French fries into the mixture, then licked a few drops off his fingers, grinning mischievously at his uptight friend. “Tell me, Maxwell. Were you born with that stick up your ass or did you acquire it gradually over the years? I’ll bet even at that fancy English prep school you attended with a bunch of other snobs that you were the most uptight of them all.”

Max grimaced. “I was there on scholarship, Finn, as you’re well aware, and had to work in the library and the school office to help pay my way. Trust me, I had very little to be snobbish about, especially when you consider my very, very humble beginnings. But even then I was certainly more discriminating about my diet than you are. What exactly is that monstrosity you’re eating anyway? I’m sure I didn’t notice anything quite that - greasy on the menu.”

Finn took a bite of said monstrosity, replying with his mouth filled with food since he knew such bad manners really pissed Max off. “It’s a patty melt, with extra cheese, sautéed mushrooms, avocado, and bacon. Oh, and I had them use ranch dressing instead of Thousand Island since I can’t stand that stuff. And it’s definitely not on the menu, but ever since I donated some signed football memorabilia to the owner’s kids’ school for some fundraiser, I can pretty much order whatever I want. Want a bite?”

This time Max visibly shuddered as Finn held out half of the overstuffed burger before returning his attention to his own plate, where he had rather predictably ordered some sort of plain grilled fish, steamed vegetables, and roasted red potatoes. Finn happily took another big bite of his custom made patty melt and wondered vaguely if Max ever did anything the least bit fun nowadays. Or wore anything besides one of his custom made Italian suits, pristine white shirts, and silk ties. Finn was sorely tempted to upend his plate of food - particularly the mixture of dipping sauces - right onto Max’s gray wool Brioni trousers, just to see if he could get some sort of reaction from him.

But he resisted the mischievous urge, partly because he was starving this afternoon, having skipped breakfast after barely waking up in time to make the conference call, and partly because he was half-afraid that Max might actually get mad enough to throw a punch. Of the three men, Max was by far the most dedicated to his fitness routine, which included lifting weights, rowing, and some crazy extreme mixed martial arts workout. Jordan happily admitted to being incredibly lazy when it came to working out, though apparently he’d been far more diligent about hitting the gym ever since Aubrey had moved in with him, given that she was some sort of fitness fanatic herself.

As for Finn, he did what he needed to keep in shape, though his workouts nowadays were nowhere near as intense as they’d been when he had played football. He was lucky enough to have been blessed with good genes so that he could basically eat whatever he wanted and not have the extra calories turn to flab. He stayed fit by working out with his longtime personal trainer three or four times a week, riding his bike around San Francisco nearly every day, and playing an occasional game of golf with some of his fellow NFL retirees or network executives at events.

“So why didn’t you, uh, get cleaned up before your conference call?” inquired Jordan as he refilled his water glass from the pitcher that had been left on the table. He rarely if ever indulged in alcohol during these lunches, given that he had patients to see afterwards at his busy OB/GYN practice.

Finn winked at Jordan knowingly. “I, ah, might have slept in just a little too late this morning,” he admitted with a chuckle. “Didn’t get much sleep last night, if you really want to know.”

“We don’t,” retorted Max. “Shall we assume that the reason you had a mostly sleepless night wasn’t due to insomnia? Or because your neighbors were playing loud music until the wee hours?”

Finn grinned wickedly. “Now, Max, you’ve been over to my condo on enough occasions to know how well soundproofed it is. Good thing, too, considering how much noise was coming from my bedroom.”

Jordan shook his head in good-natured exasperation. “Speaking of coming - what was this one’s name?”

“Shit.” Finn took a swig of his beer. “I was actually hoping you guys wouldn’t ask me that question. Because, well, I sort of don’t know - at least not for sure. I know her name ends in a Y but I can’t remember if it’s Mandy or Cindy.”

Max didn’t even bother to comment as he read an incoming text on his phone, but the look of disgust on his face was hard to miss, while Jordan gave Finn an admonishing look.

“Jesus, Finn. You can’t even get their names straight?” he asked in disbelief.

Finn gave an apologetic little shrug. “Didn’t seem all that important at the time. We had much better things to do than have a conversation. Besides, I knew she was only going to be a onetime thing. Way too young for me, I’m afraid, much as it pains me to admit a thing like that.”

“How young is too young?” inquired Jordan. “For God’s sake, Finn, I hope you have enough sense not to be hitting on college girls any longer. After that incident last summer in Cancun I thought you’d finally learned your lesson.”

That particular incident had involved Finn partying hard with a quartet of gorgeous young co-eds who’d been barely old enough to drink, but more than old enough to splash the photos they’d taken all over social media. The higher-ups at the NFL Network - not to mention a couple of the firms he was paid handsomely to endorse - hadn’t been especially pleased to see their spokesperson in a state of near-undress, with several equally near-naked young women draped over his body.

Finn waved a hand in dismissal. “Nah. She wasn’t that young. She told me at the bar that she was twenty-five, but I think she was at least a couple of years younger. And, man. Talk about stamina. Jeez, I think she sucked me dry for at least the next week. I’m pretty sure that if a whole parade of gorgeous naked women were to walk through this restaurant right now that I wouldn’t be able to get it up.”

“I doubt that,” replied Max drily. “And we shouldn’t have to remind you, Finley, that while a twenty-three year old woman might be of legal age, she’s still far too young for you. Technically you’re old enough to be that girl’s father, a fact that should disturb you as much as it does me.”

Jordan nodded. “You’ve got to admit that’s starting to push it just a little, Finn. A seventeen year age difference is way over my limit.”

“Sixteen,” corrected Finn automatically. “As of today there’s still only a sixteen year difference between me and, uh, let’s just call her Mandy.”

Max smirked as he summoned their waiter over to order coffee. “You’re only thirty-nine for two more months, Finn. Less, actually. Six weeks and four days to be exact.”

Finn scowled at his two know-it-all friends. “Leave it to a numbers guy to be able to calculate the exact number of days left until I turn forty. I’m surprised you haven’t figured out how many hours, Max.”

“That would be one thousand one hundred and four,” replied Max easily. “I don’t know the exact time of day you were born, of course, so that number could go up or down by a few hours but it’s very close.”

Finn shook his head in disbelief. “It always freaks me out a little when you can do calculations in your head so fast. You’re like a human computer at times, Max.”

A smile crossed Max’s face for a few brief seconds before being replaced by his usual somber expression. “A skill I’ve had to hone over the years in my business, Finn. When you spend most of your day poring over financial reports and profit and loss analyses, numbers become ingrained in your daily brain function.”

Jordan grinned, elbowing Finn good-naturedly in the ribs. “The only numbers Finn has ingrained in his brain are how many women he’s banged over the decades, and how many condoms are still left in the jumbo sized box he keeps in his nightstand.”

Finn scowled as both of his friends shared a laugh over that comment. “Fuck off, Doctor Dreamboat. And you, too, Mega-Brain. I might not have a medical degree, or a Masters in finance, but I’m not the imbecile you both try and make me out to be. Hey, don’t forget that I graduated from Stanford, too. And despite what you both think, I actually work my ass off for this network job. Maybe I can’t do complicated equations in record time like Max, but I do have to memorize a whole lot of different statistics about individual players and teams so that I’m not just reading off a cheat sheet during the broadcast. So stop treating me like a dumbshit half the time, and quit demeaning my job. It might seem like all I do is attend press events and joke around on the air with the other analysts, but there’s a hell of a lot more to it than that.”

Jordan and Max both stared at him somewhat incredulously, as though they couldn’t quite believe that it had been Finn who’d just made such an impassioned speech. Tactfully, Jordan changed the subject, scrolling through his phone until he found the photo he was looking for.

“So, I realize that none of us have the slightest bit of experience with something like this, but what do you guys think about this ring? I’ve, uh, been considering buying it for Aubrey. You know, for when the time is right to pop the question.”

Finn whistled appreciatively at the sight of the impressive diamond solitaire engagement ring. “Wow! That’s sure as hell some rock, Jordan. How much is that little trinket going to set you back?”

“Twenty five grand for this one. Though I was considering another one that’s almost double the price. But Aubrey’s got such slender fingers that a stone that big might be overkill. What do you think, Max?” inquired Jordan.

Despite his humble background - of which Finn and Jordan only knew the very basics - Max had transformed himself into quite the expert on all things cultured, whether it was fine wines or rare books or designer suits. And while Finn highly doubted that Max was in the habit of giving his women friends gifts of jewelry - mostly because he didn’t have any women in his life these days - he would certainly have an opinion to share about the ring Jordan was thinking of buying for his girlfriend/future fiancée.

“Hmm. Three carats, princess cut, platinum band. Classic but elegant. It’s a beautiful ring, Jordan, and I’m sure Aubrey would love it. However,” cautioned Max, “since your girlfriend is also a very independent young woman, I’d be willing to bet that she’d prefer to choose her own ring. Or at least have several different ones to choose from. My advice to you would be to pop the question, and then take her to Tiffany’s.”

“He’s right,” agreed Finn somewhat grudgingly, because - damn it - the annoyingly smug Max was pretty much always right about everything. “Some chicks would only care about getting the biggest and most expensive ring on the market so that they could impress all of their friends with it. Aubrey isn’t like that at all. In fact, for such a hot babe, she might be the least pretentious woman I’ve ever met.”

“Tell me about it,” sighed Jordan as he replaced his phone in his suit pocket. “She still insists on transferring money to my checking account every month to help pay for her share of the utilities and groceries. And grabbing the bill at least two or three times a month when we go out to dinner or brunch. Betcha that’s never happened to you even once in your life, Finn.”

Finn shrugged, taking the last swig of his beer. “That’s usually because the woman is so eager to get in my pants that we don’t make it past having drinks. It’s not a coincidence that the food delivery drivers all know me by name, given how often I’m having pizza or Chinese food or sushi delivered.”

“Charming,” muttered Max sardonically. “Did you ever think that maybe the real reason you don’t have long-term relationships is because these women realize you’re not as much of a catch as they originally thought?” He pulled back the cuff of his suit jacket and grimaced when he noticed the time on his elegant Bulgari watch. “I’m afraid I’ll need to cut this short, gentlemen. I’m flying out to Houston day after tomorrow for a new contract, and I still need to review about a dozen different financial statements before I leave. Finn - I believe it’s your turn to settle the bill?”

Finn patted his back pocket where he kept his wallet. “Yup. I got this one. And you didn’t tell us about having to go to Texas. How long are you going to be away this time?”

Max shrugged, even as he dabbed his napkin at the corners of his mouth. “I’m not exactly sure. Hopefully no more than two weeks but possibly a few days beyond that.”

“Damn.” Finn looked crestfallen. “And here I was going to try and persuade you and Jordan to go with me weekend after next to New Orleans. Since the NFL draft is being held there this year, the network is hosting a series of events leading up to draft day. They’ve got a whole bunch of stuff planned for the weekend - golf, a swamp tour, dinners at the best restaurants, and a big party Saturday night with a bunch of celebrities and athletes. Guess it’s just going to be you and me, Doctor Dreamboat.”

Jordan shook his head regretfully. “Sorry, Finn, no can do. First off, Aubrey and I already have plans for that weekend. It’s her father’s birthday so we’ll be down in San Diego then to celebrate. Second, don’t forget that Aubrey’s been at enough parties with you to know what a wild man you can be. Do you think for one second that she’d actually be cool with me going with you? Sorry, dude, but I’m afraid those crazy times are pretty much over for me. Consider me a reformed rake.”

Finn gave his friend a look of revolt. “You don’t want to know what I consider you,” he muttered darkly. “But the first word rhymes with cushy and the second word with zipped.”

Max got to his feet, and gave Finn a pat on the back. “Just because Jordan has finally decided to grow up while you insist on acting like you’re still in college isn’t a reason to call him names. Face it, Finn. Much as you hate to admit it, time definitely does not stand still. And I believe I can count at least a dozen gray hairs that have sprouted up since the last time I saw you. I’ll call you both from Houston, hmm? And try not to get your picture splashed all over the tabloids while you’re in New Orleans, Finn.”

Finn glared at Max’s retreating form. “Gray hair, my ass. Can’t that pompous bastard tell the difference between gray and blond?”

“I’m sure he can. But he happens to be right, I’m afraid. You are getting some gray hair mixed in here and there. Hey, relax,” assured Jordan as he glimpsed the murderous look in Finn’s eyes. “It happens to all of us. At least with your hair color it’s not as noticeable as it is with Max and me. Just pluck ‘em out. That’s what I do.”

Finn’s retort was interrupted by the buzzing of Jordan’s phone that signaled an incoming text. In the next minute, Jordan, too, was standing up and shrugging into his suit jacket.

“Sorry to eat and run, but one of my patients was just admitted to the hospital, and sounds like she’s going into labor a week early,” offered Jordan apologetically. “Look, if you don’t want to go to New Orleans alone, or invite one of your legion of former lovers along, ask one of your brothers to meet you there. I’ll call you in a couple of days, okay?”

Finn tried real hard not to feel abandoned as his best friend of twenty years hurried out of the restaurant where they had met up with Max an hour or so ago for one of their twice monthly lunches. He couldn’t help feeling nostalgic for the good old days, in particular the four years they had all been at Stanford together, and practically inseparable. Even Max had been fun in those days - well, at least a hell of a lot more fun than he was now. The three years that they had cohabitated in the frat house had arguably been the best years of Finn’s life, even better than his time in the NFL. He’d been naïve enough to believe that life would always be that simple, that uncomplicated, and just plain fun. Finn hadn’t counted on Max turning into a grim workaholic with a nonexistent love life, and some deep-seated emotional trauma that he still refused to discuss.

And he sure as hell hadn’t counted on Jordan - his longtime comrade-in-arms and fellow manwhore - acquiring a permanent, live-in girlfriend who was apparently going to become his fiancée within the next few weeks. More than once over the past several months since Aubrey had moved in with Jordan, Finn had silently blamed her for breaking up the group, much like Yoko Ono had been accused of driving a wedge between the members of the Beatles. Over time Finn had grudgingly come to accept Aubrey, especially after seeing how happy Jordan was with her, but he still couldn’t help feeling a little resentful over her intrusion into his best friend’s life.

Rather than follow Max and Jordan out of the restaurant, Finn ordered a cappuccino and dessert, in no particular rush to leave and head back to his rather lonely condo. He scrolled through the substantial list of contacts on his phone, trying to think of a likely candidate to invite to New Orleans. He’d instantly dismissed Jordan’s suggestion of asking one of his brothers, knowing that neither would be able to go. Neal, who was three years younger than Jordan, was expecting his third child with his wife Jessica, and Finn recalled now that baby was due within the next couple of weeks. As for his younger brother Troy, there was no way in hell that his uber-controlling wife Brenna would ever allow him to accompany Finn anywhere ever again after the last party he’d attended with his older brother. Finn acknowledged with a naughty grin that it had probably been the photos of him and Troy that had been splashed all over social media - especially the one of Troy holding a tequila bottle with a buxom redhead practically sitting on his lap - that had caused Brenna to freak out and all but ground Troy for the next couple of years.

No, his brothers were definitely out. So was their baby sister Kerry’s live-in boyfriend, whom she’d warned on numerous occasions to never, ever let her big brother Finn invite him anywhere without her. And while Finn often invited his parents to attend games and other events, this party-filled weekend in New Orleans was definitely not the sort of occasion when a guy wanted his mother and father along.

But he did owe his parents a phone call, he realized guiltily, and pressed the call button on their contact info. He tried to call home at least once a week, but it had been closer to two since he’d last talked to them. Fortunately, his mother and father led busy lives of their own, between helping out with the grandchildren, participating in the various clubs and groups they belonged to, and all of the traveling they did. His father was technically retired, having handed over the daily workings of the construction business to Neal and Troy, but Jerry McManus still spent plenty of time overseeing projects - far too much time, according to his wife Susan.

Unsurprisingly, it was Susan who picked up the phone, since Jerry was more than content to leave such things up to her. He might have been the boss at work, but he and his four children had always known that at home it was Susan who ruled with a firm but gentle and loving hand. Finn thought - and definitely not for the first time - that one of the reasons behind his own resolve to remain a bachelor for the rest of his life was because it just wasn’t possible to have the sort of happy, devoted marriage that his parents had enjoyed for over forty years. His mom, he thought with a grin, was one in a million, and fortunately his father was very well aware of that fact and had always treated her accordingly.

“Finn!” his mother exclaimed now. “I was starting to worry about you, sweetie. It’s not like you to go more than a week without calling. But I know you’re busy, so I didn’t want to bother you by calling.”

“Hey, you’d never bother me and you know it,” he chided gently. “And sorry for calling a few days late. Guess I’m just getting a little forgetful in my old age. Jesus, Mom, can you believe I’m going to be forty years old soon? A fact that those asses Jordan and Max just love to keep reminding me of.”

Susan chuckled. “That’s because both of them have already hit that milestone, and they feel the need to share the experience. And forty’s just an age, Finn. Like thirty was. And like fifty will be in ten more years. You can’t stop time, sweetie, no matter how hard you try.”

“Have you been talking to Jordan?” grumbled Finn. “Because I swear he said almost the exact same thing to me recently. And I know I can’t stop myself from getting older, Mom. It just - sucks is all.”

“If you want my opinion, I think you’re lonely,” declared Susan. “Oh, I know you have friends in every major city in the country, and legions of fans. And despite the fact that you think I don’t pay attention to such things, I’m well aware that you’re a - well, let’s call it a playboy for lack of a more polite term. I’m not going to lecture you, Finn - wouldn’t do a lick of good if I did - but maybe it’s time for you to, well, settle down a little. You don’t have to get married and start having babies like your brothers have both done, but how about finding a woman you can actually bring home to meet your family for once?”

Finn shuddered to imagine his family’s reaction if he were to bring - for example - the little nymphet who’d shared his bed last night. It was a sure bet that his mother would have instantly regretted such a suggestion the moment she laid eyes on someone like Mandy.

“Hey,” he teased, “you know the real reason I’ve never brought a girl home. Because the minute she met you she’d have the biggest inferiority complex in the world, knowing there was no way she could ever live up to you. And I’m too kindhearted to ever knowingly put a woman through that sort of thing, Mom.”

Susan laughed. “God, you are such a bullshitter, Finn! You get that from my father, of course. Everyone always said he must have kissed the Blarney Stone a thousand times to have mastered the art of bullshit the way he did. And you’re just like him.”

“How’s Jessica doing? About ready to pop that new baby out yet?” he asked, smoothly changing the subject.

He didn’t fool his mother for even a second with his tactics, but she played along and allowed him to steer the conversation in the direction he chose. They chatted amiably for several more minutes, with Finn promising to call Jerry on his cell phone later this afternoon since his father was currently out at a job site.

After the call ended, Finn stared off into space for long seconds, wondering if perhaps he was wrong about this whole bachelor thing after all. In the space of a couple of hours, his two best friends, plus his mother - three of his staunchest supporters - had all not so subtly hinted that maybe it was time for him to start acting more like an adult instead of some overgrown twentysomething.

He scowled, then resumed scrolling through his list of contacts, trying to find a name - pretty much any name at this point – of someone he could invite to accompany him to New Orleans. He rarely invited one of his multitude of female acquaintances to go away with him to these events, preferring to be unattached so that he could freely sample the bevy of beautiful women who would certainly be in attendance. Plus, in Finn’s vast experience, inviting a woman along for a weekend getaway usually gave her ideas - the wrong kind - that he was interested in a longer term relationship with her. Therefore, he either brought along a male friend or went solo when he traveled, whether it was a business-related trip or purely for pleasure.

“There. He’ll do,” declared Finn as he paused by one of the names in his contact list.

Zane owned a condo in the same building as Finn, though on a lower level floor. He was only in his mid-twenties, but had some insanely high-paying job with one of the big tech firms in Silicon Valley, affording him the opportunity to have purchased the million dollar plus condo. He was one of the group of guys in the building who practically hero-worshipped Finn, both for his exploits on and off the football field, and eagerly jumped on any opportunity to hang out with him. Finn had partied several times with Zane and his friends, even though on one of those occasions their cute, flirty waitress had mistakenly referred to Finn as Zane’s father. The fact that she hadn’t been joking had stung Finn, making him wonder for a few minutes what the hell he was doing hanging out in some trendy bar surrounded by a group of Millennials who were all ten to fifteen years his junior.

But since he didn’t seem to have a whole lot of other options at the moment - and because hanging around Zane was way more fun than being with that love-struck sap Jordan or the depressingly somber Max - Finn pressed the call button on his phone.