The Game: First Down by Nora Nix

Vince Cooper had been waiting all year for
this.
    Everything was in place. He’d ordered six
extra-large pizzas, bought four twelve-packs of dark beer – the
kind he knew the guys preferred – set out three bags of corn chips,
made two bowls of microwaveable cheese dip, and had reminded
everyone on Friday about watching the game at his place for the
first time.
    Usually, the boys went over to Mark Bellamy’s
place, a downtown penthouse and now bachelor pad since he and
Marianne separated last May. The guy had state-of-the-art everything , toys and gadgets galore, not to mention an
80-inch LED HDTV with 3D capabilities and stereo surround sound
that Vince was sure would blow out the ceiling-to-floor windows
someday. He even had a little maid, Sandra, who paraded around his
house in a French maid’s uniform two sizes too tight and about
eight inches too short.
    That, he guessed, more than anything, was
what had led to Mark’s divorce.
    Vince turned his TV on and glanced at the
cable box, noting that it was almost time. His TV was only a
40-inch, but he still got hi-def and all the channels to go with
it. He may not have had surround sound, either, but the built-in
speakers did okay for themselves. Besides, it wasn’t like he had a
huge house full of distractions, and the living room was pretty
small – they should all be able to hear all right. Compulsively, he
checked the time again. Just fifteen minutes until the game
started. Where was everybody?
    A knock at his door tore his attention away
from the blue glow of the digital clock and he sprang toward it,
then stopped. He didn’t want to look too eager. The guys wouldn’t
go for that sort of thing. He should play it cool. This was their
first time over, and he didn’t want to look like a nervous little
pussy in front of them. He let out a deep breath to calm his nerves
and opened the door slowly, preparing a confident grin.
    “Hey, guys. Good to see…”
    Vince stopped short.
    Instead of the gaggle of men he’d invited
over to watch the big game, there was only one standing before him:
Paul North, holding a six-pack in his hand, smiling broadly. Paul
was the youngest of the group in his mid-twenties, and also the
quietest. He hardly ever spoke up during the group’s many political
debates, and he’d never once regaled them with stories of his
romantic – or not – conquests. Truth be told, Vince didn’t know a
whole hell of a lot about Paul in general, only that he’d been one
of the six guys he’d invited – and the only one to show up.
    “Hey, Vince,” he greeted with his trademark
slow drawl. Paul was from Alabama – Vince remembered that much. His
accent, creeping along like molasses, never really seemed to fit in
with the more crass, staccato barking of Vince and the rest of the
Jersey construction crew. He held up the six-pack with a little
smile. “Brought ya some beer. Can I come in?”
    “Oh, sure, Paul. Yeah, yeah. C’mon in.” Vince
opened the door wider for Paul, feeling a little off-balance.
“Sorry about that. Jus’ thought the other guys’d be witcha, is
all.”
    “Ah, yeah,” Paul said as he stepped inside,
removing his coat. “About that…”
    Vince shut the door behind them and ran a
hand through his thick brown hair nervously. “What? What’s a
matter?”
    “Well, y’see… Mark’s divorce jus’ came
through today, and th’ boys didn’t wanna make ‘im feel bad about
bein’ all alone…” Paul trailed off momentarily. He set the beer on
Vince’s kitchen counter and averted his eyes. “So, uh, they all
went on over to his place t’ watch th’ game. They wanted me t’ tell
ya. They’re real sorry about it…”
    Vince stared in disbelief. They had all
agreed to this months ago! And he’d invited Mark, too – Mark, who
hadn’t been particularly broken up about Marianne’s leaving until
just now. How convenient.
    His heart sank as he looked around his
apartment. Well, hell, this wasn’t about Mark’s