Byron O'Dell, 3/16/09 12:37 PM

My head throbs; the taste of booze in the back of my throat makes my uneasy stomach rumble in protest. Ya know it’s funny, I can throw myself, a 250 some odd pound beast of pure muscle as fast and as hard as I can at another fully armored 250 some odd pound beast of pure muscle, slam him to the grass and hop up in time to bump helmets and scream at my team mate with out feeling a thing. But, one long hard night of drinking I feel like death when I drag my ass out of bed the next afternoon. Luckily for me, the cancer is also the cure.

I pull open the fridge door, it glows an amber color as the light reflects through all the bottles of Shiner filling every nook and cranny available. I can’t help but think of how glorious a sight this is despite the throbbing pain in my skull. I grab a bottle and pop the cap off with my thumb. It clangs to the floor as I start downing the bottle. I drink the first one quickly, choking it down despite my stomach’s protest. I let it settle for a moment and then belch loudly.

“Ahh, much better,” I grab another beer, the remaining bottles clank together as I slam the fridge door shut and turn towards the couch. I scoop my phone up on the way, a few missed calls… Why do people try and call me before noon? One from Erik at 4 am, I bet he hadn’t even gone to sleep yet, probably wanted to know how things went with Vanessa, I glance into the bed room as I pass by, she’s still passed out naked in my sheets. Cheerleaders, a few Bacardi mixers in ‘em and they open up like a 7-11.

I smirk and continue into the living room where I plop down on the couch. I turn on the TV and tune into ESPN for a few highlights as I continue to check my phone. I’ve missed two other calls, these from unknown numbers, probably solicitors. I hear they can do that on cell phones now… bastards. I check my voicemail next; the message from Erik is almost unintelligible he was so wasted. I catch the name Vanessa and a few choice expletives followed by several woos and shouts.

The next message is from some guy named Christian, says he wants to talk to me about some football interview with the school paper. I save the message; I’ll call him after spring break. I don’t want to think about anything this week that can’t get me fucked up or get fucked by me. I’ll have to remember that one for when I’m hanging with the guys later.

The next message almost makes me spit out the swig of beer I’d just taken. I replay it once more to make sure I heard right.

“Mr. O’Dell, my name is Jason Peters, I’m a reporter for the Sun, I have some very interesting photo’s of you I’d like to discuss, If you could call me back at (281) 555 -9795 that would be much appreciated. Oh and don’t try and ignore me I think you will really enjoy these photos, I know I do,” the message ends with a beep and I’m prompted by a woman’s voice if I want to save or delete the message, I close my phone instead.

“Shit,” it’s all I can think to say as my mind floods with panic. Mexico, someone knows about Mexico, and worse they have pictures! This is the kind of shit that gets you kicked from the team! I stand up and pace back and forth between the couch and coffee table for a second not sure what I should do, part of me says to just ignore it, it’s some ass hole playing a prank, but another part of me says I need to take this guy seriously, none of my friends are this clever, and besides, Erik is the only one who really knows what happened in Mexico, and he definitely isn’t that clever.

Okay, I calm myself and pick up the phone. Time to call this Peters asshole and figure out what the hell is up. I punch the numbers into the keypad and hit send. The phone rings a few times, seems like a million to me, but finally someone answers.

“Hello Mr. O’Dell, I’ve been expecting your call,” the tone of his voice tells me he is loving every second of this.

“Yeah, Mr. Peters? Mind telling me what the fuck this is all about?” I ask more than a little annoyed.

“Tsk tsk, Mr. O’Dell, if you are going to make it as a football player you are going to have to learn to deal with the press, and that sort of language simply won’t do. Remember, the pen is mightier than the sword, and I hold the pen, but I very much doubt you even have a sword.”

I don’t even know what this guy looks like and I can still almost see the shit eating grin on his face, oh how I’d love to just knock him cold right now, I catch myself almost growling into the phone. I calm myself a bit before I speak. “Yeah, but could you please get to the point and tell me about the photos?”

He chuckles a bit and continues,” Very well, but only because you asked so nicely. The photos I have are very interesting and I’m just wondering if you could meet me to explain them to me. It’s something I’m sure a rising young star on the University Football team like your self would want to make sure the full truth of what’s going on is included with the photos so no one gets confused or jumps to conclusions.”

I sit in stunned silence for a moment; it’s got to be Mexico.

“Mr. O’Dell, are you there?” the impatient bastard asks breaking my train of thought.

“Yeah I’m here, what’s in the photos?” my frustration evident in my tone.

He chuckles again, “Oh no, no, no, I want to discuss this in person”

“Ok, I’ll let you buy me lunch or something if you really want to,” I grin at the thought of possibly getting a meal out of this but it’s cut short by his sudden laugher.

“Oh Mr. O’Dell, once you see the photos it might be you who will want to buy me dinner. I can’t meet you today, so instead come to the Star Bucks just off campus, the one you usually go to. Meet me there, tomorrow, noon.” The phone clicks as he cuts the call short on his end before I can protest.

“Fuck,” I bang the phone against the table a few times then pick it up and call Erick. He doesn’t answer; asshole is still passed out. I try again, and again a third and forth time. He finally answers on my sixth try.

“Dude what’s up? My head is throbbin’ bro, you get my message?” Erick slurs still half asleep. “How did things go with Vanes…”

I cut him off, “Yeah bro, but listen I think I’m into so serious shit. Some asshole called and says he has photos of me. I think it’s Mexico man,”

There is a long pause followed by a, “Huh? What? Slow down man I just woke up let me grab a beer.” I hear a large bang and a slight rustle.

“Erik? Did you drop the phone?” I wait a few moments. “You fucker you did drop it.”

I wait impatiently for almost 5 minutes until the phone rustles again and he finally says something, “Okay, much better. What’s going on?”

I growl a bit,” Some asshole reporter has pictures of me! I think it’s Mexico dude. I might need your help in this! Can I count on you?”

“Whoh, Mexico? Damn, sounds like some heavy shit, sure I’ll help, how did he get photos?”

“I don’t know, I’m supposed to meet him tomorrow. I’m going to head over and we’ll talk more,” I can’t help but throw in this last part despite my predicament, “I just gotta kick Vanessa out first so give me about an hour or so.”

Erik’s reply is instant, “Daaaammmmmnnnnnn Byron you fuckin’ stud, I knew it!...”