“I’m surprised I have to remind you about this, Phoebe, but we’re playing the Sabers tomorrow, and beating them is a lot more important than some newspaper pictures. They won the Super Bowl last year. The whole country thinks we’re flushing this season down the toilet. We have to prove to them that we’ve got what it takes to be champions.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you have to be champions? When you think about it, what’s the point? It’s not like you’re finding a cure for cancer.”

“You’re right,” he said earnestly. “It’s not like that. It’s bigger. See, you’ve got good and you’ve got evil. That’s what it is. That’s how important it is.”

“I’m having some trouble following you, Bobby Tom.”

He lifted his arm for the waitress and jabbed two fingers toward their drinks for refills. That’s when she realized that she’d nearly drained hers. She had no head for alcohol, and she knew she should refuse another, but Bobby Tom was good company, and she was enjoying herself. Besides, he was paying.

“The way I figure it is this,” he went on. “Mankind is aggressive by nature, you agree with that?”

“Mankind maybe, but not necessarily womankind.”

Bobby Tom obviously had no interest in sexual politics because he ignored her comment “Football lets out man’s natural aggression. If it weren’t for the NFL, we’d probably have gone to war with Russia half a dozen times in the last forty years. See, that’s the way Americans are. The minute we get crossed, we’re natural shitkickers. Pardon my language, Phoebe, but everybody knows kickin’ ass is part of our national conscience. Football gives us a—whadya-call? A safe outlet.”

He was actually making a convoluted sort of sense, which was when she knew the first margarita had gone to hear head. She picked up the second one, and licked another spot in the rim.

He clasped her arm and gave her a pleading look. “So, are you gonna be there for me or not tomorrow, ’cause I’ll tell you God’s truth—you’re a fine woman, and I know you don’t want a loss to the Sabers on your conscience.”

“I’ll be there,” she sighed.

“I knew I could count on you.” He gave her an engaging smile. “I like you, Phoebe. A lot. If we weren’t business associates, I could really go for you.”

He was so boyish and darling, she smiled right back at him. “Isn’t life a bitch?”

“You said it.”