I open the door and am met face-to-face with who I can only assume is Donny. I’m five feet three inches and he’s only got a few inches on me. He’s wearing a suit that does nothing less than tell anyone who goes near him that he’s a very important person. And even though it’s a rare cloudy day in Colorado, he’s still wearing black sunglasses.

“Hi.” I extend my hand. “You must be Donny.”

“Yeah.” He returns my handshake and goes a tad bit overboard with the firm grip thing. “And you must be the broad that old bastard Mahler stuck on Q.” He lets go of my hand and starts to walk away before calling over his shoulder, “Fuckin’ move it, lady. I’m parked in a handicap spot and you live in fuckin’ Kansas. I have to get in that box early. I don’t play well with the general public and if the Lamar boys beat us, they’ll eat all the good shit.”

Okay . . .

So it looks like I might owe Quinton another apology. He definitely was not exaggerating when it came to Donny.

My condo is on the second floor of my building in Aurora—not Kansas. Thankfully I’m wearing flats, so I’m able to catch up to him faster than if I’d gone with the heels I was contemplating since this technically is a work event. When we reach his rental, he barely waits for me to close the door, let alone put on a seat belt before he’s speeding out of the parking lot.

“So let’s just get this shit out of the way. I’m not trying to chitchat and drag this bullshit out when I could be watching my boy play.” He turns off the sports radio he was listening to, but doesn’t so much as glance my way as he talks. “I don’t trust that racist fucker Mahler as far as I can throw the bastard. So that means I don’t trust you.”

“Considering you don’t know me, I wouldn’t think you’d trust me.” I dig my fingernails into my palms, hoping it will distract me from my rising temper. “But open hostility seems a little out of hand too.”

“Oh, hostile is one of the nicest fuckin’ words used to describe me,” he says like I just offered him a heartfelt compliment. “Q told me you’ve been helping him with his foundation, but I want you to know what I told him. I told him not to stand unless the entire fucking stadium is on fire. And even then, he better stay on a knee until the damn turf is melted to those tight-ass pants and the only thing he can smell is the charred old boy’s club this league has been clinging on to for the last three decades.”

Whoa.