Jason leads them to a small cinder-block building, takes out a set of keys, and opens the door. Inside it’s a simple arrangement: a hot plate and half-size fridge in one corner, a single cot in another, covered in a cowboy blanket. Cactus League pennants on the walls, a small shelf of books. A television, snaking the stadium’s cable, and a ratty secondhand loveseat. A laptop open on a card table with two folding chairs. Under the table a bucket of batting-practice balls.

“You live here?”

Goodyear shrugs. “Easy commute.” He points his finger toward the stadium, to the casino, and back. “You want a beer?”

William is well on his way to drunk, but he nods. Anything to keep this going.

“I’m sure you heard the wife kicked me out.”

“I hadn’t.” Of course he had, but this doesn’t seem like the time to mention it.

“I know what the guys are saying.” He passes William a beer and opens one for himself. “It’s not because I have a small prick. And she’s not into chicks. Any of that would’ve been easier.” He takes a long pull of beer.

William takes a sip, too.

“You know, Willie Mays was suspended for gambling.”

William didn’t know that.

“Mickey Mantle, too. ‘Associating with known gamblers.’ But it’s bullshit. Spring training in Florida, the Grapefruit League, just about everyone ends up at the horse track. You ever bet on horses?” William shakes his head no. His gambling starts and ends with March Madness.

“I remember when Pete Rose was going through all his trouble. I was just a kid, but I kept thinking, How could he be so fucking dumb? Why doesn’t he just quit already? Let me tell you: it’s easy.”

William feels suddenly queasy. He’s signed his life over to the Lions, at least the next four years of it. What would they do if their star is booted? The team would collapse, William’s prospects along with it. “Did you … bet on baseball?”

“Fuck no. But I got myself … into a pretty bad hole. That’s the real reason Liana jumped ship. ‘Thrill-seeking behavior,’ whatever the fuck that means. I know I just like to win, and she was sick of it.”

William stares at the floor, recognizing himself in Jason’s confession. He likes to win, too. “How much did you lose?”

“Tonight, I came out with about the same amount I came in with. Maybe down a hundred grand.”

“Sounds fine,” he says, though it sounds impossible. That’s a Porsche, what he lost.

Jason laughs, it coming out more like a bark. “That’s tonight. I didn’t tell you about this morning.” Both men are quiet. Jason takes another pull from his beer. “How much was that signing bonus?”

“Two.”

“You spend it yet?”

“Just the car.”