“Was just wondering who you were out with last night at Charlie’s.”
O.B. looked at Avery. The reporter’s face went pale.
“Wh…what?” O.B. stammered, returning his attention to Neil.
“Last night. I saw you with some kid at Charlie’s havin’ dinner. Looked like one of the fans you were talkin’ to before the game. Seemed like you were havin’ a pretty interestin’ conversation.”
O.B. didn’t know what to say. He felt sweat break out on his brow.
Avery stared at him. His expression was one that O.B. would never forget. It reminded him of the look of hurt you had when you discovered there was no Santa Claus or that your dog had just been run over by a truck.
“Well, gentlemen. I’ll leave you to your little discussion. I need to get back to the studio and do some—uh, stuff,” Avery said in a voice that sounded strained.
“Avery, I—” O.B. started, then looked at Neil, who was watching them intently.
Avery turned and walked away.
Fuck!
“Was it something I said?” Neil asked na?vely.