He chuckled. “That’s very nice of you.”
“You have been very nice about going out every Saturday this month and not spending all of your time glancing at televisions. I’ve appreciated that.”
“I’m sure you’ll do the same for me during the World Series.” Sure. Probably. Perhaps picking up on my hesitancy, he added, “I won’t ask you to if the Cubs are in it.”
I exhaled, “Oh, thank you.”
He cleared his throat. “We do have a problem. You promised to watch a couple of games with me. You haven’t done that.”
“I don’t think agreements made over barbecue are binding.”
His tone suggested I was wrong. “Contract law is very clear on barbecue.”
“Ah, I forgot your degree is from the KC Masterpiece School of Law.”
“Areas of focus: wings and hoops.”
There is no quicker way to the gooiest, most susceptible part of my core than fun back-and-forth like this.
“How might I fulfill my obligation?” I asked.
“You and me. Final Four. Saturday.”
“Done.”
The venue hasn’t been determined. We may go to [Sports Bar] for one of the games or we may watch at Blaine’s. He may ask Eve and Paul if they want to join us. If he does that and we hang out at his house, he also may include Allison, Ty and Eli. All I know for certain is it won’t be a Blaine-free Saturday, which is good news for me.
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