Brent watched Quinn join the warm-ups and stood. Not for the first time, Brent wished someone would have the gall to make these comments to Quinn when he was around. Quinn felt most comfortable and had the most fun playing in the girls’ league, so that’s where Quinn was playing. End of story. 

He looked at the court and saw that Quinn and the other kids were now jogging their second lap. Okay, time to get down there and lead some stretches. All things considered, this had easily been their smoothest pre-game yet. Totally manageable drama. He wondered if Phil Jackson ever had to break up fights over BTS stickers or wrestle with a toxic political culture or identify food allergens before Lakers games.

The next day, after his team’s hard-won twenty-two to eighteen victory over the Bayview Dental Warriors, Brent went into work with a spring in his step. He had a plan in place. A two-part plan: first, pump Gabriel Cooper-Anderson for information about Will. Second, wait precisely thirty-six hours and then find a way to initiate contact with Will. Making contact a day and a half after a hook-up looked eager, but not stalkerish, and that was the sweet spot he needed to hit. You didn’t play hard to get with your newly-discovered mate, but you also didn’t want to climb all over a reluctant guy like you were Pepe Le Pew. He had to take it slow and easy. Give Will a chance to get to know him. Build a little trust. Build a little thirst. This was going to take some time, but faint heart never won fated mate. Granted, fated mate was usually kind of pre-won, but Brent would make it work.

Brent checked with Linda to see when Gabriel would be free that day, and then dropped by his office at the appointed time. He knocked on the door frame to let Gabriel know he was there and then walked in. He was always conscientious about not sneaking up on people– he knew he was big as shit, and he did not enjoy startling screams out of people. Nevermind that outside of a court– basketball or legal– he had as much killer instinct as your average non-rabid Saint Bernard. He was particularly conscientious about not sneaking up on Gabriel Cooper-Anderson, because he knew all about what Gabriel had gone through with Brad Paxton, that spineless little cum rag, and also because he imagined that Alex Anderson, who was also fairly big but super nice and chill, was super nice and chill right up until someone did anything even remotely discomfiting to Gabriel.

“Hey, Anderson Cooper, what do we know about Will Adams?”

Gabriel looked up from his laptop, annoyingly unsurprised, possibly even slightly gratified by the question. “Hey, Lurch. Will Adams? Well, uh, we know he’s an SVU detective, we know he’s awesome, we know he’s brave, we know he deals with a lot of Alphist b.s. at work, we know he’s super smart and dedicated to what has to be one of the hardest jobs on planet Earth, we know he’s a profoundly good guy, and we know he’s kind of hot. Don’t tell Alex I said that.”

“Kind of hot?” asked Brent incredulously.

“I dialed it down out of loyalty to the father of my child. But if you know you know, you know? And clearly you know. Which means… Alert! Romance Alert! Where’s Jem? He and Linda and I have like a Baltimore Chapter of the Diamond Dogs advice panel thing going. Do you need advice? Diamond Dogs mount up!” Gabriel cried out excitedly.

Brent shushed him. “Shhh. Do we need to put all my business on Front Street? Look everyone knows about your loyalty to the Face, Gabriel, but to say ‘kind of hot’ is taking it a little far. Will is volcanically hot. Surface-of-the-Sun hot. No comment on the romance. I came to receive intel, not to give it out. And as for your kind offer of crowdsourced romantic advice, echoing the words of Roy Kent when faced with the same offer, ‘Fahck no-eui!”

Gabriel grinned knowingly at his consternation, unbothered. “How do you think Roy Kent spells ‘no’? Have you ever thought about that?” 

“I don’t know, but I’ll bet there are a lot of vowels. Like a rich, chunky gumbo of vowels.”

“No comment about romance, though? Really? I was going to fix Will up with our friend Ahmad. He’s an anesthesiologist Alex works with. Beta, cute, single, gay, great cook… I held off after I saw you two talking at the fundraiser, but if I was wrong, I can revert back to plan A. 'A' for Ahmad.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“That feels like a comment.”

Brent gave Gabriel his best Roy Kent growl.

“Oooh, scary. Want me to see what else I can find out? I know people.”

“Who could you possibly know that can help with this?”

“Everyone, Brent. I am Victoria Park-Anderson’s son-in-law. I know everyone now, if only by extension.” 

“No thanks, I’ll deal with it on my own.”

“Well, the offer stands if you change your mind. You’d be a cute couple.”

We’d be a fucking necessary for my happiness couple, is what we’d be.

When Brent declined to respond, Gabriel grinned and changed the subject. “How’d the Quirls do last night?”

“We won, at no small personal cost to me. Also, I had to talk Quinn off the ledge again because someone at school was an ass to them about playing for us. As a very large man, it is unbecoming to fantasize about shotputting mean children into the stratosphere, but here I am, doing exactly that.”

“Damn it. I hate that. I’m so glad Quinn’s on our team. People in general suck, but you’re a saint, Lurch, occasional justifiable shotputting fantasies notwithstanding. I’m sending out an office memo– I'll bribe everyone with pizza and beer and we’ll get a crowd there cheering at the next game. We'll be sure to line up plenty of hype for everyone, and maybe a little extra for Quinn. You're a very good coach, Brent. I hope you’re still coaching if Lailah ever wants to play sportsball.”

Brent grunted and went back to his office.