“Well,” Erika sang in her baby voice. “We still have plenty of time to convince you; E! isn’t letting go of the show any time soon.”
I snorted. If she wanted more of a response, it wasn’t coming. I waved for the waiter to bring the check. When he did, of course Mehan didn’t break his neck to cover it. And even though Erika could more than cover it, she wouldn’t dare because in her mind this two hour mind-numbing meeting was a date.
“Well, good peoples, I have to hop on a plane first thing in the morning and still haven’t packed,” I initiated my departure as I signed the bill.
“I can come over to help,” Erika offered with, I was sure, as much lewd intentions as her voice led on.
“Nah, I’m good. I have errands to run before I can do that anyway.” I stood and offered my hand to Mehan. “It was good seeing you, M-Easy.” His neck heated up a shade of crimson. Then I walked over to Erika, who was still sitting and kissed her on the forehead, catching a scent of her flowery perfume and berry hair.
On a good day, I’d fuck Erika sideways. She was not only fucking beautiful, but she was bad. Her body was molded to perfection. There were rumors of cosmetic enhancements, but if that was true, she certainly got that shit off because her entire package was the truth. What she felt like beneath me would remain to be seen. Now with where things stood with that fiery Zoey—wherever the hell they stood—there was no way that I could go there with Erika, no matter how tempting her butter pecan skin was.
As I was walking off, I heard, “Are you going to All—Star weekend this year? I was thinking of going with my sisters.” She didn’t even look at me when addressing the reverse invitation.
That was a dumb question. It was like asking if I was going to a mandatory work function. These were the types of games I was accustomed to engaging in with women for my attention.
“Yeah,” I snorted as I walked away. “I’ll be there.”
“Me, too!” I heard her yell eagerly from behind.
“Maybe I’ll see you then.”
I had a bit of running around to do before I went back to my apartment to pack. I attended a training session that evening before taking it down for the night. When I turned down for bed, it had dawned on me; no call or text from Zoey. Again, I felt annoyed as fuck. I could’ve just called her, but the hell I was. I’d already let her get underneath my skin, I’d already been making a number of concessions regarding her. I was not about to be a * and call her. Fuck that. Plus, I needed Zoey to show her hand. I was still confused as to what her game was, or if she had one at all.
Two weeks after we left Alpine, I still hadn’t heard from Zoey. Something wasn’t right. She wasn’t the bug-a-boo type like Erika, but she also didn’t have the demanding social life Erika had either. All of my fucking spidey senses told me she was the type that would have called by now—no matter what her game was.
It was the first Thursday in February and I’d just left a photo shoot for Nike, and was in the back of a limo with Paul, who was tapping away at his iPad. My team played the Wizards that night and we were headed for the bus.
“Here,” I hit Send on a text message to him. “Call that number and ask for Zoey. Tell her to give me a call,” I called over to Paul who sat across from me.
His phone went off and he immediately got to tapping away on there. Seconds later he returned, “Either you’re now afraid to call your women on your own or you think I don’t have better things to do than to be played mindless games on,” he spoke over his glasses. “The number is disconnected.
Huhn? What the fuck is that?
“Disconnected?” I repeated much to myself.