“Yeah, can we get a menu?”
“We don’t need a menu,” Sloane interrupts. “We’ll have a number seven and a number fifteen to share so we’ll need an extra plate or two. Thanks.”
The waitress smiles politely at Sloane before retreating slowly.
I cast her a wary glance. “I’m not used to having people order for me.”
“It’s all part of the trust exercise. Speaking of which, where were we?”
We pick up somewhere new, leaving the heavy conversations about money and family behind. We quiz each other on books and music. What movies we love. TV shows we’ve been addicted to. These are where the gaps in her info on me are. She doesn’t have any of this, but I give it to her as she shares hers with me, fleshing out the scraps for each other until they’re more meat than bone. By the time the food arrives we’ve exhausted almost every topic. All but the big one. The important one.
Football.
“You’re a traitor,” I inform her, stuffing a forkful of schnitzel into my mouth.
She was right to order for us. Her pick is perfection.
Sloane laughs, shaking her head. Her hair floats around her face in the firelight from the heat lamp, glistening and golden. “I’m not! I’m just… the Kodiaks are not my team.”
“You were born here. You grew up here. You have no excuse for not loving them.”
“They’re not any good.”
“They’re about to get a whole lot better.”
“And when they do, I’ll reconsider them.”
“That’s how you choose your team?” I ask her doubtfully. “By how good they are?”
“I’m superficial like that.”
“I think you’re lying.”
“I think you want me to be lying.”
“When I’m a Kodiak, are you gonna cheer for them?”
“Every game. Every season,” she swears.
I point my fork at her menacingly. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”
She bats my fork away with her own, swooping in to steal a gravy coated fry from my plate. “Put it in my contract.”
“Show me where to sign.”
Sloane smiles wanly, the expression falling before it gets off the ground. “You already did. With Brad.”
“What if I wanted to change that?”
She shakes her head, wiping gravy from her lip with her napkin. “No, don’t even ask that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a bad idea. You signed with Brad. He’s bringing you endorsements. His name alone can open doors for you. You don’t want to burn that bridge and I don’t want him to think I’m snaking clients.”
“You’re not snaking me when you’re doing all of the work,” I tell her tightly.
She shakes her head again, not listening.
“Sloane, you deserve the credit when I sign.”
“Trey, don’t, okay?” she pleads, looking at me imploringly. “Promise me you won’t bring this up to my dad. We can’t do something like this, not after what we’ve already done. Let’s just sit tight, try not to rock the boat any more than we already have, and make it through Draft day without any drama. Can you promise me that?”
I lick my lips, sucking a deep breath in through my nose. I’m trying to stay calm, but the idea of her being shafted after everything she’s done for me leaves me hot inside. Boiling and angry in my veins.
“What number was I in high school?” I ask her quietly.
Her brow pinches in confusion. “Eighty-seven. Why?”
“No reason.”
She doesn’t believe me. She knows I’m lying because she’s smart. “Trey,”
I reach across the table, taking her hand. It’s warm from the lamp. Soft and small in mine. “Whatever happens with the Draft, I want you to know I appreciate you. I know you did everything you could for me.”
“I’m not done yet,” she promises with a brash smile. “I won’t quit until your name is called.”
“I know. That’s why I trust you.”
April 15th
Ashford Agency
Los Angeles, CA
I’m done with today. I’m done with this month. With this year. I want the Draft to hurry up and get here so it can hurry up and end so I can hurry up and get working on my next job. My next client. My next shot at jumpstarting my career.
Trey is a dream client turned nightmare. First his injury, then his panic attacks, and now this, the fact that I slept with him. The fact that I wanted it. That I liked it. That I’d do it again.