“He’s better now, but he’s not good,” I add.
“Has she had the baby yet?” Sloane asks curiously.
“Not yet. She’s due soon, though.”
“Maybe he’ll be better after it’s born.”
“Or he could be worse.”
“That’s depressing.”
I shrug, not sure what she wants from me. It’s true.
Trey spins his bottle between his hands. “He shouldn’t have come to the shower today. It probably made everything worse.”
“Not a shower,” I remind him. “Gender reveal. We’ll be called back for the shower in a few weeks.”
He looks pleadingly at Sloane. “Can you get me out of it?”
“Nope, not your agent.” She points a manicured hand at my face. “Him I can get out of it.”
I throw a triumphant hand in the air. “Yes!”
“But I won’t.”
I drop my hand morosely. “No!”
“Andreas will probably go to it, no matter how bad an idea it is, and he’ll need you guys there. You’re all going.”
“Who are you bossing around?” Tyus demands. “You’re not my girl and you’re not my agent. You got nothin’ on me.”
Sloane smiles coyly. It’s the same expression I’ve seen her give other agents, coaches, and players. Basically any man who looks at her like they got her number. Like she’s a little girl in a man’s world and they’ll tolerate her because she’s fun to look at. I love that smile because it always means the same thing; she’s got you right where she wants you.
“Outtakes.”
That’s all she says. I have no idea what it means, and from the look on Trey’s face he doesn’t know either, but Tyus does.
His lips pull tight over his teeth. “I guess we’re going to a baby shower, boys.”
“What just happened?” I ask, completely confused.
Tyus doesn’t negotiate. He doesn’t back down, and he sure as shit doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do. And topping the list of things Tyus Anthony does not want to do is go to a baby shower, I’m sure of it.
“I think your agent just bullied a bully,” Trey tells me, equally thrown.
“I’m not a bully,” Tyus barks.
“I am,” Sloane sings.
I laugh as I dig inside my pocket, pulling out a bulging white napkin. I lay it on the table and slip a cookie out of the pile. It’s an Oreo stuffed with pink, dipped in white chocolate. It smells like sugar. Like Lilly.
Tyus leans back to take me in. “What the fuck? Did you just pull food out of your pocket?”
“Oreo.” I hold it up for him to see clearly. “I swiped a shit ton of them from the party.”
“And you put them in your pockets?”
“Just like my grandma,” Sloane laments sadly.
“Like a genius.” I take a bite, chewing happily. “They’re delifous.”
Trey’s nose wrinkles in disgust. He swipes at the table, wiping away crumbs I sprayed out of my mouth. “Come on, man. Close your mouth. You eat like a rabid dog.”
“I’m starving.”
“How are you always hungry?”
I shrug, looking around the room as I pop the other half of the Oreo in my mouth. I’m eyeing that jukebox, idly jingling the coins in my pocket.
“Is it true you were fucking the waitress in a closet?” Sloane suddenly asks.
I snort, shaking my head sharply. “It was the baker in the pantry, and no. I didn’t fuck her.”
“Why not? Was she ugly?”
“Nope. She was hot.” I look Sloane over slowly. “Maybe hotter than you.”
“Now I know you’re lying.”
“So what were you doing in the pantry with her?” Tyus digs, lifting his beer to his lips. He’s watching me intently.
“Nothin’. Just hanging out.”
“Just hanging out? With a hot woman? You?”
“Yep. Just hanging out.”
He smiles across the table at Trey and Sloane. “You guys know what happened, right? Our boy here got shut down.”
Trey laughs. “That’s a first.”
“I didn’t get shut down,” I counter.
“Did you like her?” Sloane asks.
“Yeah, she was cool.”
“And she was hot.”
“And he didn’t close the deal,” Tyus adds. He sits back in his seat, looking comfortable and happy, like he’s savoring the moment. “This is big.”
“It’s not big,” I inform him. “I knew her for twenty minutes. I wasn’t going to fuck her after knowing her for twenty minutes.”
“Never stopped you before.”
Sloane puts her hand over her heart dramatically. “You counted the minutes. That’s so adorable.”
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t count the minutes. It’s called telling time.”
“Something I’m not so sure you know how to do considering you’re late to literally everything.”
“I’m not late to literally everything.”
“Please. You’re so chronically late you were probably born late.”
I cram another Oreo in my mouth, refusing to respond.
Sloane laughs. “I’m right, aren’t I? You were late?”
I chew slowly, mouth closed.
“How many days?”
I shrug.
“I’m going to say… six.”