Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
I smile back and point to my earbuds, so my neighbor knows I’m on the phone.
But Zena is undeterred. She mouths, Well?
The tech goddess started a new dating app, and she’s determined to get me to give Date Night a whirl. I pause, smile, and say, “I’ll get back to you soon, Zena. I promise.”
I owe her a favor since she hooked me up with a new cat sitter after my last one failed to show up when I was playing in Phoenix. But I’ve been dragging my feet on answering her on her app, and I’m not sure why.
For now, I keep walking and play the rest of Reese’s message. “It’s once a week for the rest of the season, and naturally, we think you’d be great for it. Call me for the details.”
The show sounds cool, but the timing is odd. I dial Reese right away, and after we say our hellos, I fire away: “Isn’t it a little late to be lining someone up for this show? The season has already started.”
“They were going to have Trevor Washington do it, but he couldn’t do it this past week,” she says, then hesitates, like there might be more, before she adds cheerily, “And now they want you.”
There’s something unsaid in her pause. I almost don’t want to go there, but the question is welling up inside me. “Did Cafferty turn them down first? Am I the backup to the backup or something?”
Like hell am I going to be Beck’s sloppy seconds.
She jumps on my question as if it’s a grenade. “No!”
“Then what’s the story?” I like Reese. She’s a straight shooter. But I want her to be blunt with me.
“Look,” Reese begins like she’s leaning in to confide in me, “Nadia worked the deal with the station herself.” A request from the team owner doesn’t happen every day. Nadia Harlowe doesn’t ask much of me directly other than to win, something I didn’t do for her last year. “Nadia wants more press. She thinks putting you out there more will help with the team’s overall marketing, and that’s one of her big goals—more marketing to drive attendance. And you’re great at interviews and public speaking in general. You’re perfect for this. Also, from what I hear, they didn’t ask Beck.”
I rein in a laugh of schadenfreude. I shouldn’t gloat—even in my head—over being picked first for the show. I shouldn’t derive any glee from being better with the media. Beck’s with the better team, so life has a way of evening things out.
“I’ll do it, and thanks for asking me. Please let Nadia know I will not disappoint her,” I say sincerely as I reach the small-batch ice cream shop, then turn onto Fillmore.
I hang up, passing the familiar mix of high-end and hipster boutiques on this hilly street as I try to figure out why I don’t want to take Zena’s offer, besides the obvious—do I really want to be the face of a dating app?
As I debate that choice, I head into the gym, pop music blasting and weights clanging. The gym is huge, with row after row of machines and a faintly chlorinated scent drifting in from the adjacent pool. Smells like hard work and discipline: two of my favorite things.
Once I reach the weight bench, I pick some heavy dumbbells, and while I do bicep curls, I replay the handful of dates I had in the off-season. They all fizzled. Maybe that’s the real problem I’ve had with apps. I can’t spark with someone online. I’m a physical kind of guy. I work with my body. I like to use my body on and off the field.
Like with Beck.
The memory of that night flashes white-hot. Annoyingly so. His fiery mouth. His questing hands. His barrage of eager questions.
The guy was a fun puzzle, and he was also hot as hell.
But lots of guys are hot. And the whole encounter ended with more questions than answers when he didn’t show up for our second date.
Maybe I dodged a bullet, though, because he’s in the closet as far as I can tell.
When it comes to guys I date or hook up with more than once—I’m only into dudes who are out.
Because I’m out.
There’s no halfway as a pro athlete. Our job is in the public eye. If Beck were out, I’d know. Everyone would know. No shade from me on his choices. People decide on their own time when to walk out of the closet, and I’d never pressure someone.
But if that’s what he wanted to explain to me, he could have said that in his text. He didn’t need to wait to tell me in person. So, his I’ll explain later felt like the coward’s path to ditching me.
Just man up and say I didn’t want a second date.