Page 78 of It Happened on a Sunday
“But you weren’t late.” He drops down in the middle of the suite’s couch, then gestures for me to do the same in the armchair immediately across from it. “You were absent. Those two things aren’t the same. And also, late isn’t fucking acceptable, either. You should know that by now.”
I have a lot I want to say to that, namely that this is my fifth season on the team and I’veneverbeen so much as a minute late to anything before. Not practice, not a press conference, not a team meeting, nothing. I take my responsibilities seriously.
But I’ve also been on the team long enough to know that saying anything to rile Branson up when he’s in the middle of ripping you a new one is…ill-advised.
Marquis nearly got his ass traded the last time he shot his mouth off to Coach.
So instead of defending myself, I wait for him to wind down, then do a full mea culpa. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I thought I’d make it back for at least half the meeting, but—”
“Oh, did you?” he asks, voice dripping in sarcasm. “So sorry thejob you get paid fifty million a year for is so inconvenient.”
I shake my head. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Yeah, well, that’s how it came across. To be fair, that’s how everything you’ve done for the last week has come across.”
He glares at me as he shoves an unlit cigar in the corner of his mouth, then keeps talking. “I excused you from the team plane because the owners and GM are ‘thrilled’”—he uses finger quotes—“with all the attention Little Miss Muffet is bringing the team. Seats sold out for the season. High-profile people buying boxes. Merch flying off the shelf. Yada yada yada.
“Good for them,” he says. “Because I’ve gotta tell you, your association with that woman has caused me nothing but grief. Nothing. From that stunt Marquis pulled with the jumbotron to the shit you pulled today. Her fans filling up tours of the training facility and then going AWOL from said tours, trying to get close to you. And now this crap. Enough’s enough.”
He pulls the cigar out of one side of his mouth, then shoves it right back into the other side. “You know I don’t give two shits about whoever any of you guys date. Guy, girl, whatever. It doesn’t matter to me. But when it bleeds onto my team, I’ve got to care.”
He pokes a finger at me like he wishes it was a knife. “Fifty K, Sly. That’s what I’m fining you for this mess.”
“Fifty? Really?” It comes out before I can stop it. “What happened to the ‘everyone gets a warning’ rule?”
“Everyone gets a warning except for you.” I lean forward, and his eyes narrow dangerously. “Say one more word and I’ll make it seventy-five thousand. Now get the fuck out of here. You can write me a check first thing Monday morning or you’re not getting on my field, star fucking quarterback or not.”
And with that, he gets up and storms into the bedroom portion of the suite, slamming the door behind him.
I sit there for a minute, trying to work up a good mad. But thetruth is, I deserve the ass-chewing. Sure, the fine is excessive, considering I’ve never missed anything before, but I’m sure as shit not going to whine about it. Especially not when I’ve got bigger things to worry about right now. Like if Sloane is going to freak out when she sees those pictures of us near the food truck.
And if she does, exactly how freaked out will she be?
I know it’s not the end of the world that there are some pics out there of a moment I thought was private. But it showing up on Instagram? TikTok?Everywhere?
We gave them the kiss at the Willow, and we were okay with it because it wasn’t ours. It was for the papers and the magazines and the social media gossip sites. We were in control of that one, even if it didn’t completely feel like it.
But that moment at the food truck? That sweet little cheek kiss she gave me before getting in the SUV? Those were supposed to be for us.
The photos at the picnic table are the ones I’m most upset about. The ones where she wasn’t wearing her shield. Where she was just Sloane, not the Black Widow. No artifice and no sky-high walls. They’re the ones I’m afraid will have her slamming those walls back into place, even higher than before.
I pull out my phone and check for messages as I leave the suite. There are several, most pertaining to my date with Sloane in one way or another, including a giant thumbs-up from my abuela, but none of them are from Sloane herself.
A glance at the time tells me she’s not onstage yet, so I send her a quick text.
Me:Just checking to make sure you’re all good
Me:I had a great time today
I’ve learned not to expect an immediate response from Sloane, so I’m absolutely shocked when my phone buzzes with a message from her less than thirty seconds later.
Sloane:You sure you’re not checking in about this?
Seconds later, an actual video of us laughing pops up on my screen.
I’ve seen the pics, and they were bad enough. But this is the first time I’ve seen the video, and I’ve got to say, I suddenly get what the guys were going on about. We look like we’re completely wrapped up in each other.
Me:Maybe I WAS talking about that
