Page 64 of Sure Shot
A knock on my door distracts me. God, I love New York. Delivery is so fast. I run over and flip the lock and open the door.
Only to find Jason Castro and Anton Bayer standing there.
“Hi,” I squeak. “I thought you were the deli guy.”
“No! I got—” Castro starts.
“Bop bop boppy bop,” sings Tank from the bathroom.
Castro blanches. He opens his mouth to continue. And then closes it again.
I can almost see the synapses connecting behind his eyes. Surprise morphs into a darker expression as the truth slowly dawns.
This is partly why I don’t have a personal life. I spend all my time trying to make sure that thirty-five athletes believe they’re the center of my world. And they are. Usually.
The sound of the shower cuts off. “Is the food here, baby?” Tank’s voice calls.
“Um...” Words fail me, because I’m busy watching my clients’ eyes widen even further. “That’s, uh…” My jaw slams shut, because I’m just making things worse. We all know whose voice that is. “Is there an emergency of some kind?” I ask, trying to redirect the conversation. This pair never turns up at my door.
“Um…” Castro echoes. He doesn’t know what to say, either.
“He got a call fromSports Illustrated,” Anton says. “They want him for the body issue.”
I blink, hoping Tank stays in the bathroom so this doesn’t get any more awkward. “Congratulations,” I say haltingly.
“Thanks,” Castro says slowly, his eyes darting over my shoulder. “I, uh, wondered what you thought. Georgia says it’s up to me. But will it help me land future endorsements, or hurt because I’m doing it for free?”
“It will help!” I say brightly. “Let’s talk about it later today.”
“We’re heading out on a road trip,” Castro says. “That’s why I…” He clears his throat. “We’ll talk on the phone, maybe.”
“Sorry, Bess,” Anton has the good nature to say. “I didn’t know you and Tank were…”
My face is in flames when Eric comes into view on the landing behind the players. “I’m sorry, boss. I tried to stop them. I knew you were keeping it on the lowdown.”
“Wait. This is an ongoing thing?” Castro asks. “Since when?”
“Pretty sure that’s none of our business, man,” Anton says with a grin.
“Nine years ago!” Tank helpfully supplies from somewhere behind me. When I glance over my shoulder, he’s standing in the doorway to my bedroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. “And then September.”
“Yeah. We met a long time ago,” I stammer.
Castro’s eyes narrow. “You told me you don’t date players.”
“Guys,” Eric says quietly. “I’m going downstairs. Who’s with me?”
Nobody moves.
“Tank is the only player I’ve ever dated,” I say, feeling the need to explain myself. I can almost feel Jane Pines looking over my shoulder, whispering,I told you so.
“I’mthatirresistible,” Tank says from the bedroom.
“Does your brother know?” Castro asks.
“No!” I yelp. “It hasn’t come up. God, don’t—” I stop myself before I say something snippy to my client. “It’s private,” I say in a low voice.
“Okay. Sorry.” He sighs. “The whole thing is none of my business.”
