Page 20 of Just Playin'
Skylar bows her brow. “Why not? No one says you have to sleep with them. . . but you can order the most expensive steak on the menu.” Waggling her brows, she stands to her feet and crosses the room. “Leticia suggested holding out when you’re approached for an interview. The more disinterested you seem, the higher their bid will be.”
“What are you talking about? What interview?”
She removes her gym shirt and hideous sports bra before pivoting to face me. “This is huge, Will, like massive. You’re going to be broadcast around the world.” She latches a lacy bra around her tiny frame before moving to her half of our closet that is brimming with clothes. “With you not being the owner of the video, you won’t make any profits from the marketing it brings in, but that doesn’t mean you won’t see any money. The world is your oyster, if you want it to be.”
She stops rummaging through her clothes when I murmur, “What if I don’t want it to be?”
My questions stumps her for all of two seconds. “Why wouldn’t you want this? You wanted to be famous—here’s your chance.”
“I wanted to be a prima ballerina, not an internet sensation who rides her five seconds of fame all the way to the bank.” I clutch my stinky pillow to my tummy while my eyes drift to the ground. “This doesn’t feel right.”
The guilt I felt yesterday returns stronger than ever. I was as much of a bully as the man who confronted me. I also assaulted him. I don’t want that broadcast to the world. I’d rather be happy and poor than rich and nasty.
After slipping a flirty dress over her slender thighs, Skylar moves back to my side of the room. “You can do as little or as much with this as you want, Will. The choice is entirely yours.”
A small grin tugs at my lips. “Thank you.”
Her wink tells me my praise wasn’t needed, but the press of her lips to my sweaty temple shows she appreciated it. “You’re still warm; are you sure you don’t want me to run down to the drug store and pick something up?”
The concern in her voice warms my heart. “Thanks, but I’m okay. I got everything I need right here.” I nudge my knee against the brown pharmacy bag.
“You went out?” Not waiting for me to answer her, Skylar snaps down to gather the bag in her hands. “Jesus, you’ve got an entire medicine cabinet in here.” She raises a box of Gastro Stop tablets in the air before spinning around to show me the price on the back. “You went for the good stuff.” Her eyes bug out of her head. “Where did you find thirty-eight dollars for a box of colon cloggers?”
“I didn’t. They were bought for me.”
Hearing something in my voice I didn’t mean to express, Skylar slaps away my hand before it gets within an inch of the bag. “Someone bought these for you?” Her perfectly manicured brow inches high on her face when I halfheartedly nod. It matches the generous curve of her top lip. “That wouldn’t happen to be the same man you swear you’re never speaking to again?”
“This isn’t fair, Skylar. You know the barf rules. Nothing said during barf-time is to be repeated the following morning.”
She bumps her knee against mine. “That may be true when it’s drunk-puking, but it doesn’t count for food poisoning. Anything you said last night—whether delirious or not—will and can be discussed.” She whacks my knee for the second time, this one harder than her first. “Now scoot, then spill.”
“There’s nothing to spill. I told youeverythingthat happened last night.” I’m not lying; she knows it all—embarrassing bodily functions and all.
My mattress squeaks when she flops next to me. She’s as light as a feather; my mattress is just as dated as me. “Are you sure you didn’t miss something? Because I don’t see any rando going out of his way to deliver vital necessities if he had no intentions of a second meeting.”
“He’s just being nice.”
Skylar’s shoulder touches her ear. “Maybe.” Her chest deflates when she exhales slowly. “But then why would he leave you his cell phone number?”
My stomach rolls. For the first time the past six hours, it’s a good churn. “He left his number?”
Nodding, Skylar hands me a business card, allowing it to answer my question on her behalf. It’s a pretty basic business card. White with black print, no details bar a name and a number. There’s just one odd thing—the name and number attached isn’t for Elvis. It’s for a guy named Danny.
Spotting the confusion crossing my features, Skylar flips the card over. My heart matches her brutal flip when I see a handprinted cell number and name on the back. It’s from Elvis.
“Maybe he’s still just being nice.”
“He could be,” Skylar agrees, her tone as hopeful as mine. “Or. . . he could be hoping for a chance to prove he isn’t an ass.” Her dress scrunches up around her thighs when she scoots off my bed. After returning her hem to its rightful spot, she pivots to face me. “I guess there is only one way for you to find out.” She nudges her hand to the card I’m clutching for dear life. “Call him.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Presley
The hum in the locker room is nearly deafening. We had a good training session tonight, and the excitement bouncing off the players is palpable in the air. It’s been my first full session back after the worst case of food poisoning I’ve ever experienced in my life.
Thank fuck Becca didn’t touch any of the chicken products we consumed, or my guilt would be double. On the recommendation of her doctor, she only consumes chicken she has prepared herself to ensure it is fresh and thoroughly cooked. I’m not pregnant, but I’ll be taking her obstetrician’s advice from here on out. I swear, I lost five pounds over the weekend, and even more in muscle conditioning. I’ve never been more ill.
I lift my chin up in thanks when our head coach, James Maloney, praises, “Good session today, Carlton. Keep up that level of intensity, and we might get you back into your favorite position sooner than scheduled.”
