Page 40 of Bombshells
And I can’t stop laughing.
* * *
That evening, while I’m having a celebratory drink with my teammates, Anton texts me his congratulations.
Anton: Nice work today. It’s a good thing I don’t have a fragile male ego.
Sylvie: Thank you. Your ego seems pretty durable to me. Look! I got a gold star on my phone. You’re right—it’s the best feeling.
Anton: For you, maybe. I’m drowning my sorrows in a cupcake while I wait for my order of spicy chicken.
Sylvie: There are many things wrong with this scenario. You’re having spicy chicken without me? And you’re eating the cupcake first?
Anton: There is nothing wrong with eating presert. And I’d share if you were here. Feel free to swing by.
Honestly, I almost get up and head for the door. It’s a strange impulse, given the fact that I’d already decided to eat a Tavern burger for dinner, and all my teammates are here, too.
Anton is at home, though, making good on his vow to avoid late drunken nights this season. They have a road trip in the morning, too.
Besides, he was just teasing me. He knows how I feel about spicy chicken. I’m so gullible.
Sylvie: You eat that chicken and beat Arizona. We’re playing Stamford tomorrow.
Anton: Make ’em cry. Hey—are you going to the black tie next month?
Sylvie: Yes!
Anton: Good. Becca throws a good party.
Sylvie: So I’ve heard. Dressy parties aren’t really my thing, though. They always sound fun until the minute it’s time to get ready.
Anton: Get out of my brain. But I always show up for these, because management likes to see our faces. And I like to make management happy.
Sylvie: You make a few good points. I guess I’ll see you there!
“Who are you texting?” Charli asks. “You’re smiling like you just won a puppy lottery.”
“Are puppy lotteries a thing?” I ask, ducking the question. I don’t want to explain. Anton and I are just friends, even though he still makes me feel tingly inside.
“They should be,” she says. “But who were you texting?”
“Oh, just Anton.” I shrug.
“You guys are tight lately,” Charli observes. I think she’s fishing for gossip.
“We’re workout buddies,” I insist. Although it’s more than that. We’re friends, too. He’s a good listener and a fun guy. And he has a kind of sunshiny self-confidence that’s rare in professional athletes. He’s a great athlete, but he doesn’t have the ego to match.
There’s no bluster. No bragging. It’s refreshing.
Anton: Save me a dance. And see you at the pool next week, too!
He signs off with a smiley face.
And now I’m wearing one to match.
Fourteen
You Could Do This Professionally
