Page 19 of King of Players

The next morning, I was awakened by the ringing of my phone. Upon opening my eyes, the initial thought was that it must have been Kaira, calling to apologize for her strange behavior last night. However, I saw my friend Dakota’s name blink across the screen and let out the breath I was holding.

“Good morning, beautiful.” I smiled into the phone.

She chuckled. “I tirelessly wait for the day you stop being gross. It’s almost noon, and I have three free hours until my next shoot. Wanna grab brunch?”

“When was the last time I said ‘no’ to that?” Pushing aside the covers, I leapt out of bed. “I need ten minutes to shower and five to get dressed.”

“Perfect. I can be there in twenty.”

“Done.”

On my way to the bathroom, I tried calling Kaira’s number. She had clearly shut it off… or blocked me.

In Dakota’s car, and while she drove toward our favorite brunch spot in the city, I called the foundation office. I was sternly told that she would be in back-to-back meetings all day, and that they would inform her that I had tried to reach her.

Ouch.

In an attempt to exorcize the thought out of my head, I decided to indulge in a rich, high calorie meal. Dakota’s eyes widened, and as soon as the waiter left, she twisted the corners of her lips. “I skip two weeks of brunch, and you’re already getting over a crush?”

I never hesitated to spill to Dakota. Having started out as college friends, she was the first woman to have ever come out to me as a lesbian. She was also the first woman on whose shoulder I’d cried when my first love had left me. Without a doubt, Dakota and I had been through a lot together—the sister I never had. That was why I immediately tittered, my finger tracing the curve of the glass of water in front of me. “You know how I always seem to… blow their minds?”

Her eyes sparked with mischief. “No! She left before you got to third base?”

“Oh, I was all up in that base, alright.”

Tossing a napkin at me, she chuckled. “Asshole.”

“She kicked me out right after,” I quickly followed.

Her face froze as her eyes fixed on my face, puzzled. After a moment of silence, she straightened her back and looked away. “Chad, what did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“Were you drunk?”

My chuckle showed how vulnerable I was feeling under the scrutiny of my best friend. “Koda, I’m always drunk on a one-night-stand.”

“What were you on? Were you strung out?”

“Dakota!”

“What? I’m serious! That’s a fucking first; questions are in order.” She paused for a second, then suddenly raised her eyebrows. “She’s married.”

“She’s not.”

“She might be.”

“I’m telling you, she’s not.”

“Okay, she’s… gay and was just trying?”

I chortled, hardly trying to assume humility. “C’mon, Koda. I was there. She loved it.”

“She…” she drew it out, thinking. “Remembered that she has chlamydia?”

“Fuck me!”

“No, okay.” My friend started tapping the wooden surface of the table with her fingers, as she did when she didn’t know what to say. “She’s a spy. An agent. She’s FBI!”

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