Page 4 of Free Agent

“Still?!”

“Still.”

Are you familiar with something called the law of diminishing returns? – S. Ward

I rolled my eyes at that text and then put my phone face down. Out of sight, out of mind.

Now that was a principle I believed in, a little too heavily lately, but whatever it took to make it through the day, right?

Wrong.

That’s why Sierra is on your ass now.

I shook my head, as if I could literally shake away a thought.

God, I wish.

Except for my business-related ruminations, my thoughts were far from a safe space for me right now.

There were more pressing matters at hand anyway.

Ring or no ring, Rori?

That was the question, wasn’t it?

On a shallow level, it was about wearing my ring to the game, being photographed with it on, giving the voyeurs their answer on if I was going to stand by my man.

Again.

I hadn’t actually read the headline, hadn’t seen what Monty had been caught doing, but I wasn’t dumb, wasn’t naïve.

Addicted?

Sure.

Unable to accept defeat?

Certainly.

Refusing to let go?

Yeah.

Definitely that.

Not stupid though.

Not pathetic, or passive, or whatever half the internet seemed to think. The other half was convinced I was some long-game playing, calculated mastermind, getting to the bag, all that, which was better, I guess, but neither thing was the truth.

But more than that, it shouldn’t even be any of their business.

Perils of connection to an all-star athlete.

Especially one who couldn’t even seem to keep his mess behind closed doors.

That was the part that almost pissed me off more than him doing the shit in the first place.

I blew out a sigh, scratching at the skin under the ring as I ruminated on the other possibility of my ring or no ring question. Because wearing it, really, didn’t have to mean anything other than having it on.

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