Page 31 of Free Agent

She could give an interview though. To claim I was harassing them, and they just wanted to be left in peace to build their lives together and start… start their… family.

She was pregnant.

And “didn’t need this stress.”

Wow.

Wow.

So that was the celebration.

I closed my eyes, hoping to keep back the tears. Instead of thinking about what I’d just read, I thought about what I’d just done.

I focused on the arm Tatum had hooked around me, using it to pull myself close to him and letting it stay there, warm and solid, now that he was asleep.

Hmm.

I opened up the camera on my phone.

It was dark, but my camera settings compensated just enough to see my face—scrubbed clean and glowing—my naked shoulders, and Tatum’s arm.

I snapped the photo.

And then, before I could let common sense win, I navigated to my social media app and posted it.

No filter.

And for the caption, I kept it simple.

Happy fuckin’ birthday to me.

FIVE

TATUM

I don’t even have her phone number.

That was what kept running through my head as I dealt with the “aftermath” of shorty deciding to set the world on fire with a picture I didn’t even know was being taken, and a five word caption that wasn’t even like… a caption.

She just said fuck it and posted that shit.

Very unhinged behavior.

The exact kind of shit I loved, but was notably supposed to be avoiding.

“In my defense, doing something like that seemed very out of character for her,” I told Cole, my agent, who in turn raised an eyebrow and leaned in, elbows propped on the table, fingers laced together.

“Tell me everything you supposedly know about the character of a woman engaged to a known womanizer who posted a picture of your notable arm tastefully, I guess, draped over her nude body post-coitus without your knowledge,” she said, and the only thing that kept me from opening my mouth to answer was a subtle head shake from Jordan, her husband and fellow sports agent.

It was a rhetorical question.

Which I knew, but hated, and wanted to challenge.

Still, I followed Jordan’s lead. I’d never “won” one of these verbal sparring matches with Cole, as much as I enjoyed them. And a situation where I was quite clearly in the “wrong” wasn’t going to be the one where I suddenly emerged victorious.

When I didn’t offer a smart retort, Cole rolled her eyes. “Boooring,” she groaned, faking a pout. “Anyway, luckily, popular sentiment is on her side in your little love triangle, so I don’t think the drama should affect your contract negotiations, but still. We don’t need any weirdness right now. Please keep it cool for a few more weeks?”

I shrugged. “I was keeping it cool. I didn’t even go to the club with everybody.”

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