Page 10 of Play the Game

“What does that mean?”

I watch Ford move throughout his house, likely to put me out of earshot of my sister. I wait until I hear the door click to let a sigh rush from my tight lungs.

Ever since Cherry—or Scottie, whatever the fuck she wants to be called—showed me a fake photo of me manhandling some girl in lingerie with the same shade of sunshiny hair as hers, I’ve been on edge. Who does she think she is? Because from our short conversation, I truly can’t decide if she’s a selfish gold-digger with no respect for others, or if she was acting out of character. Was she dared to corner me in a bathroom and threaten me? It’s fucking with my head, and I don’t like it.

She was determined but timid. Resilient yet still willing to compromise. All her features were delicate, but there was a thick wall of hardness in her eyes. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her or that fucking photo for days.

“Are you contemplating something or having a stroke?”

I shake my head at Ford’s sarcasm. My hands lie flat on the smooth counter, and I fill him in quickly, hoping he can make sense of it.

He blinks a few times before whistling. “Sounds like a missed opportunity.”

My fingers press into the stone of my counter. “What?”

“I mean, she’d probably suck some mean dick.”

I hear a gasp. “Ford!”

And here I thought he was giving us some privacy with our conversation. I was wrong.

He laughs out loud and shouts over his shoulder at my sister. “I’m kidding, baby!”

“If you make a joke about my sister sucking your dick, I will book a flight right now and choke you.”

Ford laughs harder. “You two are so sensitive.”

The screen blurs, and my sister’s face pops onto it. There are worry lines on her forehead, so it's obvious she’s much more concerned than my best friend. “Did she delete the photo?”

I shrug. “She apologized and then ran off.”

“She apologized?”

I nod. “Yeah, it was a mindfuck.”

Ford pulls the phone back. “You should have struck a deal with her. Pay her to help you fix your shitty image.”

Taytum’s voice is farther away now. “Stop giving him bad advice! Emory, you need to make sure the photo is deleted and she’s not going to do something out of desperation because it seems like she’s desperate for money, or maybe she’s a puck bunny who likes to use hockey players for monetary gain.”

I don’t argue with my sister. But something tells me she’s wrong.

Ford attempts to defend himself as I head for the door. “Bad advice? Remember when I told Theo to fake date Claire to fend off the puck bunnies in college? Now look at them! Happily in love.”

“You’re a real matchmaker.” Sarcasm. Full sarcasm.“I’ll talk to you guys later. I gotta head to practice. Good luck tomorrow,” I say to Ford.

Before I hang up the phone, my sister shouts at me to make sure the photo isn’t going to pop up somewhere and make things worse for my reputation.

Taytum is right.

That photo popping up is thelastthing I need.

Practice is justas tiring as I knew it would be. Coach and Rhodes snapped at the younger players to get them into action—except for me, because although I’m still considered on the younger end, I’m much humbler than they are, thanks to the growing up I just had to endure. Still, we’re all dripping with sweat by the end.

We have an away game in two days. We’re undefeated, but it’s the start of the season, and an undefeated record doesn’t usually happen in the pros. We’re bound to lose eventually, and that’s not the pessimist inside of me talking. It’s just the truth.

Malaki catches up with me as we head for the locker room. “Are you going with us tonight?”

I send him a look. “You think it’s best for me to go out and party with everything going on?”

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