Page 30 of Scoring Grey

I uncross my leg and bump his. “Enough about me for now. What’s going on with you? Are you having a midlife crisis in your twenties like me? I thought you loved owning your own business. Now you’re up here working forThe Wild.”

“I didn’t get rid of my business to come and follow this lead. My brother, Bates, is running things while I’m away. It was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up, even if its timing does feel suspicious.”

“Why do you say that?”

Like me, he probably believes Iverson’s sudden interest in helping him feels a little off. He doesn’t hate the guy by any means, but I know he doesn’t love his closeness with his wife, Quinn. I’m sure his help is two-fold.

“Well, for starters, the way it all happened. I’ve only seen your mother once. That was at Iverson and Quinn’s impromptu wedding reception. I maybe said two words to her, ones I don’t even recall because they were that inconsequential, and then here she comes waltzing into my shop to rent a car and offer me a job.”

“Wait a minute.” I press my fingers to my temples. “My mother offered you the job?”

When Iverson called, I assumed he’d offered Dash the job; the last person I would have suspected would be my mother. Like he said, they have no connection.

“Trust me, I was equally floored, trying to piece together the why and how, but by the end of her pitch, they mattered less and less.” He throws his arms out wide. “I mean, look at me. I’m already on an adventure. I’ve never left the country, and you know I’m a thrill seeker at heart. Always have been. I know this sounds lame, but in the scheme of cool jobs, call-a-ride owners don’t make it to the top ten. Hell, it probably doesn’t even make the top one hundred, but for me, picking up people took me places. I got to see and experience things through pickups, meeting new people, and going off the beaten trail in areas I typically would have no reason to travel. I like that shit…” He sits up. “So when the offer to get paid more money, to travel and see the world, landed in my lap, the why and how fell away. That being said, it doesn’t mean I’m oblivious. I’m well aware of who your mother is. Her offer wasn’t random, but fuck if I know how I fit into her world.”

My eyes narrow on his for long moments as I digest his words and rack my brain for any connection, only to come up empty. “I think this revelation calls for a drink,” I announce as I pick myself up off the floor. “Isn’t it said that alcohol brings all truths to the light?”

He stands. “I’m not sure I’ve heard that, but I know I’ve said a lot of shit while drinking that I never would have said sober.”

I throw my arm over his shoulder. “Exactly. The alcohol goes in, and the truth comes out. What do you say we go uncover some hidden soul secrets?”

As we head out of the closet, he says, “I’m an open book, you know that, but I like it when my beer tastes like I’m about to tell you how I feel.”

Leave it to Dash to see humor and optimism in scandal. People like him are a rarity. I’ve only ever met one other person who’s spirited in all things, no matter the stakes… I stop in my tracks.

“Everything okay?” He stops with me.

“Yeah, I’m good.” I slip my hands into my back pockets. “All this detective shit is starting to go to my head, and conspiracy theories are stealing my good sense.”

“Sounds like more of a reason to drink. It does a good job of silencing the noise.”

I watch him continue toward the kitchen and consider how I’ve always been drawn to Dash. I’ve always thought it was his lively personality, but maybe… “No, stop it, Lou,” I mumble to myself. “That’s impossible.” I shake away the unfounded thoughts. The idea is far-fetched, and because I need more time to find reason, it’s also crazy.

9

CALLUM

“After our talk in my office the other day, I wanted to give you a heads-up—” Coach Beck starts.

“Good morning, boys,” a voice that sounds like nails on a chalkboard sing-songs walking up behind us in the hotel lobby as we prepare to get on the bus for the stadium.

“Damn it,” Coach mumbles under his breath.

“Why is she here?” I hiss frustratedly.

“She’s the team publicist. Why else? Press,” he answers as she makes her way to the front of the lobby where we’re all huddled around.

I grit my teeth. A big part of me was still hoping by some stroke of luck, I imagined it and Blair didn’t skate back into my life Friday afternoon, but that was just wishful thinking.

Clasping her hands together, she says, “As of today, we’ll start filming game day fits.”

There are groans and a few nods of acceptance as though the idea isn’t all bad. It’s easy content, seeing as how we dress up anyway. However, because it’s her idea, I hate it. Game day fits are just another guaranteed forced-proximity situation with the one girl who has the power to make shit hard for me.

“I’m sure you guys have seen other sports teams doing it, and before you start naysaying that it’s unoriginal, blah, blah—you’re not wrong. However, we don’t need to recreate the wheel for everything, and game day fits are something people like. Your swagger, the way you walk, the way your suit transforms you, and the confidence you exude wearing it are all ways people connect with you. I’m not asking you to put on a performance for the camera…” She looks around, making eye contact with a few of the guys before finally landing on mine and adding, “At least not yet.” She quirks a brow before dropping my gaze. “I want this to be organic, but if you have one of those faces that screams fuck off, we may need to have some one-on-one sessions.”

Coach Beck clears his throat beside me before cutting through the crowd and heading to the front. “While we’re on the topic of one-on-ones starting this week, Blair will be making house calls to conduct player interviews, film you in your home, and ask you some relatable questions. Snippets will be used for promotional purposes, commercials, and pre-game content, and full interviews will be available on the team’s website.”

Fuck my life. There’s no way she’s getting a one-on-one interview with me. Admittedly, I Googled Blair last time we sat on the tarmac, waiting for takeoff. A few of the guys were tossing her name around, and after I left home, I didn’t keep tabs on her. I had no reason to. Her dad is still the head coach at Boston College, and she went to work for her mother’s struggling PR firm. The struggling part is what caught my attention. I found it strange that the owner of the Kings would entrust her company with the team’s image. There’s a possibility that he and his wife know the Wyndhams.

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