Page 30 of Hit Me With Your Best Shot

I stare down at my phone as the call ends, the screen still lit with Danica’s contact photo—a stock image of a shark, which felt fitting when I saved her number. My thumb hovers over the screen, hesitating, as I debate how the hell I’m supposed to explain this to Austin. A girl I’ve only met in person once. And under a guise, no less.

I drop my phone onto the counter with a sigh, alreadydreading the conversation. If this situation isn’t awkward enough, I know my sister is bound to have an opinion about it. She always does. Honestly, I’m shocked she hasn’t already barged through my front door, armed with iced coffee and unsolicited advice, ready to insert herself into the mess.

Mess? Nah.

Not really. This isn’t a mess.

It’s just gossip.

Gossip is standard, part of the job. Lucky for me, I’m not usually the target—there are plenty of higher-profile players for the media to hound. Just so happens, though, that I’m single. Rich. Good-looking (I’m not going to argue with them on that point).

Toss in the fact that we’d lost three games in a row— then I mysteriously turn it around last night onlyafter kissing the glass where she was standing?

Boom.

News.

It’s the perfect storm: a struggling team, a dramatic comeback, and a handsome bachelor “inspired” by a mystery woman. The media’s eating it up like it’s their last meal. And honestly? I can’t blame them. If I were in their shoes, I’d probably run with it too.

My ass is against the counter and I’m drumming my fingers as I think about Austin. What the hell am I supposed to say to her? What to say, what to say…

She’s a Baddies fan. Surely, she’s seen the headlines by now. If she’s even glanced at her phone today, she’s probably been bombarded with pictures, memes, and analysis dissecting every second of last night’s game.

I open our text thread, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard. How do you even start this kind of conversation?

Gio: Mornin. Not sure if you start your day off with local sporting stats, but

I stop, deleting the message before I send it. Too casual. Too cheeky. She might not be amused if she has seen the news.

I try again.

Gio: You’ve probably seen the news…

I delete that too, groaning under my breath. Why is this so hard? I’m a grown man. A professional athlete. I can handle a text message.

Finally, I type:

Hey you—good morning. Not sure if you have seen the news but the media is having a field day with photos of us from last night. Wanna chat about it?

Austin: I was wondering when you were going to reach out ha ha. I wasn’t about to start whining about it first.

Gio: I just ended a call with my publicist—she said to sit tight. She’s going to issue a statement and then we’re going to let the story die down.

Austin: It’s that simple?

No, not always. But fingers crossed…

Gio: Usually? Should blow over in a day or two as long as I don’t do more stupid shit.

Austin: What are our options? I mean, obviously I’m not famous but it’s not like my face was blurred out. I’m so visible it’s horrifying! I look SO FUGLY lol

Gio: What’s fugly??

Austin: Fuckingugly.

Gio: Oh LOL. Did not know that, and no you do not.

Austin: Oh, I do. It’s a fact. I’ve looked at the photos. The camera caught me mid-blink, and my mouth was hanging open like I’m getting ready to give a blow job.

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