Page 6 of Scoring His Obsession

“Why am I doing this again?” I interrupt. It isn’t usual to be on a morning talk show. I’m almost always on at night, and at the end of the season, not right in the middle.

“Raeann Gorman.”

My mind works on her name, trying to find some tie-in to why I had to start jogging in Central Park at 4:30 a.m. instead of my regular time, or what she has to do with the television show. “And she is?”

“The video, Micah. The viral video. The one where she’s high on whatever they give you at the dentist and says you two are married?”

“Oh. She said that?” I pick through my brain, immediately recalling Vegas because where else in the world would I get married off the cuff like that?

“You might want to watch it before you meet her. Though, they’ll probably play it on the show. What’s another million views, right?”

“Million views?”

“Well, it’s at a hundred million right now.”

My feet nearly trip over each other. “Ahundred millionviews?”

“You live under a rock.No onesent it to you?”

“You told me not to open my IG messages anymore after that teacher from OnlyFans sent me photos and then told everyone I looked at them.”

“Okay…” I can picture Joey now, moving his glasses out of the way so he can pinch the bridge of his nose. “Note to self: send all viral videos of Micah to Micah.”

“Are you only saying that out loud? Or do you have some handy machine that makes notes for you?”

“Both. I was being productive and facetious.”

“Multi-talented.”

“Talented enough for you to put in a word for me with Parker’s camp?”

I huff out a laugh as I come to a stop by the park exit. Propping my heel up on a bench, I do some short stretches while the limo pulls up. “You wish. You’re stuck with me.”

“Just remember, she’s a big fan. She’s a little country. Sweet hometown girl. Her family has been Wildcats fans forever. This is the demographic you want to impress.”

“Are you my assistant? Or my publicist?”

“Wearing multiple hats today since your publicist is on vacation. Yay for margaritas on the beach.”

“Ooo, margaritas.”

“Not you. You’ll have orange juice and water. I’ll mention it to Paula’s people.”

“And a New York bagel.”

“And a New York bagel. Anything else?”

He waits for a beat, and when I don’t say anything, the phone beeps, and my music comes back on with a crashing vengeance. I cringe, taking the earbuds out of my ears as I make my way to the long black car. People start to look. The orange hue of the sky has brightened, and now the sun is peeking through, warming up the slight chill in the overnight air. A few people even take their phones out of their pockets, and I’d bet a thousand dollars they’re tourists. New Yorkers don’t care about this kind of stuff.

I give them a wave and the driver opens the door for me. I scoot in, getting comfortable when the door closes. My drenched shirt sticks to me, so I take the hem and wipe my face.

The first thing I do after that is take a sweaty selfie and send it to a group chat with a couple of the offensive guys. “Cardio done. Gonna smoke you guys this season.”

I don’t expect them to get back to me for a few hours since it’s a day off for us. No practice. No meetings. I’d be sleeping in today if I wasn’t here for this interview.

Wait. Not an interview. What exactly am I doing again?

The ride to the studio is short. I’m ushered into a dressing room where I can shower and change. The vanity chair is a snug fit as a guy with a headset knocks on the door and then brings in a change of clothes—no doubt courtesy of Joey. When he leaves, I pull them on, approving of the dark-blue slacks and slate-gray button-up shirt tailored to fit me perfectly.

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