Page 13 of High Notes & Hail Marys

“Yeah,” Jameson interjects. “He had his arm around her and shit.”

“They’re label-mates,” you say, trying to fight back the irritation seeping into your voice. “They’reboth single, so sometimes they go together to events. It’s not that deep.”

Jameson holds up a finger. “But! After his second night in Glendale, they got snapped getting their nails done together at a salon. And then they went and got those drinks with the bubbles in them…”

“Boba,” GoGo finishes sagely.

“That’s notlabel-mateshit, bro, that’sfriendshit.”

You are both impressed and concerned by the fact that GoGo and Jameson seem to be tracking Sterling’s whereabouts in the press. You don’t even do that. You didn’t do it before you met him, and you definitely don’t do it now.

“It’s just not like what you guys are thinking,” you say helplessly. “Sterling and I don’t…” It dawns upon you suddenly that, not only are you under an NDA that you don’t fully understand, but you also were serious about not spilling your personal business. GoGo and Jameson are leaned in expectantly. “I’ve never met Gabrielle, man. I can’t help you.”

Jameson sighs extravagantly and shakes his head, making his immaculately-groomed crop of short dreadlocks wiggle. “You’re gonna break the man’s heart, Kai.”

GoGo crosses his hands over his sternum and exhales, the very picture of devastation.

Is this what it’s going to be like?you think to yourself with concern. GoGo barely gave you the time of day before. And, to be fair, you were all right with that. GoGo’s not your kind of dude. Too loud. Too crass. Too obnoxious.

But, on the other hand, he’s your teammate. Football is a brotherhood. You have three biological brothers at home—you know well that, even when you don’t particularly like them at the moment, family is family. You shift on the bench, your sweat-sticky thighs clinging to the wood.

“I don’t know her,” you repeat. “But I’ll tell you what, man. If I ever meet her, I’ll drop your name. See if she’s interested. That sound good?”

GoGo pumps his fist in the air. “My man! I knew you’d hook me up, Kai. The Train! Always comin’ through.”

“Choo choo!” Jameson yelps happily.

GoGo stands and adjusts his towel. He’s shorter than you, and much leaner, too. His position calls for speed and agility, and he’s built for it, five feet and ten inches of polished alabaster perfection like a statue in a museum. He’s a good-looking dude, even if he’s a world-class asshole.

“Let’s bounce, Jimbo,” GoGo says to Jameson. “Hot as balls in here. My sac’s all sticking to my leg and shit.”

Jameson makes a face. “You nasty, bro.”

“See ya tomorrow, Kai,” GoGo calls over his shoulder.

They are laughing and discussing plans for dinner as they leave the sauna, letting the door close carelessly behind them.

You can’t help but groan as you sink deeper into the bench. You are bathed in sweat and ready to black-out from the heat. You’ve been in too long. But you linger a few lightheaded minutes longer, just to make sure that there’s no other loudmouths waiting for you back in the locker room.

***

The rest of the summer goes byfast.

Preseason is always a blur. Getting back in the swing of travel and showing up to the practice facility every day takes a lot of slogging, and there are late nights reviewing routes and plays. You work out like a fiend to ensure that you are in ideal shape for the season and to make sure that you are flexible and limber. Tom Brady may be a creepy robot with serial-killer shark eyes, but the man had a point aboutpliability.

You try not to pay too much attention to your own buzz, because commentary is worse than pointless, but your agent has texted you severaltimes to share hype-y articles and tweets. Fantasy team owners are grabbing the Cyclones defense a lot earlier than other teams’. You guys are considered early favorites for a deep playoff run again this year. Andyouin particular are getting attention. Your numbers. Your highlights. Yahoo Sports runs a story on you—a puff piece, you think, unimpressed—and it goes viral, amassing over a million shares.

“People are just realizing what a talent the Train is.” Your agent, Peter, is a decent guy. He’s more enthusiastic than you are. “You should be happy.”

“Eh.” You are perched on a chair out on the balcony of your condo, savoring the flamboyant red display of the setting Florida sun. Beneath you, kids splash in the pool, enjoying the last few nights before school starts again. “It’s probably my personal life. I hate that shit.”

Across the line—Peter’s in LA, it’s still late afternoon there—he makes a noncommittal noise. “I mean, it increases your exposure. There’s no way to get around that, Kai. You had to know what you were doing when you started dating someone like Sterling. But I don’t think that’sallof it. Your CV is strong enough to stand on its own. Your production has been insane these last few years. Real NFA fans don’t care who you are seeing romantically. They just care about the game. And you’re an asset to the game. No blowing smoke.Just stating facts.”

You hum in a way that indicates neither agreement nor the lack thereof. Truthfully, you think it’s presumptuous to say that you are “dating” Sterling. You haven’t seen him since his concert. You talk to him nightly, and it’s both hot and sweet, but you refuse to make assumptions. This isSterling Grayson. Who are you to presume that you know anything about what he wants?

You guys stay up late on FaceTime. Sometimes you fall asleep to the sound of his even breath on the line, or the sight of his messy brown curls on the pillow. It feels like you are there with him. Youwantto be there with him. But Sterling’s an enigma. He’s obviously wary of getting too close, too fast, and you don’t blame him. So you play by his rules, and run the race at his speed.

Peter says your name in a way that indicates it’s not the first time he’s tried to get your attention.

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