Page 19 of High Notes & Hail Marys

You pull your phone from your pocket and check your email. Your mom has forwarded you a Minions meme. Even as you are cringing over Boomer humor, you send her a laughing emoji and a heart. There’s a message from your condo board about an upcoming assessment related to flood insurance. (Ugh.) A calendar alert reminding you to change the filter in your HVAC unit. And then there’s the folder containing your Google News alerts. Freakin’sixty-sixnew ones, and that’s just since you cleared the last batch this morning.

US Magazine:Who is Kaius Reinhart? 30 Facts About Sterling Grayson’s New Beau!

Graylings India:Ster ?? Kai! Acquaint With Mysterious Dark USA Football Man-Lover

NFATHOTS:Ten Sexy Player + Singer Couples That Fell in Love Before Kai Met Sterling

TheDISH Daily:Kai Reinhart’s High School Flame Speaks Out! “He’s a Perfect Gentleman”

That last one intrigues you, but not enough to click through. You dated a lot of girls in high school, thanks to the crippling comp-het of it all, being a Black guy playing football in the Deep South. You didn’t sleep with any of them, and you guess you probably treated them well. “Perfect gentleman” sounds right for a Georgia peach trying to cash in on her fifteen minutes.

Peter likes you to leave your alerts on, but this is ridiculous. With a little fumbling, you change your settings to a once-weekly digest. The blackberries are gone. You unroll the Cobb wrap from its tortilla and start to pick it apart, using a fork to nibble at the chicken, boiled egg, cheese crumbles, and bits of bacon as you continue to stare at the screen.

Sterling hasn’t messaged you.

You know enough about his schedule to figure that he’s with either his trainer or dance captain. He prefers a later, heavier lunch and a light dinner, so he likely hasn’t taken a break yet. Tomorrow is his travel day, so he’s probably planning a low-key afternoon.

It’s hard not to conjure an image of him. He’d be wearing one of those ridiculously-skimpy gym outfits he favors. The crop tops and short-shorts. They’re kind of silly, but also hot. He’d be sweaty. Focused, like he always gets at work. He’d have his hair tied back, but some of his curls would haveescaped.

(You are kind of obsessed with his hair.)

Your fingers tap over the keyboard. You purposely don’t put a recipient name in the text box, so that you can make sure you like the message andnotaccidentally send it.

You:hey were you planning on telling me that we’d made things official? Got a call from one of your lawyers today and it was news to me honestly. Don’t you think we should have discussed? I told you i don’t like hearing things through your employees

Frowning, you backspace away every trace of that message. Too hostile. You are upset, but you don’t want to go for the throat. Nothing good ever comes of that. You take another bite of your wrap contents, which are now more like a sad little salad, and try again.

You:a little birdy told me that you have a new relationship. Lucky me, I guess? What base is an NDA considered? Probably something between 2nd and 3rd?

That one gets discarded as well. It’s too flippant. Doesn’t strike the right chord of seriousness. You don’t want to come across as angry, but this isn’t a joke, either. Maybe directness is the best tactic? No bullshit. You are nodding as you type.

You:hey. Hope you are having a good tuesday. I got anew NDA and it discusses our relationship status? I’m feeling a little confused? Not in a bad way but still i think we should maybe talk? Are you free tonight?

Your finger hovers over Sterling’s contact, ready to attach it to the message. There’s nothing wrong with this draft. It’s forthright. It expresses your feelings. It has an actionable plan. But still, it doesn’t sit right. You are ready to just throw your food in the trash and your phone along with it. A thousand bucks for a new iPhone would be a small price to pay for the luxury of not dealing with this shit right now, and that’s coming from someone who insists on picking up his own dry-cleaning and buying suits off-the-rack. Unconsciously, your left hand balls into a fist on the table.

“Kai-u-s-s-s!”

Goddamn it. You didn’t notice Jameson on the opposite end of the table. Luckily, GoGo is nowhere to be found.

“Bruh! You gonna eat that sammie or dissect it like a fuckin’ frog?” Jameson’s voice is jovial. “Stop attacking it! He already dead!”

It’s tempting to just shoot him the bird and pretend to be busy with your phone, but Jameson’s like skunk spray: hard to get rid of. You shrug.

“I think it’s a stomach flu or something,” you say casually. “Was up all night horking my guts out. Nothing tastes right.”

Jameson’s face contorts.

“Keep your cooties over there!” he yells. “I don’t want nunna that!”

Several players concur, physically scooting away from you toward the other end of the long table. It’s irrationally satisfying.

You pick your phone up again, and the infinitesimally-small boost to your mood powers you through the right version of what you want to say.

You:heard from a man in a suit today. Sounds like I won the audition for the role of Sterling Grayson’s boyfriend?

Immediately after hitting send, you put the device face-down on the table. It’s a stupid, irrational game you play: if Sterling messages you back right away, you can choose to take a moment to deal with it.

There’s a mandatory film review in the screening hall at two. Some guys clear their plates and start to filter out, keen to get a few more reps in before having to sit in place for a couple of hours.

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