Page 158 of Loving the Legend
“Yeah…it’s incredible.” I pull up the article.
Time 100 selectees are recognized for changing the world. It’s a wild list of people of all backgrounds—dictators, athletes, activists, you name it. I wonder who they bumped to add Arnaz, considering he just came out. There’s a commemorative gala being held in June in Manhattan. Will Sid make a speech? Who will be his plus one? I’m crushed he didn’t tell me. I know we’re separated, but this is huge.
I wakeup at two o’clock in the morning to piss and find thirty minutes later that I can’t go back to sleep.
I check my phone for messages and zilch. I missed Lily’s call when I was out with Kaleb, and it was too late to call her back once I got in. I responded to the group thread with Kieran and Tommy. They text every day, sometimes asking how I’m doing,other times sending funny memes. It’s their way of being there for me.
Scrolling through social media, I see the Royals trending and click on one of the reels that Nicholas posted of himself, twerking to Kelis’ “Milkshake.” I chuckle at his really animated twerk. He swings the camera around, and it looks like they’re at a gay bar with buff dancers. I spot Sid and Arnaz and pause the video. Sid’s arm is slung around Arnaz’s neck as they laugh at Nicholas. My stomach turns even though it looks innocent. It’s just—they look really good together. Johan and Ussef jump in, attempting their own twerk. Ussef squats down low while humping the air, tongue sticking out, causing Sid and Arnaz to buckle over with laughter, then the feed dies. I scan the comments—most are playful, while others are offensive. I freeze when I see a comment shipping Sid and Arnaz. The comment has 752 likes and a few replies about how they look hot together.
Ugh.
This shit is not helping my insecurity. Throwing my phone across the bed, I yell into the pillow.
I’m stuck wide awake for the rest of the morning.
I don’t play wellagainst the Marvels later that day. My teammates chalk it up to road fatigue, but I know the truth—my head’s just not in it. 1,552 is the number that keeps circling my thoughts. That's the latest number of likes for the comment shipping Sid and Arnaz. 1,552 people think that my boyfriend, the man I want to marry, looks hot with another person. I know I’m supposed to ignore comments, but my brain is stuck on it. It’s wormed its way into my head, bloating my insecurities.
So what if they look hot together? Sid and I are in love, and we look pretty fucking hot too. Someone even called them a power couple for making the Times 100 list.
“Dude, are you listening?” Kaleb asks.
“My bad. What?”
“Are you going to Ussef’s party on Saturday night? Our team was invited. It’s at his crib in Beverly Hills.”
“Uh, yeah. Idris invited me. You?” I tell myself that I'll go to drink and live a little, blah blah, but Sid will most likely be there, seeing as Ussef is his teammate, and I can’t resist the chance to see him, even from a distance.
“Yep, I think most of the team’s down. Dude’s parties are lit. This one is supposed to be a swanky suit and tie affair.”
I nod. "'Heard something like that. I’ll hit you up when I get there."
I need to get my head straight. Seeing Sid and Arnaz’s names everywhere has me trippin’. Not to mention, their magic on the court together keeps improving. For the first time, I can’t bring myself to watch highlights of Sid’s games. I tried a few nights ago, but the seamless way they read each other on the court fueled my insecurity. I hate feeling this way.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
It’s Saturday night, and I’m home getting dressed for Ussef’s party. I stare at the new, tailored Gucci suit hanging from my closet.
“Here’s to hoping you lift me out of my funk, homie.”
Buttoning up the white band-collar shirt, I clasp on my favorite Dior gold oval cufflinks that I stole from Sid. Then, I slide on the slim-cut forest green wool and cashmere blend trousers and matching blazer, buckling up a cognac-colored leather belt that matches my Prada leather Chester boots. I reach for an oatmeal-colored beanie, then decide against it. I mean, I did get a fresh cut earlier. I slide a gold bracelet on one hand and a gold band on the opposite ring finger.
I admire myself in the mirror.
Not bad.
The party’s already lit by the time I arrive. I run into Kaleb and Idris less than twenty feet from the door.
“You look like a fucking model. Is that alpaca?” Kaleb teases, extending a dap.
I grin. “Is that velvet? I peep the whole sleazy chic vibe you got going.” He looks like a boss in a black turtleneck, an indigo-blue velvet blazer, and black trousers.
“Well, we can’t all be pretty, but I try,” he says with a lazy grin.
“What’s good!” I dap Idris and scan his slim-fit, ash grey suit with a mock-neck white tee underneath. “You clean, bro!”
“Thanks! Props to my stylist. I have no style.”
“We know,” Kaleb and I say simultaneously, causing us to crack up.
