Page 16 of Loving the Legend
His gaze trails over my face, one suspended second after another until it reaches my lips where it stills.
An involuntary grin spreads across my face.
“Damn. Those dimples. I’m sure the ladies eat their hearts out,” he says, voice sliding an octave.
A heat-generating vibration spreads up my spine and unfolds into a tingling massage. He could say the sky’s blue in that velvety voice, and you’d think he was seducing you.
I shrug. “I’m married to the game right now.”
His face crinkles like I told him it’s summer out. “That can’t be right. You have to make time for fun.”
I release a drawn-out sigh. “I honestly wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“Oh, virgin?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. His phone rings, but he sends it to voicemail.
“Yeah—I mean, no! Definitely not. Not that there’s anything wrong with a virgin. I just meant, well, you know how it is. People expect what they read about you. It doesn’t help that our salaries are public. Hard to tell the gold diggers from the rest, and I’ve never been much for sleeping around. Even if it's casual, I only have the energy to hit up the same person. I refuse to lose focus on the game. I owe it to my parents…” I trail off.
For fuck’s sake. Rambling—party of one!
When it comes to opening up, I’m that night-blooming flower that unfurls once a year on a full moon. Yet, an hour around him and I’m spread open, offering myself to feed hiscuriosity. And I can’t tell if it’s due to me being star-struck, his disarming magnetism, or something else.
“Yeah, but seeing the same person comes with ‘the talk’…Where is this going? Do you love me, yada yada?”
“You prefer to keep things casual?” I ask.
“Not really. I haven’t met anyone I could see myself laying down roots with. I am not opposed to—”
His phone rings again, interrupting his train of thought.
“Argh. I need to bounce, or I’ll never hear the end of it from my coach. Hit me up.”
No dap this time. His knuckles tap my chest, and then he’s answering his phone and jogging out.
I watch as he disappears around the corner. I glance around the room and notice most of the equipment packed. The server is waiting for me to leave to pack up the refreshments. I thank the crew one final time, then head out to New Jersey to grab dinner with Adam. I realized after Sid left that I never received his number. It’s probably for the best. Even if I had it, I’m not sure I’d have the courage to message him. I can’t imagine him hitting me up. The guy probably has more friends than he knows what to do with.
But what if he calls?
The thought makes me jittery, but it's the kind of jitter that I don’t hate entirely.
Two weeks later,I’m sinking into the hotel couch and kicking off my shoes when my phone vibrates. I don’t recognize the number, but the second I glimpse the ESPN social media poll on sweet potato vs pumpkin pie, I scoff and look around in disbelief. Sid King texts me randomly—how is this my life?Likethe text is scheduled to delete itself in thirty seconds, I save his number with zero chill.
Me: It’s in the bag for pumpkin. I put $100 on it.
Sweet potato is in the lead by a slim margin.
Sid: Bet. Let’s sweeten the pot. The loser busts a move during their next game.
Me: Ugh. Literally anything else. I hate attention.
Sid: So you know you’re gonna lose then?
I’m being goaded, but that doesn’t stop my fingers from firing back.
Me: Bring it
Me: Wait, how do I know this is who I think it is?
I’m eighty percent confident it’s Sid, but you never know.
