Page 61 of Loving the Legend
“Man, your voice is soothing. You should record a session for that app you sent me.”
He grins. “It’s not a bad idea.”
“Should we try to sleep?” I ask around a yawn, even though I’m not ready to hang up yet.
“Soon. If you’re up for it, tell me about your parents,” he says, adjusting the iPad to climb under the covers.
I get comfortable, too, and adjust my laptop to face my pillow.
“Uh, my dad’s name was Morris, and my mom’s Rose. My dad was my best friend. He’d do this thing every morning where he’d ask me…”
And so it went. We talked for a little under an hour before Sid fell asleep. Sleeping meant hanging up, so I fought it, staring at his sleeping face until I drifted off.
Having forgottento close the blinds, the bright sun wakes me in the morning. I reach my arms over my head and stretch. So this is what a nightmare-less night of uninterrupted sleep feels like. I notice the laptop screen is dark. I click the mouse pad, and my heart jigs when Sid appears partially off-camera getting dressed.
“You didn’t hang up,” I say, my voice raspy as I wipe the sleep from my eyes and mouth. I reach for the glass of water next to my bed and take a sip.
“Why would I?” he replies. The smoky timbre of his morning voice washes over me. It’s like pure sex.
He’s clad in only gray briefs and a lapis blue-colored pullover sweater. I can’t decide what turns me on more, his high muscular ass or the prominent outline of his cock.
“Getting ready to hit the road?” I ask, fondling my morning wood under the covers.
“Yeah, we’re about to fly to Utah.” He disappears from view and comes back wearing black skinny jeans.
I watch as he sprays cologne. My stomach tingles imagining his delicious scent.
Quietly watching him get ready and then pack, I check my phone for messages.
When I turn back, he’s throwing on a wool car coat in grey herringbone and a dark grey fisherman beanie. The beanie accentuates the angular lines of his high cheekbones.
He picks up the iPad. His face fills the screen.
He’s so handsome, it’s stunning.
His eyes gaze over my face as if he’s committing it to memory.
He hums.
I’m sure I’m blushing. I clear my throat. “Have a safe flight. Good luck against Utah.”
He nods. “Thanks. Who's coming to your town later?”
“Portland, actually.”
“I dare you to put up more points than me,” he challenges.
“Bet. I’ll put up more shots and assists. Though I’ll have home-court advantage, so I’m not sure it’s fair.”
“We’ll call it fair. Good luck.”
We linger a breath longer before I hang up.
Later that evening, I posted thirty-eight points and nine assists, three more than Sid.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It’s the Saturday night of the NBA All-Star weekend. Fortunately for me, it’s being hosted in Los Angeles this year. A series of exhibition games and musical and charitable events is leading up to the All-Star Game tomorrow night. The weekend attracts the hottest hip-hop, R&B, and pop performers.
