Page 15 of Scoring the Player
Extra ganache, caramel, and buttery shortbread, I decide as I head to the locker room.
Operation Bake-a-Cake-That’ll-Win-the-Guy-of-My-Dreams begins now.
CHAPTER 3
ARNAZ
“Winter”
Spare me the shiftiness of autumn, where even the trees can’t decide what color to be.
“Would someone turn that off?” I grumble as a warm body tucks in closer to my chest.
My elbow hits soft flesh as I turn, shooting my eyes open to two heads sandwiching me in. I scan their matching wedding bands, and fragments of last night start to piece together.
“Loud,” the one with the bun groans in his sleep.
Ack. That’s my alarm.Disentangling myself, I climb over the one with the fade.
The room spins once I’m vertical, and I end up stumbling toward my phone.
Damn, what did I take?
Condom wrappers, poppers, and little empty baggies litter the floor. I had to have taken something to have stayed the night.
“Shit,” I hiss as my foot lands on the underside of a beer bottle cap. Snatching up my phone, I kill the alarm.
“Stahp…spinnin’,” I groan, pressing my forehead to my palm.
The demented ringtone blares again. “What?”
“Where the hell have you been?”
“Anaïs?” I pull back the phone to check the caller ID.
“Where are you?”
I rub my eyes. “Hooked up…wherever.”
“You don’t know where you are?”
My stomach gurgles.Seriously, what the hell did I take?
“Arnaz!”
“What?” I whisper-yell.
“Where are you?” The concern in her voice overpowers my annoyance.
“Hold on.” I trudge to the window and separate the curtains.
“Never mind, I’m checking the app.”
Recognizing a favorite hand roll sushi spot across the street that I quit dining in once I realized it’s a go-to spot for insufferable first-daters, I grunt, “Downtown.”
“Are you okay?”
I sniff my pits.Yeesh.“You still tracking me on your phone like a stalker?”
