Page 202 of Scoring the Player
“You’re not disposable to him. Not in the slightest. This is gonna sound like semantics, but it’s not that there was another man. It’s just that another man triggered feelings from a time when he was at his worst mentally. Did he ever talk to you about that time in his life?”
I shake my head.
She opens her mouth, then closes it. “It’s not my story to tell. It’s just…he wasn’t doing well. And while it hasn’t gotten that bad since, it still gets really bad for him in here.” She taps the side of her head. “You’re dating someone who struggles with his mental health. He retreats when he should reach out. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. It’s like breathing for him. Have you ever dated anyone like that?”
I shake my head. “No. I ha— Ah!” I shriek as a blur of fur jumps into my lap.
Anaïs bursts out laughing. “That’s Alfie. He’s especially gifted at stealth attacks.”
“Christ.” My shoulders drop as I pet the furball who decides to couch himself on my lap.
Sighing, I say, “I heard everything you said. I just need time.”
“That’s good. It’s hopeful. I’d be sad if you were adamant that you’re through with him.”
“He makes me…grrr. He got into it at the game the other day, and I was ready to fight the army of security guards who were closing in on him.”
“I caught that game. He filled me in afterward. You looked ready to go to war.”
“I’m a chill dude. But come for me or mine, and…” I mutter.
Anaïs beams at me, flashing her teeth.
“What’s that smile for?”
“You just called him yours.”
I focus on petting Alfie and change the subject again. “They have a lead in the investigation to find Denzel.”
“Is he okay?”
“I don’t know. He was seen entering Mexico.”
“Huh. He has friends there?”
I blow out a breath. “I don’t know.”
“How are you holding up?”
Liz returns with the tea.
I nod that I’m okay.
She frowns, like she’s not sure she believes me.
The restof the afternoon breezes by with easy conversation. We finished off three-quarters of the cake, and they made me promise to come back and teach them how to make it.
Heading to my car, I check my phone and see a missed call from Lucien.
“Hey. Isn’t it late in Paris?” I ask when he answers my call.
“I flew into New York on a red-eye this morning.”
“Ah.”
“Are you free to meet me for dinner?” he asks.
“Uh…” I stare down at my sweater and jeans. “Sure. Somewhere casual?”
