Page 206 of Scoring the Player
“You know how headlines blow things out of proportion. You said he and Lucien ended things amicably, and now they’re just friends.”
“They’re kissing,” I state, shuddering at the image that’s been replaying in my mind.
“You saw the videos.” He twists in his seat, peering at the crowd sitting before the stage. “It was over as soon as it started. Looked friendly.”
I’ve watched every video and scanned every photo of the two of them on theirdate, feeling both irked that so many people secretly captured the moment and grateful for all the different angles.
“If ourfriendsaw you kissing someone on the lips, how would they feel?” I ask.
He purses his lips. “Been there. Katrina. All-Star game when I was playing for Miami. It, uh”—he winces—“didn’t go well.”
“Exactly.”
“Thanks,” he says to the bartender, who slides over two Arnold Palmers. Denver’s team is hot this season, so we can’t afford to drink the night before our game. “He still sending you to voicemail?” he asks me.
I hang my head.
“What’s with our boy and the long face?” Ussef’s heavy arm lands across my shoulders with a thud before his non-alcoholic beer slams down on the bar.
“Hehasbeen broody lately, hasn’t he?” Sid answers.
“If this is about me being angry that you skipped me again and gave the gift basket to Gigi, I forgive you,” Ussef says.
I snort mid-swallow, causing the liquid to go down the wrong pipe.
“I said I forgive you. Don’t choke, my man.” He pats my back as I gasp for air.
“Th-thanks.” I cough through the burn shooting down my chest.
He picks up the fresh bottle that the bartender placed down. “Does it hurt seeing her wear the Cartier cufflinks every day? A hundred percent.”
For fuck’s sake. “The next two baskets are yours. You can have the next five if it ends this conversation.”
“I love you, man.” He tightens his hold on my neck, pulling me into a noogie.
My elbow shoots back, but he jumps left, releasing me, before it makes contact.
“Knew that was coming.” He swipes up his beer. “Next basket is mine. You heard that?” he says to Sid.
“I thought the next basket was Jo’s,” Sid replies with a grin.
“Oh shit,” I say with a laugh.
“Fuck you!” Ussef spits, storming away.
“I offered you the cake,” I call to his retreating back, then say to Sid, “He looks like he’s gonna cry.”
Sid chuckles. “He’ll be aight.”
“He’ll be aight,” I mock, shaking my head. “You and Salem will work it out. Him and the billionaire designer dude plastered to his lips are just friends.” I scoff. “You ever feel like you’re drowning in all that optimism?What ifyou-know-whostopped talking to you suddenly?” I ask.
His smirk disappears. “They left me once.”
My head jerks back. “What?”
He nods. “For a few weeks, the night after my fight with Lucas.”
My eyebrows dip. “They left you ’cause you fought with Lucas?”
