Page 22 of Scoring the Player
“I’m there.”
“Wonderful. Call if you need me.”
“Thanks, Cat.”
“A-actually, wait?—”
“Hmm?”
“I’m guessing you don’t plan to respond to the viral post where a fan started asking about your favorite dessert?”
“Nope.” I put the car back in Park. I don’t even have a favorite dessert. If it’s good, I’ll eat it. “I don’t need more shit showing up in the locker room.”
“And you don’t want me to pass it along to Salem in private?”
“Cat.”
“Okay, okay. I had to ask.”
“What?” I ask after she’s silent for a few breaths.
“Nothing. I’m going. Call?—”
“What, Cat?”
“Nothing, really. Well, except, I’m sitting here wondering, how?”
“How what?”
“With his press conference, charm, and objectively good looks, you’re telling me you feel nothing?”
“No.”
“No.”
“Yeah. No. I don’t find him attractive.”
“Pfft.Not attractive. You want to come over here and man the phones?The Rake,Vanity Fair,Essence,Out, andGQall want to know about his skin care routine, what he eats, and when they can meet his parents.”
I hear her rummaging through papers.
“Calvin Klein wants his abs for their new campaign, Oprah wants him for—I don’t know what she wants him for, but her office called.”
“Okay. I get it.”
“Agh. I just have to ask again. What’s with you two?”
“Meaning?”
“You can’t be on the court together without it ending bloody or with more fouls than any other game. Why?”
“He’s a dickhead.”
“I’ve seen him simply look at you, and you go scorched earth.”
“Not true. That was before. It’s been chill this season.”
“He was out for most of the season.”
