Page 26 of Scoring the Player
“You deserve a date just for flying almost three thousand miles to bake and hand deliver your crush a cake on what I imagine is a much-needed rest day. That’s old-school romance. And just when I thought you youngsters killed it with those impersonal apps. You’ve really outdone yourself.”
I wish I could say the design came easily. Of course Blue didn’t respond with an answer for his favorite dessert. That would be too easy. Nothing about him’s easy. I asked Cat, but her lips were sealed, so I decided to wing it. After weeks of researchand trial and error stretched around road games, my doubts backed me into a corner. Then I got a call.
“Salut toi.”
I grinned at Lucien’s sing-song voice. “Hey you,” I repeated back.
“Tu me manques et je suis jaloux.”
“Wait, say it again slower,” I replied.
He did, and I was still lost.
“Tsk. Tsk. You’ve already forgotten the French I taught you?” he asked.
“I remember the important words.”
“And what might those be?”
“Putain de merde, je veux plus,oh putain,” I rattled off.
He chuckled. “The words you made me scream during sex are the important words? I said I miss you, and I’m jealous. You never made any grand gestures for me.”
He saw my press conference. “Pretty hard to when I was in the closet.”
“I’m jealous he gets to experience you out of the closet.”
“He hasn’t agreed to a date yet.”
He scoffed. “Only an idiot would turn you down, and you’re too good for idiots.”
It hit me how much I missed my friend. We hooked up every now and then, but we never confused that with what we were—friends. “How are you settling in?” I asked.
“Eh, France will always be home, so it’s easy to settle here. I plan to be back in Manhattan often. They’re too proud to admit it, but my maman and papa need me here. They asked to meet you, by the way.”
“Yeah?”
“They don’t believe the beautiful, famous man on the screen is one of my best friends.” He sighed. “They need me. MaisonLaurent needs a strong hand. One of the pattern makers is a drunk, and I fear the head seamstress is sliding into senility.”
“Isn’t she like eighty-nine?”
“So?”
“Maybe it’s time to order cake and champagne and throw her a retirement party?”
“You try retiring the tyrant. She threatens to go straight to the competition every time I broach the subject. They’ve been trying to poach her for years. I’ve resorted to having a chaise installed so she can nap when she needs to.”
I laughed. “If I ever visit, I want to meet her.”
“None of the men here are like you. Come before you get a boyfriend, fall in love, and forget about me.”
“Only an idiot could forget you. I thought I wasn’t an idiot.”
My stomach dropped as I bit into the cake I’d been working on for the last twelve hours. “Hoh’ on!” I ripped off a piece of paper towel and scraped my tongue.
“Ah bon? New recipe?”
“Ugh, and running”—I swished water around in my mouth, then spit it down the kitchen drain—“out of ideas fast.”
