Page 74 of Scoring the Player
“Blue?” I wave my hand in front of his face.
The motion flickers him back to life.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he mumbles, averting his gaze down to the spoon he’s gripping like a knife. He manages to partially lift his chin toward me before it falls back down. “I, uh, told Cat I’d spend time with her before I left. Should we…”
“Uh, sure.”
He doesn’t move, and I swear he looks just like my brother after a sound or word or some other untraceable button’s been pressed.
It’s so similar—I recognize it like my own face.
The vacant stare.
The eerie stillness.
Blue’s haunted—but by the ghosts of what war?
Arnaz
“Hey, hold on. You sure you’re okay?”
I freaked him out. I think I went quiet like I do sometimes.
“Yeah. I have a headache,” I lie. “The champagne.” Unlike mine, his face is too honest. He doesn’t buy it. “Come on.”
“You’re still here! Get over here!” Cat calls, extending her hands to us when we reenter the party.
Drunk Cat is a rare Cat.
She’s dancing barefoot with a small group. Most of the guests have cleared out.
“My two favorite clients,” she sings.
“Hey, I thought I was your favorite,” Salem replies.
“I knew you said that to all of us,” I chide.
She looks around as if cameras are hidden somewhere, then leans in. “Just you two.” She takes both of our hands and spins us around, and we duck to clear her arms.
“Where’s Lys?” Salem asks, looking around for Cat’s partner.
“They walked my aunt out,” she says. With a wide grin, she twirls us once more and adds, “I knew you two could work. Can’t think of two people better suited for each other.”
Salem stiffens before he switches gears, twirling Cat around and then pulling her close. “Happy Birthday, Cat.”
“You’re leaving?”
He nods. “Early practice. Flying back tonight.”
“Aww, okay. Thank you for coming.”
He nods at her, then turns to me, glancing over my face as he buttons his jacket. “See you in Brooklyn?”
It takes a few seconds to remember our teams face off in a few weeks.
I nod.
