Page 79 of Scoring the Player
“Your secret is safe with me,” he whispers. “Shhh.”
I school my expression to neutral as Salem saunters in,notlooking wholly edible in a white button-down with a band collar and dark washed, slim-fit blue jeans. His socks are fancy, with a blue and orange chevron print.
Did he change after the press conference?
“He’s scorching,” Kieran whispers.
Where’s the whiskey?
“This is my cuz, Kieran,” Sid introduces him to Salem.
“Hi, Kieran,” Salem replies, placing a grocery bag down to extend his hand. “Salem. Pleasure to meet you.”
Idon’tforget how to talk or listen and catch only every other word of their exchange. My headdefinitelydoesn’t tilt in, sneaking a sniff of his fresh laundry and vanilla-mint scent. Idon’tstand frozen like a powered-down robot when he says, “Hey, you,” in thatnot-at-allspine-tingling voice.
Tommy reemerges from the kitchen with a large tray piled with seafood and vegetables. He’s introduced to Salem, pops back into the kitchen, then returns with two additional trays before passing around cloth bibs to protect our shirts.
“It looks delicious,” Salem compliments him.
“Thanks, man,” Tommy replies. “We make a seafood boil a few times a year.”
“What are you both having?” Kieran asks, heading to the bar.
“That reminds me.” Salem reaches into the grocery bag on the floor and pulls out a case of IPA and a bottle of wine.
“Chablis,” Kieran says, smiling at the bottle. “Thank you!”
“You’re welcome.” Salem turns to me. “What are you having?”
His eyebrows crinkle when I don’t respond.
And now everyone’s staring.
“He likes IPAs,” Sid jumps in, and when Salem turns away, he mouths,4. 6. 8.
I end up doing more of a 2-12-3 second inhale-hold-exhale technique.
Salem returns with our drinks, then digs back into the grocery bag. “Just in case,” he says, placing a box of European-style vegan butter on the table.
“Are you lactose intolerant?” Tommy asks me.
I half nod. I think.
“Gotcha. I wondered why Sid asked us to skip dairy for one of the trays.”
The four of us settle in, then Salem passes me the dairy-free tray after he whips me up a sauce with the vegan butter, lemon, and spices.
When Salem isn’t looking, Sid mouths,Marry him.
I glare back. This is all his fault.
A huge messis made while we’re cracking into lobster and crab and peeling prawns. I press the cold IPA bottle into my palm as Salem licks butter from the inside of his wrist before it catches his cuff.
I’m quiet, which isn’t unusual—lately, I’m often out of sync with the mood of a group—but tonight’s different.
I’d never admit to my quiet awe at watching Salem be a human.
He recognizes a painting hanging on the wall, which leads the conversation toward this year’s Met Gala. He expresses curiosity about Tommy’s chemistry professor gig, and we all learn that a drop in chlorophyll is the reason leaves change in autumn.
