Page 88 of Scoring the Player
“Nah,” he replies, returning from checking on her. “Why?”
“She’s okay?”
He nods. “Out cold.”
I smile at the photo of her and Blue on her otherwise bare desk. She has a warmer brown complexion than Blue’s—it’s closer to mine—curly hair piled high in a messy bun, and they share the same sharp eyes down to the dark circles.
“Doesn’t seem lived in,” I answer, placing the photo down.
Blue shrugs. “She’s not really sure if this is home for her.”
“I thought you said she’s lived here for years.”
“She has. Come on.” He leads us to the opposite side of the condo, to a guest room that’s on the smaller side of medium, with a bed, TV, and chair. He takes my coat and then hangs it in the closet.
I ask for the bathroom, and he points me to the en suite. He’s flicking through channels on the TV when I return. “An addict,” he mumbles. “What are half these apps?”
I sidle up next to him. “Can I have some?”
His brow furrows as I lift his fingers away from his teeth and open my mouth wide like fangs are about to emerge.
He snatches his hand back. “You’re nuts.” He rubs his hands across his thighs, stretching and curling his fingers, then they’re back at his mouth a second later.
“Blue?”
“Hmm?”
“What happened to you a few weeks ago?”
“Wh-what?”
“You missed a few games. They said you were sick.”
He stiffens, then resumes gnawing on his nails and staring at the TV’s home screen.
After close to a minute of silence, when I know an answer isn’t coming, I ask, “Can I help you relax?”
His fingers still against his mouth, and he nods.
“Think you can be quiet?” I ask, swiveling my feet to the floor and jumping up to lock the door.
“I-I’m always quiet.” The catch in his voice betrays him.
He sucks in a breath as I clasp his legs and pull him down the bed toward me.
“I’d like to know you.” I remove his socks. “And you need to release tension. So how about we play a game?”
“Mmh.” He moans as my thumb presses into the heel of his foot.
“Is that a yes?”
His eyes glaze over before his head falls back between his shoulder blades. “Don’t stop.”
“Dems the rules. You answer my questions, and I keep going. You’re allowed four skips.”
He grunts his assent as I rub circles into his foot.
I start with an easy one. “Salty or sweet?”
