Page 93 of Scoring the Player
“I’m sorry. Fuck.”
I rub his arm, finding it clammy.
“My parents are here. They meet Anaïs for family brunch every third Sunday.”
“Oh, cool. I dig family.”
“Not this one,” he grumbles, climbing out of bed. “Let’s brush our teeth and get dressed.” His voice is deflated, like he’s losing air.
“Hey, hey, hold up.” I reach for him. “I get it if you don’t want me to meet your family. I can just bounce.”
“Nah, it isn’t that.”
A man’s voice gets louder, pulling Blue’s attention back to the door. When it doesn’t sound like anyone is about to burst in, he says, “I don’t really mess with them.”
“Oh. Why?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Okay. What can I do?”
“When we get out there, let me take the lead?”
“Of course. I got you.”
Three heads turnin our direction as we enter the living room. Two I recognize from television, and one from the picture on the desk.
“Arnaz?” His mother’s face lights up. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“Hey, Mom,” he says, stiffly accepting her kiss on his cheek.
Round-tipped nose, sharp cheekbones, a full bottom lip just like Blue’s. Tall and curvy, her hair is cropped low in a tapered bob. She has a deep brown complexion similar to my mother’s.
“Hi, Salem,” she says, extending her hand to me. “I watched your press conference.” Her gaze dances between me and Blue. “I’m Liz.”
“Hi, Liz,” I reply, shaking her hand.
I’ve met a lot of famous people, but it’s…different coming face-to-face with the anchorwoman who delivered the news to you and your family for your entire childhood.
Blue kneels in front of Anaïs, who’s lying across the couch with a pillow between her legs. Her eyes have a delicate crescent-moon curve. They’re foggy as she whispers, “I’m so sorry. I forgot.”
“Why are you sorry, darling?” their mother asks. “And why didn’t you call us to come over last night if you were sick?”
“It’s okay,” he replies softly to his sister. “How are you?”
“Woozy from the painkillers.”
“I have breakfast coming for you.” He kisses her forehead. “You want cinnamon tea?”
She nods and tries to sit up, but Blue tells her to rest.
“You just declined my offer to make tea,” Liz replies.
The sudden feel of two torches being waved in my direction shifts my gaze to the green lasers beamed at me.
“Sir.” I nod to Blue’s dad, who’s everywhere on TV these days.
He flashes a bright-white smile. “Hi, son.”
