Page 111 of Scoring the Player
“Like what?”
I shake my head as my palm glides over my mouth.Who bakes in silk PJs?No, not PJs. I get catalogs with luxe loungewear shit like this.
I scoff. “You make no sense.”
His eyebrows bunch, then lift. “I think in Blue speak that means ‘you look hot. So hot, I think I’m gonna marry you.’”
“Blue speak?”
“Yeah. Sid gave me a primer. I’m competitive, though. I intend to be proficient in no time. No one will speak Blue better than me. Well, maybe your sister.”
“You’re not allowed to talk to Sid. Or my sister. And ignore her if she DMs you.”
“Hater. You can’t keep besties apart. She likesExosphere?”
I grin. “Obsessed.”
“Bam! Got my new watch buddy.”
“You can’t like my sister or Sid more than me.” I know it sounds…whatever, but I blurt it out anyway.
He snickers.
Asshole.
He stops tweezing some shit on the cake and looks at the phone. “I could never like anyone the way I like you.”
I try to minimize the self-view because the soft-boy face I’m making is bleh.
“What flavor’s the cake?”
“Earl Grey sponge, lemon-coconut curd, and honey Swiss meringue buttercream.”
“How are you single?” Apparently my filter has fucked off for the night.
He grins. “I got a date in a couple hours.”
“Fuck you.”
He bites his bottom lip. “Tilt the camera down—let me see what you’re wearing.”
I pick it up and angle it.
Thatshouldn’t be visible from up here.
“Shut up.” I groan, adjusting myself as soon as I see his dumb smile. “Cake makes me hard.”
“Uh-huh.” He picks up a can and mists the base of the cake with a muted gold dust. “AndImake no sense? Seven seconds left to halftime, double-teamed by Boris and Allen, Nick wide open. What’d you do?”
“Launched that bitch.”
“From the logo at mid court. Then turned your back and raced down court while it was still twenty feet from the rim.”
I move to my couch and kick up my feet. “I knew it was clean.”
“Tuff.”
I nod at his look of awe. Mostly cause I’ve never known where to put genuine compliments.
