Page 13 of Scoring the Player
I stop fucking around and temper the tension.
“Yes, I’m gay. I have been since day one, and I’ve had it bad for Arnaz for a while now. Y’all got any advice for me?”
A reporter’s eyes widen in shock.
Okay, to be fair, I didn’t know I’d be coming out publicly today, but the way I see it, when it comes to your dream guy, you gotta put up or shut up.
“You could ask him out on a date!” someone shouts.
I follow the voice to its owner. “I could, Ciara, but I don’t really know what he likes.”
“How do we know you’re being serious?” someone else yells out.
“Y’all don’t believe me?”
Another hush falls over the room.
“Y’all journalists always need receipts.”
I shake my head and fish out my phone from my pocket. I dial my dad on speakerphone. His call goes to his generic voicemail. I hang up before his number is read out loud. I try my mom next, and she picks up on the second ring.
“Hi, dear. Is everything okay?”
“Hey, Mom, I’m good. Listen, I have you on speaker?—”
I signal for the reporters to quiet down as laughter spreads throughout the room.
“That’s good, baby. Your dad is driving me nuts. He’s been in the kitchen for hours. He’s on his third attempt at the double lemon cardamom cake you selected for this month’s challenge.”
I place the phone against my chest and whisper, “I can prove it—gimme one sec.”
“Ma, I’m in a press conference. I’ll call you later about that. Can you confirm for my friends here the name of the guy I’ve been crushing on hard since my second year in the league?”
“Of course, darling. It’s Arnaz. You’ve been smitten since the first time you played against him. For what it’s worth, I don’t think he’s with The Wonder Kid. If I were you, I’d go after him.”
The room erupts into more laughter.
“I’m trying, Mom.” I smile.
“Listen, please call your dad right back—wait, here he is.”
“Wait, Mom, I really have to g?—”
“Hey, son!” My dad’s sonorous voice emits from my speakerphone. “You picked a hell of a recipe this month. I don’t know where I’m going wrong, but it tastes awful.”
“Wait, Dad, I have to call?—”
“It’ll only take a minute. I added the lemon curd to two-thirds of the buttercream, then I?—”
“Dad, I’ll call you ba— Wait, did you say two-thirds? Isn’t it one-third of the buttercream to two to three tablespoons of lemon curd, then you use the remaining two-thirds to mix in the cardamom extract?”
“That can’t be right. Wait a minute. Let me put on my glasses.”
I shake my head at the amused reporters as Dad mutters instructions.
“Holy cow! You’re right. I don’t know how I made such a mess of it. Thanks. Oh, and I agree with your mother. You’re a handsome young man, and life is short. Stop pussyfooting around and go after Arnaz. I ain’t raise no punk.”
I burst out laughing, joining the reporters.
