He hisses a nearly inaudible “Fuck.”
“I want this, Hendrix,” I tell him firmly as my hands grab his shoulder and hold firm. “No matter what. No matter how much we have to hide around the media or video chat from however many states away. I want to be with you. Do you . . . want to be with me, too?”
“Of course! How can you—”
“Even if we have to be discreet? Or live apart during the season?”
Silence greets my questions, and those grey eyes search mine, looking for the soulful truth behind my words. After a long moment, Hendrix nods. “Yes, T. I don’t want to imagine a hotel at an away game without you, but I can’t imagine giving you up now that I have you, no matter the distance or the secrecy.”
“That’s all I’m asking for.” Smiling with relief, I swoop in and steal a kiss from his soft lips. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”
✧ ✧ ✧
Nearly five months later, it’s clear I do not, in fact, have this.
I have spent the summer with Hendrix, our outings carefully concealed by Aleks or Micah sitting between us at restaurants or the beach. Every moment without Hendrix, I’ve been trying to get signed on with any team on the West Coast.
It has not been going well.
Tonight is Hendrix’s birthday—and also a month before squad deadlines for this coming season but who is counting—and we are celebrating with Aleks, Micah, and Kit. Hendrix has never been to a hibachi grill, so we’re currently seated in a private room with food being cooked in our faces, fire flaring up hot enough to send Hendrix reeling back in his chair.
“Birthday boy! Birthday boy!” I holler as the chef makes to put the sake away. I point at Hendrix, going as far as to grab his shoulders and hold him still while the chef sprays the alcohol from the bottle in the direction of Hendrix’s face. Then, he mists all of us before going in close to fill Hendrix’s mouth. My boyfriend glares at me as he downs the shot’s worth of alcohol, but I only beam wide in return.
And as Hendrix’s hand finds my thigh beneath the table, I forget all about the alluring smell of alcohol lingering on our clothes.
When Kit first suggested the hibachi place for Hendrix’s birthday, I was skeptical. One of the main foods cooked on the grill is meat, and I didn’t want to put Hendrix in that situation, but then he’d looked up the menu online and said he would try the shrimp option. Apparently, he’s had seafood a few times in his adult years, and it hasn’t upset his stomach the way the thought of red meat does. Tonight, we have all ordered shrimp—and extra of it because we’re big, athletic guys with a high caloric intake—so he doesn’t have to worry about red meat near his food.
The chef is plating our vegetables when my phone begins ringing. Taking it out of my pocket, I catch the name on the caller ID and nearly jump out of my chair. “Rix, I have to take this.”
My boyfriend gives me a curious look but nods in understanding. I’ve tried to keep our relationship separate from my job searching, and it has gone well for the most part. Still, Hendrix knows how frazzled and untethered I’ve been these last few months. Allowing me to leave during dinner to take a call is so nice of him that I can’t stop myself from pecking his lips as I stand from the table. We’re in a private room, Kit knows about us, and the chef probably doesn’t care who we are, so I don’t worry about being discreet. This time.
I make a mad dash out of the restaurant, answering the call on my way. “Hello? This is Tahegin.”
“Mr. Ellingsworth, hello. This is Antonio Garcia. I’m an agent for the Treasures. We received your email this morning, and I have to say, I’m surprised to be hearing from you.”
“Hopefully not upset, though,” I joke as I lean against the side of the restaurant building, nerves going haywire in my stomach.
The Treasures’ agent chuckles politely. “No, not upset. Curious, perhaps, why you’re interested in our team when we can’t match what the Rubies paid you.” He pauses, the humor falling away from his tone. “More curious why it was you who contacted us, not your agent.”
Clearing my throat, I attempt to make my response seem more in control than I feel. “I’m aware of your budget, and so is my agent. If I sign with y’all, my agent will drop her contract with me. There isn’t enough money to be made for her if I’m with the Treasures. She wouldn’t even send y’all an email, so . . . I did.”
“I see.” The sound of shuffling papers reaches my ear. “May I ask why us? I mean, the pay cut alone . . .”
“I need to be as close to LA as possible.” I give him a candid, non-political answer because I’m not an agent, and he should know the truth if I’m going to be on their team. “I’m not ready to go yet.”
Antonio makes a noise similar to Hendrix’s typical “hmph.” “Well. There is room on the roster for you, of course. Our budget, on the other hand—”
“I’m not in it for the money. Not right now, at least.”
“All right, Mr. Ellingsworth. I’ll do you a favor in case this LA thing doesn’t work out. One-year contract, confirmed spot on the active roster—provided you pass a physical—and the best salary I can do is seven hundred.”
Seven hundred thousand dollars.
I made five million last season.
It’s not chump change by any means. It is more than enough to live on, but the charities I usually donate to . . . Damn it.
“Do you want to think on it, Mr. Ellingsworth?”
“No, no, no,” I respond in a rush, waving my hand as if he can see me trying to assure him that I am all in. “No, sir. I’ll take the offer. Please.” He’s worth it.
It’s only for one season. I’ll figure something else out next year.
“Come by our offices tomorrow between eight and five.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Tahegin?”
“Sir?”
“I suggest you hire a new agent. Quickly.”
“Yes, sir.”
With the call ended, I collapse against the wall and breathe a sigh of relief. I have a team now, and I get to stay in LA. Sure, the Treasures’ practice facility is over an hour from the Rubies’, but that is better than New York or Florida. Even better than San Francisco. Plus, the Treasures are a decent team. They made it to the playoffs last season. This is good.
I wait until after the birthday celebrations—after dinner and presents and cake, after Hendrix takes me to bed and shows me just how much he appreciates the birthday party—to tell him the news. We’re lying beneath the duvet, Hendrix on his back and my cheek against his bare chest, both of us dewy with sweat and having just barely caught our breaths, when the words tumble from my lips.
