Page 10
Story: Free Agent
I didn’t know who was in charge of the script they were using to announce things, but I was certainly grateful to have my successes instead of my drama as the focus. I blushed over the title the chyron was giving me to the whole arena.
For Sierra, it had said FLOBB – First Lady of Brawler Basketball, perfectly sensible as the star player’s wife.
For me, it said tech mogul.
Which was something I’d never considered myself, but of all things I could be considered to the general public?
It was among the most flattering.
I took a page from Sierra’s book, throwing up the Double-Bs myself and smiling at the crowd.
As I watched myself on the screen though, the guys beside me—the ones who had been too embroiled in conversation to pay me any attention—looked up, realizing they were on the screen too.
And it was apparently not the only thing they realized.
Specifically, the one who was seated closest to me, on the other side of two empty chairs.
He did a full-blown double take, looking at the screen, then me right beside him, then the screen, then back at me.
“Damn you fine.”
The crowd was so loud that I couldn’t actually hear him, but could see the words on his lips plain as day.
The whole arena could.
So the whole arena reacted, setting off a chain of whistling and cheers that I couldn’t do anything but blush about, trying mightily not to give into the urge to physically hide my face with my hands.
Sierra laughed as the camera person finally moved on, putting him fully on the screen. “You know who that is, right?”
“No, I do not,” I hissed through my teeth, purposely not looking at the screen, hoping the camera would find Vanity Kirkland or Elodie Perry or somebody, so we could just move past and pretend that hadn’t just happened.
But Mr. “Damn You Fine” was keen on correcting my lack of knowledge of him. Next thing I did know, he was in the seat next to me, leaning in closer than Sierra was.
Fine.
A little more distance than Sierra was giving me, but still.
“Excuse me,” he said, with enough of an accent I could tell he was from somewhere far from Blackwood.
“Yes?” I said, inclining my body juuust enough to meet his gaze, just enough to not be rude.
Shit.
I was not expecting him to lock expressive brown eyes with me the way he did, just immediately looking down to the bottom of my damn soul.
“You said your name was Rori?” he asked, forming my name carefully on his lips.
“I didn’t say anything,” I corrected with a smile. “But yes, Rori.”
Because I could guess pretty well what was coming out of his mouth next, I took a chance, offering him my hand before he could get his name out of his mouth.
My left hand.
Awkwardly.
“You are?”
“Tatum Wilder,” he said, looking a little confused over my offer of my left hand.
For Sierra, it had said FLOBB – First Lady of Brawler Basketball, perfectly sensible as the star player’s wife.
For me, it said tech mogul.
Which was something I’d never considered myself, but of all things I could be considered to the general public?
It was among the most flattering.
I took a page from Sierra’s book, throwing up the Double-Bs myself and smiling at the crowd.
As I watched myself on the screen though, the guys beside me—the ones who had been too embroiled in conversation to pay me any attention—looked up, realizing they were on the screen too.
And it was apparently not the only thing they realized.
Specifically, the one who was seated closest to me, on the other side of two empty chairs.
He did a full-blown double take, looking at the screen, then me right beside him, then the screen, then back at me.
“Damn you fine.”
The crowd was so loud that I couldn’t actually hear him, but could see the words on his lips plain as day.
The whole arena could.
So the whole arena reacted, setting off a chain of whistling and cheers that I couldn’t do anything but blush about, trying mightily not to give into the urge to physically hide my face with my hands.
Sierra laughed as the camera person finally moved on, putting him fully on the screen. “You know who that is, right?”
“No, I do not,” I hissed through my teeth, purposely not looking at the screen, hoping the camera would find Vanity Kirkland or Elodie Perry or somebody, so we could just move past and pretend that hadn’t just happened.
But Mr. “Damn You Fine” was keen on correcting my lack of knowledge of him. Next thing I did know, he was in the seat next to me, leaning in closer than Sierra was.
Fine.
A little more distance than Sierra was giving me, but still.
“Excuse me,” he said, with enough of an accent I could tell he was from somewhere far from Blackwood.
“Yes?” I said, inclining my body juuust enough to meet his gaze, just enough to not be rude.
Shit.
I was not expecting him to lock expressive brown eyes with me the way he did, just immediately looking down to the bottom of my damn soul.
“You said your name was Rori?” he asked, forming my name carefully on his lips.
“I didn’t say anything,” I corrected with a smile. “But yes, Rori.”
Because I could guess pretty well what was coming out of his mouth next, I took a chance, offering him my hand before he could get his name out of his mouth.
My left hand.
Awkwardly.
“You are?”
“Tatum Wilder,” he said, looking a little confused over my offer of my left hand.
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