Page 11

You can feel your forehead wrinkling as you slowly take another sip. “Come again?”

“You and Sterling Grayson.” He looks around the locker room, at the guys hanging around.

GoGo is holding court in one corner, hooting over a Twitter video of his first-half highlights.

Nobody else is really paying attention to the conversation.

“I can’t believe I’m the only one thinking about this. ”

By now, you think you have a sense of where this discussion is going. But you smile guilelessly .

“What’chu talking about?” you ask.

He lowers his voice. “Kai, the Association is a family organization. You are killing it, honestly. I’m just looking out for your livelihood! It’s this business with Sterling. It’s… you know. You do get what I’m trying to say, right?”

When you smile again, it’s big. Showing off all your teeth. “I don’t follow, Dettweiler. Why don’t you spell it out?”

Two spots of high color appear on his cheeks. “C’mon, Kai. You know me. It’s not like I’m some kind of homophobe , or anything. I’m just saying that appearances are everything. And carrying on like you guys have been doing… it doesn’t look too good.”

“I see,” you say slowly. “Hmm. You make a good point. I was actually thinking about fucking him in the ass at center field after we won. Should I ditch that plan, you think?”

Dettweiler grits his teeth. “See! I knew you’d get offended. There’s no talking to you guys about this kind of thing. I’m just looking out for you.”

“Just curious,” you said. “When you say you guys, do you mean queers? Or are you talking about anyone who doesn’t take money from fundie Christian hate groups to preach about traditional family values and taking away women’s choices? I just want to be sure I know my classifications.”

He looks mad enough to spit. “I came to you as a friend , Kai. Just remember that. When this whole thing blows up in your face, you can’t say that nobody warned you.” Dettweiler spins on his size-eight heel and stalks off, probably to rage-kick a ball into a practice net.

For your part, you roll your eyes and tilt your head back.

Let your vision unfocus as you look up at the ceiling lights.

You tweaked your shoulder on a hard hit near the end of the first. It throbs at a muted volume under your pads.

Your body is good to you, it tends to keep quiet about its complaints until the game is over.

Your Gatorade bottle is empty. One of your cleats is untied.

You wonder what Sterling is doing at that very second.

***

The Cyclones win, although it ends up being a closer game than the first half might have predicted.

Like Coach anticipated, the Bombers come back hyped after halftime, and put up two unanswered TDs by the end of the third.

But you guys get their QB to fumble early in the fourth and take it back for a defensive touchdown, and that takes the wind out of their sails.

They pull off another field goal in garbage time, but it doesn’t matter.

The guys are yelling the Cyclones’ fight song as you all head for the showers. The mood is high, and the vibes are excellent. Your scalp is still tingling from your minty shampoo when you schlep your bag onto the concourse and encounter Sterling and his group.

“Kai!” he exclaims happily, launching himself into your arms. There are a clutch of Association reporters against the wall, so you exercise restraint and simply brush your lips against his.

Sterling’s on tiptoe in your embrace, his body pressed against yours.

He smells faintly like Coke; that must be what he spilled. You smile and lower him to the ground.

“What did you think?” you ask him.

“Oh my god, you guys were amazing!” He presses his hands together like he wants to clap them. “That was so fun! I can’t believe I waited this long to go to a game!”

“Next time, maybe you’ll remember the difference between a field goal and an extra point,” Gabrielle pipes up slyly.

She’s got her hair in a high ponytail again.

Her Cyclones-green dress is itty-bitty, with a big cutout showing the curve of her side and no small amount of underboob.

Even in her stacked heels, she’s barely up to Sterling’s chin.

You aren’t even straight, and you want to just gawk at how good she looks.

Sterling remembers his manners. “Kai, this is Gabi. You saw her at the concert. Gabi, Kai.” You shake hands, and Sterling manhandles his sister forward. “And this is my big sister. Noemi, this is Kai.”

Noemi looks slightly uncomfortable. Her whole body language is radiating social awkwardness, so you dial it back and give her a grin. Forego the handshake.

“Hey!” you say. “It’s really good to meet you. Thank you for coming out. It means a lot.”

She favors you with half a smile.

A group of guys come loudly down the concourse behind you.

It can’t be such an amazing day without a little bit of bad luck, so it turns out that GoGo is foremost among them.

He’s changed into a slim-fitting pair of gray ankle slacks with a matching jacket, his scoop-neck tee underneath a vibrant yellow.

The chain around his neck probably cost as much as a starter home in Middle America.

The fucker always looks like he’s about to step into the pages of GQ .

He notices you, and makes a beeline over, clapping you on the back.

This week, he’s colored the ends of his blond hair emerald green.

“Kaius!” he shouts. “My man . Week One undefeated, what’s up!” He keeps his arm around your shoulder. “Introduce me to your friends, bro. Ain’t you a down-home guy? Southern charm, and all that?”

Taking a deep breath, you force a smile. “Guys, this is GoGo Heller. GoGo, this is Sterling, his sister Noemi, and Gabrielle.”

GoGo grins, showing off three golden molars. “The pleasure is mine.”

Noemi frowns. “Your parents actually named you GoGo ?”

“It’s short for Grenville ,” you say dryly.

“Only time my momma ever did me wrong,” he replies, grabbing his chest as if stricken.

“They started calling him that at Texas Tech because of his speed,” Gabi explains. “You broke a record there, right?”

Predictably, GoGo’s eyes linger on Gabi, raking up and down her ridiculous curves. “Well, well. Where you been all my life, mami?”

To your horror, Gabrielle laughs and tilts her head, flicking her ponytail. “That catch you made on the third-and-long in the last quarter was wild . You kind of give me Ochocinco in his prime.”

GoGo could not preen more if his life depended on it. You swear that you actually see his chest puff out. “Little mama knows her references. I like it. That’s high praise, baby. ”

Gabi shrugged. “My family’s from Bengals country, and they’ve held season tickets since forever. One of my earliest memories is of my dad taking me to games. I used to sleep in my 85 jersey.”

He lets out a low whistle. “I could get you one’na my jerseys if you want, and you could sleep in that. Long as you promised not to wear nothin’ else underneath.”

Gabi blushes.

GoGo unhands you and sidles up to Gabi. Leans down to nudge her shoulder with one jacked upper arm.

“Whaddya say, pretty lady? Some of us are going somewhere to watch the late game. Eat some food, have some drinks. Wanna come? We’ll see if I can turn you into a Cyclones fan. We can play trivia. Bet you win.”

Gabrielle makes a half-turn and looks at Sterling beseechingly. “Is that okay? I know you made us dinner reservations. I don’t want to be rude.”

“No, have fun.” Sterling wraps his arm around yours. “I got us a table at The Hedge. I figured you’d be hungry after the game. I didn’t ask. Is that okay?”

Just as you nod, Noemi speaks up. “Actually, Ster, I’m beat. I was thinking of grabbing a car back to the hotel to take a nap. ”

Sterling looks more than a little disappointed, so you rib him. “Man, that sucks. I guess you’re gonna have to have dinner with me all by yourself. ”

He smiles, wrinkling the corners of his eyes. “Oh, god. What a pity.”

You all walk out together, GoGo and Gabi practically joined at the hip, and Noemi walking alongside Sterling.

She doesn’t say much, but she answers politely when you ask her questions.

Your heart goes out to her: she seems like an introvert, and it must be a special kind of Hell being the sibling of one of the most famous people in the world.

They seem close. You make it your personal mission in life to crack her shell.

Out back, GoGo hands Gabi into a G-Wagon. You have to struggle not to roll your eyes. Noemi gets into a Town Car, which is unmistakably part of Sterling’s fleet, after hugging her brother and telling you nicely that she’s glad to have met you.

Then you walk Sterling to your ride. He emits an impressed whistle.

“You actually take that thing out of the garage?” he asks.

You can’t help your grin. The ‘66 Chevelle two-seater is one of the few toys you’ve allowed yourself, but, man—it’s a nice one.

Blood-red with brown, tufted interior, and you’ve made sure that your detailer washed, waxed, and shined it to a high gloss, every inch of paint and chrome gleaming in the afternoon sun.

You lead Sterling around to the passenger side, where you open his door for him and let him in.

“Such a gentleman,” he says.

“You dead-set on The Hedge?” you call, walking around the front of the car.

“Why?”

“It’s super high-profile. Influencers and wannabes everywhere. Fancy and expensive, but the food’s not even that good.”

Sterling shrugs. “My PA suggested it. I had no clue about the Miami hotspots.”

“I can show you better. I know a great little place. Very exclusive. Nothing flashy, but pretty damn comfortable. Best burgers in the city.”

The side of his mouth quirks. “It wouldn’t happen to be your condo, would it?”

“How did you guess?”

As you wind through the back roads behind the stadium, Sterling’s happy face goes pensive.

“Everything okay?” you ask.

“Yeah.” A beat. “Your teammate. GoGo. Is he a good guy?”

You sigh. “He’s a fame-greedy pig. Kind of a loudmouth. Super talented, but knows it. Not my favorite person, honestly.”

Sterling frowns. “Gabi’s gonna be okay, though, right?”

You are looking ahead of you, watching carefully for the switchbacks between the various parking lots, and trying not to hit any of the security guards patrolling the area.

“I mean, I’d like to think so? He’s a player, but I guess that’s not a crime.”

Sterling nods. “I guess. Gabi’s only twenty-two. She’s been like a little sister to me, especially after spending so much time together on tour these last few months. I know she might not look like it, but she’s kind of naive. I don’t want her getting hurt.”

You tighten your grip on the steering wheel. “I don’t want that, either. I’m not sure how to stop it, though. GoGo’s the type of dude who gets what he wants.”

“Yeah. I gathered that.”

The matter is dropped when you two circle around to the front of the stadium. A crowd has amassed, lots of people with cameras and girls freaking out.

“Oh, shit,” you murmur .

But Sterling takes it in stride. He waves to everyone, wrist swiveling like he’s Miss-Fucking-America.

You focus on the road. There’s a red light ahead.

While you are stopped, you don’t manage to miss a knot of people off to the side, who clearly aren’t fans.

They are holding signs: NO FAG ASSOCIATION and THE TRAIN’S GOING TO BURN IN HELL .

Defiantly, Sterling slides across the bench seat, wraps his arms around your shoulders, and kisses your cheek. The seat dips under his weight, and his lips are warm on your face. He makes heart-hands at the protesters.

The crowd screams. The protesters jeer.

The light turns green, and you and Sterling ride off down the road like a pair of prom kings. Like Sandy and Danny at the end of Grease .