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You know enough about his schedule to figure that he’s with either his trainer or dance captain. He prefers a later, heavier lunch and a light dinner, so he likely hasn’t taken a break yet. Tomorrow is his travel day, so he’s probably planning a low-key afternoon.

It’s hard not to conjure an image of him.

He’d be wearing one of those ridiculously-skimpy gym outfits he favors.

The crop tops and short-shorts. They’re kind of silly, but also hot.

He’d be sweaty. Focused, like he always gets at work.

He’d have his hair tied back, but some of his curls would have escaped.

(You are kind of obsessed with his hair.)

Your fingers tap over the keyboard. You purposely don’t put a recipient name in the text box, so that you can make sure you like the message and not accidentally send it.

You: hey were you planning on telling me that we’d made things official? Got a call from one of your lawyers today and it was news to me honestly. Don’t you think we should have discussed? I told you i don’t like hearing things through your employees

Frowning, you backspace away every trace of that message. Too hostile. You are upset, but you don’t want to go for the throat. Nothing good ever comes of that. You take another bite of your wrap contents, which are now more like a sad little salad, and try again.

You: a little birdy told me that you have a new relationship. Lucky me, I guess? What base is an NDA considered? Probably something between 2nd and 3rd?

That one gets discarded as well. It’s too flippant. Doesn’t strike the right chord of seriousness. You don’t want to come across as angry, but this isn’t a joke, either. Maybe directness is the best tactic? No bullshit. You are nodding as you type.

You: hey. Hope you are having a good tuesday. I got a new NDA and it discusses our relationship status? I’m feeling a little confused? Not in a bad way but still i think we should maybe talk? Are you free tonight?

Your finger hovers over Sterling’s contact, ready to attach it to the message.

There’s nothing wrong with this draft. It’s forthright.

It expresses your feelings. It has an actionable plan.

But still, it doesn’t sit right. You are ready to just throw your food in the trash and your phone along with it.

A thousand bucks for a new iPhone would be a small price to pay for the luxury of not dealing with this shit right now, and that’s coming from someone who insists on picking up his own dry-cleaning and buying suits off-the-rack.

Unconsciously, your left hand balls into a fist on the table.

“Kai-u-s-s-s!”

Goddamn it. You didn’t notice Jameson on the opposite end of the table. Luckily, GoGo is nowhere to be found.

“Bruh! You gonna eat that sammie or dissect it like a fuckin’ frog?” Jameson’s voice is jovial. “Stop attacking it! He already dead!”

It’s tempting to just shoot him the bird and pretend to be busy with your phone, but Jameson’s like skunk spray: hard to get rid of. You shrug.

“I think it’s a stomach flu or something,” you say casually. “Was up all night horking my guts out. Nothing tastes right. ”

Jameson’s face contorts.

“Keep your cooties over there!” he yells. “I don’t want nunna that!”

Several players concur, physically scooting away from you toward the other end of the long table. It’s irrationally satisfying.

You pick your phone up again, and the infinitesimally-small boost to your mood powers you through the right version of what you want to say.

You: heard from a man in a suit today. Sounds like I won the audition for the role of Sterling Grayson’s boyfriend?

Immediately after hitting send, you put the device face-down on the table. It’s a stupid, irrational game you play: if Sterling messages you back right away, you can choose to take a moment to deal with it.

There’s a mandatory film review in the screening hall at two. Some guys clear their plates and start to filter out, keen to get a few more reps in before having to sit in place for a couple of hours.

The table has thinned out considerably. Sandy slides down the bench.

“You good?” he asks, concerned. “You didn’t tell me you were sick. ”

His worry touches you, along with his attention. Nobody’s in the immediate vicinity, so you shrug one shoulder.

“I’m really not. Just under the weather today and wanted Jameson off my jock.”

Sandy nods sagely, like that’s a completely valid problem-and-solution set.

“Anything you want to talk about? I’ve gotta attend a quick meeting before film, but I’ll have some time later.”

Against your will, which is currently grumpy, you crack half a smile.

“No, thanks,” you reply. “Means a lot, though.”

He laughs. Leans across the table and fuzzes your stubbly hair.

“I love your face, Kai. Always. I got your back.”

With that, Sandy gathers his things and leaves the vast room as well.

The interaction has emboldened you enough to flip your phone back over. Seeing a text from Sterling sends an anxious zing through your core. You chastise yourself for acting like a middle school girl and open the message. It’s practically a novel—Sterling is, above all things, wordy.

Sterling: Shit. Kai, I am SO sorry. Fraser is an impatient asshole.

I TOLD him to hold off on getting in touch until you and I had talked, and I wanted to do it tonight.

Lawyers suck. He cornered me in a meeting the other day (unrelated to my personal life) and pressed me on whether the papers needed to be drawn up.

I told him in no uncertain terms that our relationship was going to progress on OUR terms, not his, but gave him the okay to get things in place.

Maybe I was just hopeful? Idk. He messaged Maeve yesterday and told her that the documents were ready.

I didn’t feel good about rushing the discussion.

I can’t apologize enough. This is incredibly shitty.

Are you mad? I would be mad. We should still talk.

Don’t sign anything. I’m gonna bitch at Fraser myself.

He majorly overstepped. Please don’t be mad. 3

Your immediate reaction is gratitude: thank god you didn’t send a pissy message. You flip your phone over between your hands a few times, letting your brain marinate in this new information.

On one hand, it still sucks that the guy you are seeing comes with so much baggage that an overzealous lawyer spoiled your discussion about taking the next step in your relationship.

You’re still wrapping your head around that: the baggage that comes with being close to a superstar.

Having lawyers, PAs (not to mention PAs’ assistants), publicists, and bodyguards as intermediaries between you and your partner.

You haven’t even looked at the goddamn NDA in question.

It will undoubtedly raise even more concerns and questions in your mind.

At the same time… yeah, you like the idea of taking the next step with Sterling. Him being your significant other. And not in the shallow way that the media thinks. Something real.

(That little heart at the end of the message. That’s a new one.)

Suddenly ravenous, you gather the scattered remains of your wrap into the middle of the tortilla and bundle it up into a lumpy roll that is more like a suggestion of real food.

Something sloppy, concocted by a preschooler with a play kitchen.

You take a massive bite. It is actually delicious.

You dump all the remaining fruit into the bowl of yogurt and mix it up.

You lick your fingers and wipe them on a paper napkin before typing a reply.

You: we’re good, talking tonight sounds great

You: if i have a new position i expect to receive a signing bonus

Sterling attaches a “HAHA” react to the second message, and then a thumbs-up to the first. You know he’s busy, so you don’t try to chat. After quickly inhaling your lunch, you clean up and head in the direction of the screening hall. You’re glad you brought the protein bars with you .

Film review is going to last until around four.

You don’t know it yet, but when you emerge from the darkness of the hall, blinking in the lights like a caveman, you are going to run into a very confused uniformed deliveryman pulling a wheeled cart.

Sitting atop it will be an Edible Arrangement fruit display that looks like it was meant for a large corporate party.

It will be about three or four feet long.

Chunks of melon and pineapple arranged on jutting skewers, along with strawberries.

Some carved out in flower shapes, sticking out of the long, low arrangement like an abstract garden.

About half of the arrangement enrobed in chocolate.

A massive banner will stretch from one side of the base to the other:

Congratulations on your promotion, Kai!

“Are you Mister Reinhart?” the guy will ask. “I’ve been pulling this thing around for about half an hour. This place should come with a guide-map.”

You’ll just laugh and shake your head.

“Let’s put it in the kitchen,” you’ll suggest. “Follow me. I think Taco Tuesday just got even better.”