Hey! We won our game. Press was hectic, but it’s fun. How’s your night?
“Yo, Cap! You coming?” Kendrick leans out the door to the bus.
Between travel and trying to keep the Steel alive, maybe it’s foolish to think about what I want. There’s so little time for anything else.
A grin spreads at my buzzing phone. She’s up.
Kenya
Are you still in the stadium? I’d love to get an interview before you leave.
She’s here?
Dumb question. Kenya’s new role at PSN covers the RLA. If she flew up from Cali, she’s with the Seattle team.
Tuesday’s interview was a whirlwind of cameras and a crew hovering mics and lights above my face. We didn’t get a chance to catch up after, but maybe we can tonight.
“I’ll get up with you later,” I call over to Kendrick. I don’t miss his frown, and Bread damn near pushes him down the steps to lean over the front seat.
“Don’t make me snitch to Maid Miriam!”
“Chill,” I chuckle. “Another interview came up.” I’m single. I can be outside, deep in pussy if I want to. I’m not on that kind of time, though.
Bread nods. “Be safe, and look both ways before crossing the street.”
“Why aren’t you going out?” Kendrick mushes Bread’s face as he squeezes up the stairs.
His smirk says it all. “Got a shorty coming to my room.”
There’s a collective groan on the bus.
“Not again!” Shins cries.
“I got you. See you, Cap.” Kendrick waves.
I can shower in the locker room. I wasn’t planning on going out, but I can take one more interview.
Chapter 36
Antonio
“Thank you for waiting.” Kenya slides a nail across my back and sits on the open barstool next to me.
“And miss dinner at the Seasons?” I point to my glass. “You’re paying, right?”
She swats me with her pocketbook, which is the weight of a brick, and tosses her hair. “You wish! Do you ever dine with a woman at an actual table?”
I stroke my beard. “Does McDonald’s count?”
“Stop!” Kenya’s laughter floats down the bar. It’s not packed, but a few heads turn. “Still noncommittal. One of these days, I’m getting you to change your ways.” The split in her dress spreads over one leg as she crosses them.
Eyes up.
“Many have tried.”
Commitment isn’t an issue. I committed my ass to staying in the hotel lobby when Kenya invited me to her room after our interview. There’s no guarantee we’d mess around, but I wasn’t leaving anything to chance.
No tables is a preference. I’m not allergic to them—I have one at home—but with a dinner table comes assumptions. Food and drinks tend to be a promissory note for more. Bars are less messy, minus the communal peanuts with medieval diseases. Complimentary bread on a high-end tablecloth can get taken out of context fast.
