I squeeze my eyes shut and try to grab my head with both hands, but my left shoulder reminds me it’s not supposed to move. “Fuck.”
What did I say on stage last night?
I can’t remember.
But it’s probably on the internet by now.
He shifts around the kitchen again, heading toward my bedroom once more.
I don’t stop him.
I automatically thank him when he emerges and hands me my cell phone.
I want to check my text messages to see what I drunk-texted who last night, but the missed calls catch my eye first.
People don’t call me.
I don’t call people.
Not unless it’s an emergency.
So six missed phone calls?
Those are top on the priority list.
There’s one from Santiago, one from Tripp Wilson, and one from the Fireballs PR number.
“They wouldn’t be talking about us if you hadn’t bid over a hundred grand on me,” I mutter while I click over to voicemail.
“It’s fine. You can hate me forever for that.”
I glance up at him. “Whydidyou bid so much on me?”
He wiggles his eyebrows at me.
Whatever reachingacceptancemeans, it’s clearly working for him.
Nice to see him happy again.
Even if I’m flipping him off at the eyebrow wiggle, which makes him snort in amusement.
I look back at my phone and skim the automatic transcription of my voice messages.
Santiago wants to know if I’ve seen the news and if I’m okay. He also wants me to know it’s fucking stupid that the press is having a field day with me when they wouldn’t if I were a man, but also, if I were a man, I wouldn’t have fetched such a high price, and that’s fucking stupid too. He thinks he should’ve gone for over a hundred grand last year.
Tripp wants to know if I saw the news and if I can swing into the office today to discuss a potential opportunity to turn the shitty side of the article into a positive. And he also wants me to know he was uncomfortable with some of the things he heard men saying about me, and he’d prefer that I don’t offer experiences again in the auction so long as I’m a member of the Fireballs staff.
Sadie in PR reiterates what Tripp said, that she’s been speaking with management and they think they have a spin that’ll fit in well with a new community outreach program, and could I please call her back?
Waverly’s left me a message telling me to not look at social media and to trust that someone else will be tomorrow’s front-page news.
My sister-in-law wants to know if she should fly innowto help me handle everything.
And someone’s left me a message about my car’s extended warranty.
I thought we were done with that scam. Fuckers.
When I look up from my phone, I have to turn around to locate Duncan.
