“He kind of sounds like an asshole.”
“No—”
“Let me guess. He’s doesn’t have a real job and still has a roommate or three.”
“I mean?—”
She cackles. “I’m happy for you, girl. Get it. You deserve it! We only get one chance to be young in the best city in the universe.”
I take a deep breath and blow it out, not wanting to talk about this anymore. “Can I explain everything next weekend? I want to talk to you about it. But I think I need some drinks.”
“Everything okay?” she asks, concerned now.
I rub my temples. “Yeah.” I see and hear Elias’s feet moving just outside my door. “I’ll talk to you next week. Text me where and when.”
“‘Kay, bitch. Feel better. Don’t be so down. You’re fucking a hottie, it sounds like. That’s a good thing. Feel good about yourself.”
We hang up.
I do feel good about myself. I am more confident. I am a better person. It’s time for me to pull up my Hot Girl pants and take what I want.
TWENTY-SIX
Elias
Well,that felt like shit.
Just when I thought that someone was finally taking me seriously. Someone who meant more to me because of it. But no, I’m just another one of those Brooklyn fuckboys who doesn’t have a real job and has a phone full of random nude photos of women and is not good enough for someone like Mia.
I’m glad as hell that I didn’t have the conversation with her.
Maybe… I don’t know. Maybe this is done. Maybe it’s time to call it.
But whatever.
My phone rings next to me. I check the ID and frown. It’s Jordan O’Neal, that guy from the Nets. I panic for a second, racking my brain to make sure I’m not currently missing a session, when I remember he’s out of town this whole weekend for away games.
I pick up. “Hello?”
“Hey, man.”
“What’s up? I thought you were traveling this weekend.”
“We just got back, actually.”
“Need a last minute cool down session?” I’m not ashamed to hustle. Besides, it’ll get me out of the house.
He laughs. “I’m good. I’m about to crawl into bed. But I’m calling for some of my teammates, actually.”
I perk up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Some of the younger ones. They usually use their off days to fuck around, but our coach got pissed about it this weekend. He wants them to tighten up. Get more serious. A handful of them know I’ve been seeing you for a while and asked if I could hook them up. I said I would ask you first. Make sure you were okay with taking on a bunch of professional athletes.”
I can no longer breathe. I feel like I’m having a stroke and a heart attack and a brain aneurism all at once.
“Hello?” Jordan makes sure I’m not dying. I might be.
I clear my throat. “How many guys?”
