I melt into him. “Yes, please. More than anything.”
It hits me then — he’s choosing me, not just escaping the event. And I let myself enjoy that thought instead of pushing it away.
I don’t even look for my family on the way out.
* * *
As we eat the smashburgers we ordered, covered in a variety of strange toppings—peanut butter and marshmallow for Tristan, ham and pineapple for me—I tell him about the conversation with Knova.
“You made it out unscathed,” he says. “I’m impressed.”
“We exchanged our findings. She wants to help Viktor improve his game, and she had some tips for me, too.”
“Tips about what?”
“KPIs.” I take a giant bite of my burger. The flavor profile is perfect. I’m going to give this place thebestreview.
“Key performance indicators? I wasn’t aware Knova had much to share on the subject.
“She offered a really insightful suggestion. After all, she’s not tracking his macros, he gets little to no REM sleep, and she’s not making him specially formulated protein bars, but he’s still a solid player.”
“It’s a mystery,” Tristan agrees.
“I don’t think so. She told me what they do differently. It’s blowjobs.”
Tristan chokes on his burger.
“Have you ever tried it?”
“Um.” Tristan fans himself with the front of his shirt. “Is it just me, or is it too hot out here for dress clothes?”
“Seems like a comfortable temperature to me. I could check. Are you avoiding my question?”
He sighs. “A little. Unfortunately, I have no data to contribute to the dashboard.”
“We should try it.Icould give you a blowjob.”
Tristan looks around. “Now? Could I finish my burger first?”
“Not here, silly.” I nudge him with my elbow. “But soon. Before the next game.”
“If you insist,” Tristan says.
“I do. Youknowhow I feel about missing data.”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Yeah. At this point, I do.”
Chapter Twelve
Tristan
Minerva remains a mystery to me. I’ve never known a woman to bring up blowjobs in such a casual, clinical manner before. Far be it from me to deny her the data she craves, but I didn’t get the impression that she wants me. She wants numbers. Information.
Honestly? I’m still not sure how to feel about that. Because, in spite of it all, it was hot.
I arrive home from morning skate to find her in the kitchen with her laptop open beside her, conducting some sort of cooking experiment. Her eyes are glued to the video she’s playing while she kneads something in a giant ceramic bowl.
“Hey,” I say, to announce my presence.
