I snatch the bottle of wine and my glass and lead them towards the media room. Once the door is safely shut behind me, I turn and face them with a grimace. “It was good. Like, the best I’ve had.”
“You fucked him!” Grace exclaims.
“I didn’t!” I shake my head and proceed to recount the events of the night. By the end of it, Grace is cackling and Margot is trying to bite back her smirk.
“That man ate you for dinner,” the latter says.
I sink into the sofa, covering my face. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”
“Well, why the fuck did you invite us over? You should be out in some slutty costume luring him back into your web,” Margot replies.
“Absolutely not. It can’t happen again,” I say quickly.
Grace snorts, nearly choking on her wine. “Doesn’t that just make it hotter?”
“A forbidden tryst,” Margot adds.
“Please shut up, or I’m going to lock you both in the panic room like the 2002 thriller. I am not having atryst. It was a mistake and it can’t happen again. Especially not with what’s coming,” I blurt.
Both of them frown.
“What do you mean?” Margot asks.
I sigh. I know I should keep my big mouth shut, but this has been weighing on me for too long and they deserve to know. Grace especially, given she’s involved now. “My dad wants to sell the team. The whole reason I’m making this documentary is to boost the team’s value for a more lucrative sale.”
“That’s…wow. Falkenberg would hate you if he knew,” Grace replies after a moment.
“I know. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to him to get involved. We hooked up once and it’s not going to happen again. Why? Because my father saw the same clickbait you did, and he told me I’m off the documentary if that happens. Mattias Falkenberg and his skilled mouth aren’t worth what looks like the only chance I’ll have at financial independence.”
“Damn. I’ll have to think about how I feel about all of this,” Grace replies.
I nod. “If you no longer want the gig, I’ll understand.”
“I’ll let you know.” The mood turns somber. They exchange a look as the weight of what I’ve said settles between the three of us.
Margot adjusts her glasses, looking thoughtful. “By the way, how many NDAs did you just break?”
“A lot, and I’m going to be extra fucked if either of you say anything.”
“Jesus.” Grace comes and wraps her arms around me. “I’m so sorry.”
I shake my head. “It’s okay. I did this to myself. I thought this would be clean cut, but it’s turning out so much messier than I thought.”
“That’s so depressing,” Grace mutters with a sip of wine. “But you don’t need to decide anything right now.”
Margot nods in agreement.
“Popcorn?” I say miserably.
“I’ll grab it.” Grace hurries out of the room.
“Don’t sweat it too much, Fred. I’m sure Falkenberg would have turned out like the rest, anyway,” Margot tells me as we settle into the sofa with our wine and hit play onJennifer’s Body. I lean my head on her shoulder, like I did when we were kids.
Any other day, I’d be that annoying person, pointing out all the metaphors in the film and rambling about how ahead of its time it was and why Megan Fox was unfairly maligned by the industry, but I don’t. Instead, I find myself routinely flicking my phone open, glancing at the Monarchs’ story for any sign of how a certain team captain might be spending his evening.
“Just focus on the documentary. At the end of the day, if your father sells the team, that’s his decision. Not yours,” Margot says quietly.
I know she’s right, but when I think of Ines, Coach Marshall, the team, and even Sam, I can’t help feeling like the biggest piece of shit alive.
