Is this–?
“Game ball, Martín. You fucking deserve it.”
“Oh.” Wow. I’m speechless. Everyone’s staring at me, though, so I’m not sure what to do other than tip my head and say, “Thanks.”
Monty chuckles, then looks at AJ. “René’s on it.”
“Nice–you already tell everyone?”
“They’re all in.”
“What are you two talking about?” I ask nervously, because AJ looks like he’s up to something. Hopefully, if he’s involving our team captain and René, our team travel manager, it can’t be too bad.
“Go take a shower, Lucy,” he says. “We’re taking you out to celebrate.”
“A–”
“–Just dinner, and René is setting us up with a private room. I told you, I’ve got you.”
I huff a laugh and shake my head. “Alright. But stop calling me Lucy.”
A mischievous grin stretches across his face, and I turn away to go take a shower before he starts his stupid Ricky Ricardo impressions.
Ghost: Was that smile for me?
ME: You caught that?
Ghost: Kind of hard to miss. I’m not the only one, either. I’m afraid to tell you that you’ve become America’s sweetheart over the last half hour.
ME: Shut up.
Ghost: For your fame-hating sake, I wish I was. You can’t help it, you're so goddamn sexy.
A link comes through, and just by the title, I decide not to click on it.
“The smile that launched a new football fandom: America has a new heartthrob, and his name is Luc Martín.”
ME: That’s just absurd. They’ll forget by tomorrow.
Ghost: Doubtful. They’re in love
Ghost: Not gonna lie, I love knowing that half the country is losing its collective shit over you right now, but I’m the only one who knows who that smile was for.
Ghost: Me. It was for me.
Ghost: *GIF of Scarlett O’Hara swooning*
ME: You’re ridiculous.
Ghost: I’m also riDICKulously hard.
ME: Don’t tell me that. I’m about to get on the bus.
Ghost: Headed back to the hotel to order something bland from room service and wait for your dashing boyfriend to call?
Wait…Boyfriend?
ME: I’m actually going out for dinner with some of the team.
