I lean back as the vehicle takes off. “I wasn’t even sure we were going to dinner.” I look down at my collared shirt, worn with a jacket but no tie. “I had no idea how to dress.”
Kevyn is a sweeper on the team, and a killer one at that. We came in together last year and bonded through the season, on the field and off, too.
He’s definitely one of my most talented teammates, but, like me, he got himself in hot water with the Force last year. If I was out at the clubs, so was Kevyn, and he brings his endurance from the field straight to the party.
Kevyn’s also a marathon runner, something he’s not allowed to do competitively during the season, which basically lasts all year. He broke that rule for an under-the-radar race with some friends, which was bad enough. Unfortunately, his participation only came to light after he was caught rock climbing the day before a match, which is also a big no with the Force.
We both needed a second to adjust. But like me, he’s been trying to stay focused this season.
“Any idea why Zeke suddenly wants to introduce us to his agent?” I ask.
“Maybe he thinks we need an upgrade.”
“But Zeke’s never cared about sponsorships and stuff before.”
“His agency is elite,” he says. “They only represent major talents. Zeke must think we’re worth it.”
I shrug. “Shit, why not?”
I’ve heard of Frisk Sports, of course, although I don’t really know much about the business aspect of my career.
I’m pretty sure I’m being dragged out for punishment tonight, but whatever. I know I’m that caliber of an athlete, even if I haven’t proved it to everyone else yet. It’s what I train for, the goal I’ve dedicated myself to since I was a kid.
Signing with an elite agency would make it real in a whole new way. The doors that would open up, not to mention the money I would make, it could be huge.
I look down at myself again. “I should have worn a tie.”
Kevyn and I walk into the swanky restaurant. It’s dimly lit, and I cast my eyes around for our team captain.
“I really hope I don’t mess this up tonight,” I mutter.
“Fuck.” Kevyn taps my chest. “I was just thinking the same thing, man.”
I decide to pretend that’s encouraging and smile. “No more than two drinks,” I tell him.
“And chew your steak,” he tells me.
We both chuckle. I’m about to look for a host, but instead, my eyes land on Zeke.
And Troy.
Zeke and Troy sitting at the same table.
My brain breaks.
“There they are,” Kevyn says, his hand on my arm. “Let’s land some killer agents.”
This can’t be. My muscles refuse to move. Why would Troy be sitting with Zeke? It must be a mistake or something.
But Kevyn is walking. And somehow, my legs start moving, too.
When we’re almost there, Troy turns slightly and sees us. His broad features, dark beard, and stony-gray eyes hit me like a sledgehammer. Every detail is exactly like I remember, from the creases in the corners of his eyes to the thick curl of his hair, stark against his light skin. His nostrils widen with surprise, and his lips slightly part, but quickly, his features harden into the emotionless stare I remember from the bar.
The mask that broke apart in groans in the bathroom.
Zeke stands. He and Troy are both wearing ties.
Fuck. This is going wrong in so many ways.
