“So he doesn’t want a relationship?” Stace asks.
“I don’t know.” I shake my head, frustrated when I try to think about it. “He’s worried about his agency. My career. But not about us.”
Stace gives me a skeptical look. “You asked him to come out?” she clarifies.
“Basically, I guess.”
I can already see where she’s going with this, and I turn to Kevyn, but he’s got an eyebrow raised, just as skeptical.
“He’s kind of a stubborn hardass, dude,” he says, agreeing with Stace. “You’ve got to give someone a little time with stuff like that.Especiallywhen they’re old.” His eyes get wider. “Not that Frisk is too old.” Surprise lights up his face again. “Holy shit. Troy Frisk.”
I put my hand over my face. “Troy Frisk,” I agree.
Oh no. They might be right.
I went storming into Troy’s office at a vulnerable moment and announcing things that deserved a lot more consideration, attempting to change the terms of our entire arrangement. It’s like I tried to hold back how I felt, but instead, I let everything bottle up until it exploded, and I pulled a stunt.
But that wasn’t fair to Troy. I know him better than that. I know what he needs to feel comfortable and safe, but I threw discretion out the window instead of meeting him where he was. He’s been doing so much, supporting me in all the ways I need to be supported. Maybe, in all the chaos, I haven’t given him the same consideration.
“Shit,” I tell my friends.
Kevyn gives me a thoughtful nod. “Realizing you messed up?”
“Even worse. I know I messed up, and I think I fell in love, too.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-THREE
TROY
The day of the MLS Cup is packed. I wake before sunrise, burn through a fast workout, and take my first meeting with breakfast.
Marshall and Patel both took my confession relatively in stride, and we signed on schedule. Signing two major stars puts our agency front and center, but our main focus is supporting our soccer players through the event.
At the stadium, I quickly find Mel talking into her phone while she paces down one of the back corridors. When we meet up, she takes the coffee I brought her.
“Any luck this morning?” she asks.
“Sports Illustratedis interested in Zeke for the cover, depending on how the game goes.”
Mel pumps her fist. “Excellent. There are already media requests pouring in.”
The agency took some hits when I made my phone calls yesterday. Our hockey star used the occasion to try to squeeze me on his rate, although I managed to shoot that down. A few people acted offended, suspicious, judgmental. There’s a decent chance our skier will leave the agency, which stings.
But I can take the hits, and I made the hard sell when I needed to. I’ve got no qualms reminding my athletes what I do for them. Only thing to do now is to keep delivering.
And despite the humbling experience, I’m excited.
Maybe Orlando and I can make a life together. Make each other happy, proud. I’ve never felt like this about someone, and if there’s a chance it’s real, I need to fight for that, too.
“Right after a win would be a great time to close one of these new sponsorships for Zeke,” I point out. “While everyone’s emotional.”
Mel nods. “The more polish we can put on today, the less people will pay attention when your story comes to light.”
I huff. “What’s the next step after humiliating phone calls? Do I get to yell at anyone?”
“Hardly.” Mel glances at her phone. “I’ve got another meeting.”
I nod. “I’ll follow up with the Force, make sure Zeke’s got what he needs.”
