“No way!” The guy steps back pointing at me. “You’reGirl’s Got Game? I don’t believe it.”
“You’d better believe it!” I reply loudly.Whose side am I on?
I glance at the long-necked drink I’m holding, and I think it might be a good idea to step outside and have a Lucky Dog.
“I can prove it.” Lindsey steps closer, taking out her phone and holding it up for him.
It’s a video she made of me recording the show last week. She says all the podcasts are broadcasting on YouTube as well, so I guess it’s okay if we spill the beans.
“Tonight’s award forWhat Was He Thinking?goes to our very own K-Brad for throwing into triple coverage as though his receiver has magical powers.” Lindsey holds her tongue between her teeth as she nods her head, waggling her eyebrows. “I loved that one!”
“Wow.” The guy nods slowly, a shocked grin curling his lips. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”
“I didn’t say that on the air!” I reply quickly, putting my hand over her phone and lowering it. “I wouldn’t do that. I only point out the ones that were really bad. The ones he could’ve done better…”
Why am I protecting him?
“But you believe me now? It’s her!” Lindsey finishes her drink, and I catch her arm.
“Well, it was nice meeting you… ahh…” I hold out my hand, waiting for him to fill in his name.
“Devin Banks.” He catches my hand and gives it a shake. “It was very nice meeting you,Princess.”
I don’t like how he says my nickname. I don’t like the knowing gleam in his eye. I suddenly feel very exposed, like everyone is looking at me and shaking their heads.
They all know I’m not that person. I’m a nice girl pretending to be mean, trying to prove I’m someone I’m not because my old partner walked out and took everything with her.
We stumble out onto the uneven flagstone, and I pullLindsey to my side. The neon-green, long-necked plastic cup is still in my hand, and I consider another sip before tossing it into a nearby trash can.
“I think hand grenades make me paranoid.”
“Why did you pull us out?” Lindsey grouses. “Devin was cute, and I think he was kind of into me.”
“He gave me the creeps.” I pull her closer as we make our way down the street toward the Cat’s Meow. “I got the distinct feeling he was the one with the secret.”
We step out into the road, and Lindsey squeals, pulling me back. “Horses!”
Frowning, I look all around to see mounted police quietly observing the crowd on Bourbon Street in the space behind the courthouse.
“They’re all the way over there!” I pull her arm. “Come on, I want to dance.”
House music pours through the French doors of the historic club, and we dance through them holding our arms over our heads and plunging into the throng of sweaty bodies moving to the beat.
A few hip twists, a few minutes of jumping in time to the song, surrounded by laughing, partying bodies, and my tension finally starts to melt.
I’m part of this city. Life’s a party, and my cares are forgotten.
* * *
“If we’re goingto tell people who I am, we should at least rent a studio space.” I’m standing inVrikshasanaor tree pose in front of my laptop, leaning forward as I scroll through the comments on our last show.
The live coverage on the first game against the Cardinals went viral again, and the comments section is unreal. Mostof them support me, get my jokes, and agree, but several do not. A few are downright rude.
“We have everything we need here,” Lindsey complains. “Why waste money on a studio?”
“So people like this ‘babewatcher_29’ who says I’m a loud-mouthed whore who shouldn’t be allowed to speak in public can’t show up and do God knows what to us.”
“Somebody called you a loud-mouthed whore?” Lindsey walks over to look at my laptop screen. “Damn, touch grass, Babe Watcher.”
