Page 224 of Just for the Cameras
He pauses and then clears his throat.
“Really?”
I turn to face him and show him exactly what he’s done to me.
His eyes go dark, and I can feel his hands itching at his sides, wanting to do something about it.
“There are children present, Graydon,” I warn.
“Then what the hell are you doing showing me your hard nipples?”
“Uh, just giving you evidence of what you do to me. If you don’t want to see it, then don’t—”
“Graydon,” someone says from behind him. I glance over his shoulder and spot one of his coaches, a man in a baseball cap and goatee. For the life of me, I can’t remember his name because from what it seems like, there are a hundred coaches on staff.
Graydon turns toward him. “What’s up, Coach?”
“Can I have a word? I know we’re not talking football tonight, but I had a quick question about a play I was just mapping out on a napkin, and I wanted to get your input on it.”
He turns to me, and I just smile. “Go ahead. I’m going to load up on a sundae.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
He leans down and presses a kiss to my cheek before whispering, “We’re not done here.”
And then he takes off with his coach.
We’re not done here…
Don’t I know it.
I pick up a bowl from the stack and move to the soft-serve ice cream machine they brought in for the event. The moment I saw that it was soft serve, I knew exactly what I was getting for dessert. Not to mention, there’s hot fudge and peanuts. And I know, I know, why put hot fudge on soft serve when it melts it immediately, but soft-serve soup tastes just as good.
I take my time, making a bowl for myself with twist soft serve, fudge, peanuts, and chocolate sprinkles for the hell of it. Then I grab a spoon and a napkin, and I move over to one of the couches up against a partition and take a seat.
I noticed not many adults were going for the soft serve but rather opting for the fancier treats, but that’s their loss, because this…this is where it’s at. I take a bite and get lost in the flavors as I lean back on the couch and cross one leg over the other.
Graydon hovers over a high-top with his coach, who is pointing out something on a napkin. He’s listening intently, and it’s cute to see him all focused on his sport.
Adorable.
“Who have you spoken to?” a voice says from behind, startling me. I glance over my shoulder, and when I spot the partition, I realize the person is not talking to me.
“Philly and Miami,” the other voice says.
Why do they sound so…familiar?
“And what have they said?”
“That they’re interested, but they’re not willing to pay more than what he’s worth.”
“And this is his last year under contract?”
Wait…is that…is that Graydon’s dad?
“Yes, then we go into negotiations again. It might be hard to get the GM on board given the favoritism he’s found from the fans, especially with this dumb flamingo thing.”
