by Lee, India
So he stared at the screen, watching the interview he’d already seen last night. And quietly, he missed Beauford, his family, his friends. They would’ve gotten his joke.
~
“Damn, you’re here early, Hunter. I thought you closed the deal last night, buddy.”
Dangling in the doorframe of Gavin’s twenty-ninth floor office was Elliot Smiley, the other executive assistant at Klein Sports who very much lived up to his surname if a constant shit-eating grin counted. Narrowing his blue eyes at Gavin, he plopped down onto the tufted black couch, making sure to smooth down his tie after doing so. “Didn’t I see you leave with Holly last night? You lucky bastard?”
“Yes.”
“Then why the fuck am I seeing you here so early? You should be going for round eight right now. I would’ve covered for you.”
Gavin stared for a moment before returning his attention to his screen. “We just signed Dante Gibson. We’re finalizing his endorsement deal with EA and announcing his contract with Adidas on Thursday. It’s gonna be a busy week.”
“Fair, fair.” Elliot shrugged, barely crinkling the shoulders on his Loro Piana suit. “Well, not to make you jealous here, but while you’re at the Adidas party on Thursday and scoring numbers from a bunch of Holly lookalikes, I’ll be in Brooklyn scouting a bunch of European string beans who probably won’t get drafted anyway.” Elliot sighed as he lay back on Gavin’s couch, careful not to muss his ultra-coiffed hair as he massaged his temples. “Life can really fucking suck sometimes.”
Gavin shook his head. “You know some of the NBA’s best players were scouted at the International Tourney, asshole.”
“Well, I doubt there’ll be any future stars there this year.” Elliot pulled two stapled papers from the inner pocket of his suit, crumpling them before tossing them onto Gavin’s desk. “Check out the roster. Buncha no names besides those two kids from Spain who already have representation. Big ol’ waste of my precious time.”
Smoothing out the paper, Gavin scanned it, nodding and shrugging at the list of unspectacular prospects. At least until his eyes swept over the final name on the roster. Suddenly, he shot up in his chair.
“Nicolo Piersanti’s on the roster?”
It was him. The twenty-two-year-old Italian forward who was more popular with lovesick teenagers than with hardcore sports fans. His image graced Tumblr every thirteen seconds but had yet to make it in any issue of ESPN the Magazine. Scouts paid little attention to him, though an American fashion house had signed the six-foot-eight Sicilian to model for a cheesy underwear spread about a year ago. That was about it for him when it came to any overseas attention. It made sense that he would be attempting to gain exposure by participating in the International Tourney, but Gavin still couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Holy shit, I can’t wait to meet this asshole, he shook his head in disbelief.
“Uh.” Elliot’s eyes darted about Gavin’s face of astonishment. “Am I missing something? Should I know more about this kid?” he asked, cocking his head. “Or do you have some weird boner for him because you’re as gay as I hear you are?”
Gavin paused. “What?”
“I don’t know, man.” Elliot laughed, leaning back again and resting his beefy arms on the top of the couch. “I might or might not have hooked up with one of your castoffs last week and she might or might not have told me about how you lose all interest by the next morning. Like you’re only into chicks for show, when you’re at the club and in front of the clients.”
Gavin laughed. “That’s an interesting theory.”
“Which… isn’t true, right?”
“Nope.”
“Then try to clear it up because that little rumor is making its rounds. Get yourself a girlfriend or something.” Elliot held his hands out when Gavin made a face. “I mean, bro, I’m not saying you can’t have fun on the side, too. I’m just saying, pick one of those pretty faces to play the girlfriend role for like, a year so you can squash the rumors.”
“I’m not interested in having a girlfriend, Smiley. Real or fake.”
“Come on, of all the fuckin’ gorgeous girls you’ve taken home in the past year, there wasn’t one who you wanted more than once?”
“No. They’re too different from me.”
“Yeah, because they don’t have penises, which you apparently require now in a romantic partner.”
“You nailed it.”
Elliot stared for a silent second. “Are you joking? I can’t tell if you’re…”
“I am joking, yes.”
Elliot let go of a breath. “Well, shit, you’re a better man than I am. I wouldn’t want people thinking for a second that I swung that way.”
“It doesn’t matter to me,” Gavin said, not bothering to explain that he used to actively joke about his sexuality. His way of showing appreciation for friends had always been through homoeroticism. It was just a thing of his. Though that part of his humor had been pushed back since the breakup, which had come around the same time as his hiring to Klein Sports Management. No one at the agency got his humor but it didn’t matter when he didn’t have the time to joke around anyway. It was his moment to throw himself into his work, to prove that he deserved his job despite landing it through connections from his Aunt Mira, who was good friends with the company founder, Aiden Klein.
“So… care to explain this massive erection you have for a kid who averaged nine points a game on a shitty squad?” Elliot asked.
Gavin’s swallowed. “Nope.”
“You’re gay then, aren’t you.”
“Sure.”
Shaking his head, Elliot got up, stretching his arms over his head. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret. But it’ll cost you Holly’s number. And all your extra tickets to the Adidas party. If I can’t go, I’m at least gonna hook up a few lady friends.”
Gavin opened his drawer, pulling out a half dozen VIP passes hanging from strings. “Take them all. In fact, take my place on Thursday. I’ll scout the International Tourney for you.”
Elliot froze mid stretch. “Holy shit, you want to go to the International Tourney?” He gaped. “Oh my God, you’re fucking in love with Nicolo Piersanti, aren’t you?”
“I’m not in love with him.”
“What, you had a lover’s quarrel at some point? It didn’t work out long distance between you two?”
“Smiley, are you switching Thursday with me or not?”
“Fuck, consider it switched. I just switched so hard I almost fell over.” Elliot practically skipped up to Gavin’s desk, happily swiping his supply of VIP passes. “But you better be sure about this. You can’t change your mind after I leave your office, you fuckin’ Piersanti fangirl.”
“I’m more concerned about you changing your mind.”
“Don’t even worry about that,” Elliot snorted, pointing at Gavin as he did something resembling a moonwalk out of his office. “Now you have fun scouting those string beans, my dude. And good luck with closing Piersanti. Let me know if those tighty whities look as good on him in real life, okay?”
Gavin saluted him. “Will do, brother.”
~
“Holy — whoa.”
The Brooklyn arena was decently full and the crowd was beginning to cheer as players started jogging onto the hardwood. But breaking Gavin’s concentration from the court was a wind that the intern had caused by exhaling in awe.
“Dude.” Gavin made a face as he brushed the tingly feeling of the intern’s breath off of his cheek. “What’s up, Osborne?” He glanced over at Osborne, watching his eyes widen, his mouth open and close.
“Um. That girl?” His voice broke. “Who is she and why is she heading this way? Holy shit, she’s looking at me. Is she looking at me?”
Cocking his head curiously, Gavin followed Osborne’s undisturbed gaze until his own eyes landed upon the brilliant blonde strolling away from her camera crew. In heels, fitted jeans and a white top that stretched dangerously over her ample chest, she drew every
set of eyes as she sauntered over toward Gavin’s courtside seats. Always the center of attention.
“She’s not looking at you, Oz,” Gavin laughed, standing the moment the smirking blonde reached his seat. He went in for the kiss on the cheek. It was just habit at this point and he knew he’d face endless sass if he were to give a simple hug. “Peyton. It’s been awhile.”
“And he still remembers my name. Aren’t I the lucky one?” Peyton asked no one in particular, cocking a skinny eyebrow. She stuck a hand on her hip, narrowing her hazel eyes at Gavin. “You follow me here, Hunter? I figured you’d be hitting on the escorts over at the Adidas party tonight.”
“Hey now.” Gavin slid his hands into his jean pockets, leaning back on his heels. “Be nice. They’re not escorts.”
They were the fitness and swimsuit models, the network of busty women that Klein Sports tended to call up when they threw events or entertained clients. And, of course, they were the girls that Gavin largely hooked up with, simply because they were already associated with work, and work was about all he had time for these days. At least that was what he told Peyton after ending their unofficial few months of dating.
“I’m being kind by calling them escorts, Hunter. I think you’re pretty aware of that yourself,” Peyton said, her long blonde waves spilling to the side as she cocked her head, finally noticing Osborne. “Something’s wrong with your rookie, by the way, he hasn’t blinked yet.”
“Neither have any of the other guys in this general vicinity. You’re suddenly unaware of the effect you have on them? If I remember correctly, you used to pride yourself on it.”
“Mm.” Peyton shrugged, puckering her glossy lips. “Guess it felt like I lost my touch since I had to walk all the way over here to get your attention. Kind of degrading, don’t you think?”
“Having to greet someone first? The worst kind of humiliation I could think of.”
Finally, Peyton broke into a smile. A real one, not a smirk. “What are you doing tonight?” She paused. “Or should I ask ‘who.’ I figure your bed is booked a couple months in advance at this point.”
Gavin snorted. “Clever. And I’m not sure yet. Probably dinner.”
“You inviting me?” Peyton asked, though it hardly felt like a question.
“Do I have a choice?”
Peyton smacked him, though she raised an eyebrow the moment her hand made contact with his hard chest. She rolled her eyes when she caught Gavin’s knowing grin. “Shut up. You’re an asshole, you know that, right?”
“They keep telling me that but I don’t feel like it’s true.”
An actual giggle escaped Peyton’s lips. “Call me tonight,” she said, leaning in to kiss the corner of his lips. A collective groan came from the men surrounding them, putting a sparkle in her eyes since she did always feed off of attention. “I’m gonna get back to my crew now. You better still be looking at me as I’m walking away,” she murmured, giving his chest a small scratch through his shirt before turning on her heel. Gavin grinned, giving her a little nod to send her off.
But once she was out of his eye line, he forgot his promise.
“Uh.” Osborne cleared his throat. “She’s looking back at you, dude. Should you be… okay, I’ll wave at her for you.”
A waving intern was probably the last thing Peyton wanted to see. Gavin laughed at Osborne but the sound didn’t quite come out since his attention was focused on the court. He ignored the strangers who gave him pats on the back for reasons he figured were related to Peyton. A few asked questions, but he could hardly process them as his eyes followed the lean and, he had to admit, handsome Italian giant on the court. Though as Gavin looked closer, he realized that Piersanti had gelled his hair. He had actually styled his hair for a basketball game. Jesus Christ, this guy.
“That’s crazy,” he heard Osborne breathe.
“I know. I bet he’s wearing cologne too.”
“What? Dude, I’m talking about Sportscaster Barbie over there. Everyone’s staring at her right now. And you. This is weird. Who is she? Is she famous?” Osborne continued to himself when Gavin didn’t respond. “Well, she should be famous. She just hijacked all the attention from this game,” he laughed. “Oh, you know what? Was that your ex that Smiley always talks about? You know, he and a bunch of guys from the office have been trying to ‘close’ with her for like, months but none of them have — ”
“Oz, shut the hell up and watch the game.”
“Okay, but you should know that you’re the man, Gavin!” Osborne whispered hastily before holding his hands up and going, “Sorry, sorry, watching now.”
~
Predictably, the two Spanish shooting guards drew all the post-game cameras, including Peyton’s. That was more than fine by Gavin.
“Barcelona guys are on that end of the court. Gavin. Where are you going?”
“Locker room.”
“Why?”
“Stop asking me questions, Oz.”
“Okay.”
Weaving through the press, Gavin went into the tunnel leading towards the locker rooms, Osborne trotting behind him.
“What’d you think of Nicolo Piersanti today?” Gavin asked, eyes straight ahead.
“Piersanti?” Osborne repeated, as if sure Gavin had surely meant to ask him about another player. “Uh, I think he gelled his hair for a basketball game is what I think. I think he should’ve dedicated more time to his jumper than his ringlets is what I think.”
Gavin snorted, decidedly forgetting about the defensive strengths he’d noticed. “Agreed on the ringlets,” he said seriously. “Also, don’t forget the missed free throws.”
“He airballed two in a row! Who does that?” Osborne threw his arms in the air incredulously. “And if you’re gonna miss most of your shots you should at least work on a game face. Like, what the hell, why is he always happy and smiling? Doesn’t he know that he sucks?”
“Yeah.” Gavin laughed. “It’s a good-looking smile, though.”
Osborne halted mid-step. “What?”
“He’s a good-looking guy.”
Osborne paused, starting his step again slowly. “Uh. Yeah, I guess. I wasn’t really looking at him that way. I can tell you who I was looking at that way though, and that was your frickin’ smoking hot ex, sorry to say.” Gavin cringed as he felt another one of Osborne’s whooshing breaths on the back of his neck. “You’re… a lucky man. Can you spread the wealth and invite me to wherever you and Peyton are going tonight? Maybe she has friends that I can… just look at, basically. Unless they’re into pasty dudes who are like, ten to twenty pounds overweight, give or take. Which could possibly happen. Maybe God hooked me up with a soul mate who is just completely out of my league. But my soul mate nonetheless.”
Gavin snorted as they reached the locker room, where only a few members of the press were interviewing the lesser-known players. “You can come out with me tonight, Oz.”
“Really?”
“But you gotta be at the office early tomorrow in case I get there late.”
“Hangover protocol, I know.”
“Also, I don’t think I’m going out with Peyton tonight. Sorry.”
“Ooh, okay. Whose the lucky girl then?”
Gavin laughed. “The lucky guy?” he corrected. “He’s right over there,” he said, ignoring Osborne’s confusion as he made a beeline for Piersanti, who despite sitting alone, had the attention of the only two females in the room — they looked to be PR girls who were going about their work while expertly keeping one eye on Piersanti and his half naked form.
While most players had already taken off their jerseys, Gavin could see that Piersanti had already shed his entire damned uniform. Hunched in front of his locker in just a pair of black boxer briefs, he tugged at the ends of the white towel draped around his neck, bearing the unmistakable posture of a defeated man. Gavin wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or feel kind of bad. The guy looked like a cartoon depiction of utter disappointment. As he approached, he
could hear him sighing dramatically and muttering rapidly to himself in Italian. Gavin scratched his head as he stood behind Piersanti’s chair, briefly unsure about whether or not to interrupt the solo conversation.
“Hey, uh. Nicolo.”
“Hello!”
Gavin nearly stumbled back as Piersanti spun and stood before him in one swift motion. Surprised by his instantly zealous greeting, his gaze darted between Piersanti’s enormous smile and his outstretched hand. For a moment, he wondered if he had actually met the guy before and if there was a reason behind his immediate joy.
“Hello,” Piersanti repeated, his smile truly more brilliant in person than it appeared in print ads. Perfectly white and straight, it actually dazzled and made Gavin’s own lips kind of turn upward. “You are a reporter?”
“Oh.” Gavin quickly understood Piersanti’s excitement. “Uh, no, I’m not,” he answered, watching Piersanti’s posture and expression instantly falter, though he seemed intent on keeping a polite smile for Gavin, even if it slightly quivered at the ends. “Sorry. My name’s Ga — ” Gavin caught himself. “Garrett.” He ignored Osborne’s look of total confusion as he continued. “I’m with Klein Sports Management.”
“Klein Sports Management!” Piersanti’s zeal was quickly renewed. He clapped his gigantic hands together once, the thunderous sound making Gavin blink. “Dante Gibson is just signed with Klein Sports Management! I play against him last year when he try for the junior national team.” He swiped his hand through the air quickly, making a zipping sound. “So fast his feet.”
“Yeah, he’s really fast. And that’s cool, I didn’t know that you played against him,” Gavin said truthfully. But then again, he’d never paid a lick of attention to Piersanti until about four months ago. “Well, listen. I was watching you on the court before. I know you didn’t really have your best performance today but I saw something in your game that really interested me and I was wondering if you wanted to meet for dinner tonight, maybe talk a little about the prospect of playing in the States.”
