He takes a pointed bite and chews slowly, waiting. The bastard knows how to weaponize silence.
“Okay, so you know how Fishlette was trending, and she asked me to dial it back, and we didn’t speak for weeks?”
“Yes.”
“And then the menswear campaign party happened, and we were fine again.” He nods. “Then Big Fish happened.”
“That was wild.”
“Tell me about it. I got to the arena and had no idea, so Collette pulled me aside and told me what had happened, so I didn’t find out in front of everyone.”
“That was nice of her.”
“Yeah. And then I touched her face.”
Evan stops chewing. “You touched her face.”
“Her lips specifically, with my thumb.”
His brows pull together. Yes, I know it sounds weird when I say it out loud like that. “Her lips.”
“It was a moment, you had to be there.”
“Glad I was not there,” he adds.
“I played like shit that night. Remember how I got hit from behind. She left the arena before the game ended because she was upset that I got hurt, and it reminded her of what happened to Felix.”
“She was worried.”
I nod. “Yeah. I called her after the game because she is usually there at the end chatting to us with her mic, and I was worried. She was upset on the phone and hung up on me, so I went to her apartment.”
“She lives on the same floor as Cap. Are you fucking mad?”
“I wasn’t thinking in that moment,” I explain.
“No shit.”
“We then talked, and things got flirty, and we were about to have a moment, but she stopped it. Said we’d ruin things. I tried to leave. She grabbed my hand and told me to stay.” I’m talking faster now. “She got tequila. We got drunk. Danced in her living room.”
A brow raises. “Twinkle toes.” He smirks.
“You’re just jealous of my moves.”
“I am not,” he answers bluntly. “And then?”
“We passed out, and I woke up in her bed.”
He swears in Russian.
“Nothing happened.”
“Bullshit,” he says.
“Honest.” He doesn’t quite believe me. “It gets worse.”
“How can it get worse?”
“Remember the away trip when we had our four-game winning streak, and Felix asked me to walk her home?”