Connor
“This could not be any better.”
“It was just a date,” I said, annoyed as shit by Brian’s reaction as I reached for my glasses on the nightstand. I loved my agent and trusted him with my life—or at least my work life—but it was irritating, him calling me about my date with Duffy like it was any of his business. “Not a big deal.”
“No, I know,” he said, “but people are eating this shit up. I saw a meme about how much you probably love that damn coyote now because he made this happen. I have to find it and send it to you because it’s hilarious. The people are fuckingintothis date.”
“First of all, that meme sounds foul,” I said with distaste. “And second, it was just dinner and she’s a regular person; why are people freaking out so much?”
“It’s like the chicken shop thing.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I don’t know, that Amelda chick. It was a moment in time on an interview show, but you guys just had great chemistry on TV, so everybody likes the idea of this happening.”
“Why does anybody give a shit?”
“Why does anybody give a shit about anything?” Brian said. “And it’sbecauseshe’s a regular person that they’re devouring this. You’re an NFL pro on one of the most talked-about teams, and instead of dating a model or an actress, you’re into a girl who’s a nobody. A chick from the south side who goes ice fishing and knows how to ride a snowmobile.”
“Don’t call her a nobody,” I snapped, rubbing my forehead. “And I have no idea if she does any of those things.”
“Oh, she does; a simple Google search will show you.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I said, even more annoyed because I knew Duffy would hate the idea of anyone googling her.
“The bottom line is the city where you want to stay is loving you right now, so that is definitely a win.”
But instead of feeling any sort of victory, I felt like a piece of shit after I hung up, like I’d tricked her. I’d had a great time with Duffy and I wanted to take her out again, so I didn’t like his reaction because it made me feel like I’d manipulated her.
Man, I’d felt like such a sneaky dick when she’d wondered how the reporters could’ve known we’d be there.
Because my people called them, Duffy.
I swallowed down the guilt, telling myself it didn’t matter because even though the first date was technically a PR stunt, everything was realnow. I got out of bed and called her number on speaker as I walked into the bathroom, flipping on the shower. For the price I paid for the unit, you’d think the water would get hot right away, but it took forever, because the water was triple-filtered for better conditioning, whatever the hell that meant.
“Hello?” I heard Duffy say as I set the phone on the vanity. Iloved how she sounded like she was suspicious of my call. After dozens of people speaking to me with only praise and reverence almost daily, there was something so fucking refreshing about the way she treated me like I was just some ordinary guy she’d met.
“Hey, listen, I was wondering if you wanted to join my fantasy karaoke team.”
“Haha very funny,” she said. “But I seem to remember you calling meembarrassing.”
“Awesomelyembarrassing, Distefano. That’s different.”
“Says you.”
“What are you doing right now?” I asked, realizing I didn’t really have a solid plan for the call at all. I hadn’t thought out what I was going to say, which was a mistake because Duffy kept me on my toes.
“I’m actually working because it’s nine thirty in the morning on a Friday,” she said in a tone that let me know she thought I had no idea how jobs worked for normal people.
Which was probably fair.
For me, Fridays were light days with a quick run-through.
Everyone in the league fuckinglovedFridays. They were freedom days.
For her, it was probably…meetings…? Spreadsheets of data and…tax documentation…?
“What are you working on at the moment?” I asked, trying to picture what her day looked like as an accountant. “Adding up numbers?”