Page 36 of Turn Me On

Others write back with simpler notes—smiley faces andthanks for the heads-up. They don’t all call me after midnight. Some do, rarely. But I pride myself on being easily accessible and communicative.

I take out my laptop because I’ve got a mountain of contracts to sort through, and I can’t think of a better way to spend the next ten and a half hours. There’s a deal memo from a shoemaker for one of my San Francisco Cougars, a renewal proposal and a dating app sponsor opportunity for my quarterback on the New York Leopards, and a fat new contract for one of my linebackers on the San Francisco Renegades. That team won two Super Bowls in a row, allowing me to take advantage of a fantastic loophole in Isaiah’s rookie contract related to sales of his jersey this year, of all things.

This is my happy place. The flight won’t take off for another thirty minutes, so I dig into my paperwork.

I start with the most recent addition to my to-do list—Bespoke. Late last night, Priyam sent an initial proposal for Zane, outlining some of Bespoke’s goals. As I search through my inbox, I find a new email in the thread, sent twenty minutes ago while I was boarding. When I click on it, I chuckle. Priyam’s attached a shot of Zane and his teammates Gunnar Ford, Declan Steele, and Holden Kingsley at a karaoke charity children’s hospital fundraiser from a year ago. They’re on stage singing, and Zane wears a checked short-sleeved button-down and a navy-blue bow tie. It’s the dapper side of Zane, and I haven’t seen this look before, but he wears it well.

This! Can we please make bow ties a thing again?

I write back, stat.As long as you do a how-to tie a bow tie video.

Priyam’s reply is nearly instantaneous.Brilliant!

I seize the moment and switch to my phone, calling up Zane’s name in my contacts. I haven’t been in touch with him since I dropped him off at his hotel after the rooftop party. No need to, really. I’m determined to put that scorching moment behind us. Our dirty talk nearly burned the hotel down that night.

Maddox:Please tell me that’s not a clip-on bow tie you’re wearing in the karaoke shot from a year ago.

I check the time. It’s nearly eleven in the morning, and even with a night game against Phoenix yesterday, he’s probably up already. He didn’t respond to my group text, but that’s no big deal. Now, he writes back immediately.

Zane:What do you take me for? Someone who doesn’t know how to tie a tie?

Maddox:Just doing my due diligence.

Zane:Yes, I can tie a bow tie, a necktie, etc. I told you in Venice, I’m good with ties. All ties. I can tie many knots.

The message is barely risqué, but even so, my skin tingles. I shift in my seat and angle the phone closer, even though I don’t plan to volley back with the same level of innuendo. Or any innuendo at all.

Maddox:I suspected as much.

Zane:Hold on. I’m not done. I have more to say about my bow tie skills. I can wear a bow tie undone and look smoldering. I can do it up all nice and tight. I can pair it with the right shirt.

Maddox:You’re the bow tie king.

I review the last note before I hit send. That’s so innuendo-free it’s certifiably G-rated. I fire it off.

Zane:King of ties, that’s me. Also, why are you asking?

Maddox:Someone likes your bow tie pic.

Zane:You can say it, Mad.Youdo.Youlike my pic.

That’s the first time he’s used a nickname for me. Still, I resist reacting to Zane’s term of endearment as I write back.

Maddox:Credit given where credit’s due. Priyam found the shot. It’s not even on your Insta. A fan took it and tagged you. He likes it. I like it too.

That’s not too revealing, so I send it.

Zane:And to think I was excited about you checking me out. Now that I know the client is, I’m even more excited!

That. Right there. That fucking exclamation point. That delights me. His enthusiasm for the deal is motivation to work hard for him every day. I recall his words about his brother. I picture finalizing the partnership for him. I imagine his exuberance. That is why I do what I do—the thrill of making business magic happen.

I’ve just started a reply when my phone dings again.

Zane:In fact, I’m so damn excited I just put one on. Want a bow tie shot right now?

A picture of an off-limits man? That’s risky. But bow ties aren’t sexy, so I say yes. One minute later, a file arrives on my phone, caption first—My team color. I call this look…casual gym wear. The photo is a shot of him from the neck to the knees. He’s wearing a black T-shirt, nice and snug, workout shorts, and a purple bow tie. It’s a little goofy. It’s definitely not smoldering.

And yet.