Page 62 of Turn Me On
Maddox:Just talked to Priyam. It’s looking good. He’s reviewing the deal points with his daughter. Save the date next week in New York for dinner.
Then I add the time and the day. A few minutes later, he responds.
Zane:And I didn’t feel any pressure to write back and sayfuck yes!
Maddox:Hopefully we’ll know more next week.
Zane:Exciting! I can’t wait to tell him how my coaching gig with my niece’s team went.
Right. He had that last weekend. I forgot to ask.
I draft a reply—How did it go? Future career for you?—but I don’t send it. Zane worries about his future. I don’t want to say anything that’ll set off his fears of himnothaving a future in baseball. I hit erase and start over.
Maddox:I bet you were the most enthusiastic first-base coach ever.
Zane:Pretty much. I had a blast. What a way to spend a day off. Sunshine, family, softball…
My heart aches. I wish I could go there with him and watch him coach his niece. Go to meet his brother, get to know the people Zane loves. I’d do my research, pick a restaurant in Sacramento after the game—a cool and trendy but still kid-friendly place—then take them all out to eat. It’s a small thing to pay the bill, but I love picking up the tab and making my clients feel like kings and queens.
Except, I don’t want to go to Sacramento as Zane’s agent. I want to go as the man who treats Zane’s family to dinner, then goes home alone with him—with the guy, not the baseball star.
Maddox:It sounds like a great day. I’m sure Priyam will enjoy hearing about it. I know I will.
That barely scratches the surface of the truth. Hell, it feels like a bald-faced lie. But I send it anyway, and quickly, he replies.
Zane:Will you pick the restaurant? From among all your favorite cuisines?
Maddox:I will. See you then.
Zane:See ya.
I can read Zane as clearly as I could the night I met him. He’s trying to show me he can be business-y and friendly. He’s worried for me. He’s trying to protect me by being…Super Client. My heart swells a little bigger for him. His care for other people might as well be written on a neon sign flashing above his head.
I just wish…
Eh, it doesn’t matter what I wish for.
This wish can’t come true.
* * *
That night, I take Braxton to an LA Bandits game. Boutique touch, indeed. We don’t talk shop once. We chat about the upcoming baseball All-Star Game here at this park in July, and his wish to see it since he loves baseball too. We talk about his friends from high school. He’s still close to them, he says. He never mentions a girlfriend or a boyfriend, and I don’t ask.
When I return home after the game, Bryan’s camped out on the couch, watching something on his laptop. He hits stop at lightning speed the second I walk in.
“I told you I don’t care if you watch porn,” I say drily as I kick off my shoes.
“Wasn’t porn,” he mutters, then closes the laptop.
Color me intrigued. “Better than porn? This I’ve gotta hear.”
“It’s nothing,” he says.
“It’s definitely something.” I smile.
He sighs. “Just something a…client sent me.”
I cough, muttering, “Euphemism.”