“Uh…what?” I ask, the picture of eloquence.
Carter starts toward the locker rooms, forcing me to follow dumbly after him to figure out how a high school kid knows anything about my dating life.
“Kendra Gray. She’s your girlfriend, right?”
I raise an eyebrow.
“What do you know about it? Are you reading the tabloids in between Home Ec and AP English?”
Carter stops again and eyes me like I’m a few slices short of a loaf.
“OK, first, she’s hot. She’s got some of the best thirst traps on Instagram.”
“Watch it,” I growl.
It’s surprising how openly people will ogle Kendra, even when we’re out together. They’ll try to whisper in her ear, slip her their numbers, even honk when we cross the street. It’s disrespectful, and I don’t need to take it from one of my players.
Carter waves his hand dismissively.
“No offense, coach,” he continues, looking not the least bit remorseful.
“Second, I don’t read tabloids, but my sister, Cara, does. She saw the photos in People and recognized you right away.”
I have no idea what to say. Being with Kendra makes me want to hire a skywriter to tell the world, especially now that we’re official, but it’s not like I can talk about it with a student. He must sense my hesitation, because he says,
“Be easy, Coach. I’m just saying you look happy.” His smile turns into a smirk. “And also my sister asked me to ask you if Kendra could get her tickets to the Met Gala.”
I roll my eyes and throw a towel at his head. He ducks.
“How about I get you tickets for a few extra laps at tomorrow’s practice? Would that work?”
Carter raises his hands in defeat, accepting that the subject is closed.
“Whatever. But Cara will be heartbroken,” he says with a laugh.
“Kendra! Over here! Kendra!”
At the counter inside Artichoke Pizza, there’s barely room to order, let alone hide from photographers. They’d snapped no fewer thansix thousand pictureswhile we waited in line for the city’s best white sauce slice.
Worse than the pictures was the shouting.
“Why do you think Andre’s getting married again so quickly?”
“Are the rumors aboutHector Viega true?”
“Are you two doing a couple’s costume for Halloween next week?”
“Will Denise Jeffries’ new line be ready by the next New York Fashion Week?”
They were relentless and drew more than a few dirty looks from the other patrons.
“Do you feel like Andre traded up with Julie?”
That one had me clenching my fists, chantinggoosfrabain my head to keep from pummeling the creep. How could anyone think that a home-wrecking background singer was an upgrade from an internationally known supermodel? Kendra, on the other hand, had acted as if she didn’t even hear them—turning her back to the cameras and keeping her hat down and sunglasses on.
“What’ll it be, miss?” the man at the front counter asks after the long but justified wait.
“A large artichoke pizza…?” Kendra turns to me with a question in her eyes.
