“I think my track record makes fans plenty happy.”
“Sure, they’re ‘satisfied with your performance,’” she said putting air quotes around the words.
Satisfied. The word triggered something primal in me. My breath went shallow, burning in my lungs as I stepped closer to Kodi. Close enough that if I took a deep breath, our chests would touch. Close enough to smell the soft citrus of her perfume or soap or whatever. Close enough to see goose bumps fan across her bare shoulders.
“Not just satisfied,” I said, voice rough from all those stupid feelings, from the hurt that she didn’t remember me to the want that burned inside me the second I saw her again, saw her as an adult, through adult eyes.
I wanted her. And I was acting stupid because of it.
“Ha,” Kodi stuttered out, a fluttery sound with a breathy undertone. Her cheeks started to redden and she stepped back, creating a good few feet of space between us, her hands fiddling together in front of her stomach.
Fuck.
I widened the gap between us and balled my hands into fists, letting my nails cut into my palms. I needed to get myself under control, apply all the discipline I put into my career into dealing with Kodi, dealing with myfeelingsfor Kodi. The physical and the emotional.
“Sorry,” I muttered, picking her shoes as my new focus point. Shoes should be safe so long as I don’t become some regency prick and start getting off at the sight of her ankles.
“You’re good,” she muttered. There was a long silence and I fought the urge to look away from her sneakers. They were a plum color. ASICS. A solid brand choice, especially for running.
“But the owners are pushing to build a bigger following on social media,” she said after a deep breath, like she needed that extra boost to say those words.
And to be fair, she probably did, given my immediate reaction, which was to let out a long, heavy sigh and start walking to the bench to get my water.
“Kean, come on,” Kodi said, jogging after me.
“If you wanna do that bullshit, then do it. You’ve got all you need to make a profile, but I’m not participating in that shit.”
“Then the content won’t be engaging or do what it needs to do,” she argued.
“What it needs to do,” I repeated, scoffing. I stopped at the bench, where a few of the other guys were meandering, stretching, getting water themselves, or just chatting. Normally I wouldn’t bother getting into a conversation I didn’t really care about, but I needed an out.
“Sosa, can you …” I called out, eyebrows knitting together. What the fuck could I talk to Sosa about? “Did you … have fun playing?”
“The fuck?” Sosa said, looking over at me like I was a chicken with its head cut off. The other guys around him gave me similar looks, but before I could figure out how to explain my odd behavior, Kodi cut in.
“Just hear me out, Kean,” she said, stepping in front of me, a little out of breath from jogging to catch up.
I stepped back, my footing unstable as my body tensed at her sudden close presence and her perseverance.
“Socials can get you more in touch with the fans, get them to buy tickets,merch. And if it’s something you’re interested in, it could open up a whole world of sponsorship opportunities.”
I stepped to the left, trying to get around the bench and away from Kodi. But of course she stepped right back in my way.
“Oh shit, Kean needs to practice his footwork,” Alvarez heckled somewhere off to my left. I couldn’t look his way, I couldn’t look away from Kodi. She was different than before, before being just seconds ago, but still. She was set on this for some reason and there was something hard in her eyes that intimidated me. No, that wasn’t right. It scared me.
“Seriously, Kean, this is the kind of thing that gives you leverage in deal or trade negotiations. You can’t underestimate what a following can do for you.”
“I don’t have time for … whatever it is you want me to do.”
“I can do most of it. Like you said, I have almost everything I need, but it wouldn’t be authentic. I need some input to makecontent that would resonate withyourfans. And to do that, I need you to actuallytalkto me.”
“I don’t want to,” I grumbled, making another attempt to get around her. I stepped to the right this time andoverthe bench, knocking somebody’s bottle over and onto a towel. Oops.
“Oh my fucking god,” Kodi groaned before turning around to follow me. She went around the bench, the guys close to her making some sort of whistles. I paused my retreat, blood rushing in my ears, and turned to yell at them.
But the second I turned, there was Kodi, grabbing my arm with soft hands. I inhaled sharply, the citrus smell almost nauseating. Panicked, I yanked my arm out of her hold.
“What? Do you think I have fucking cooties or something?” she yelled in frustration.
