Page 32 of The Tiger in the Sack

Nope. No. Not gonna do it. I met this man Monday and my whole body told me he was just another football player who thought his shit didn’t stink, and I have a rule. No more football players.

The rule exists so I can be who I want to be, not who Warner, my parents, or society wants. So a jawline and some killer charm can’t dismantle it in a borrowed dance studio in front of Zahra Smith.

“Save that smile for the launch video this afternoon,” I said, and stepped back into my job, and went to find Miss Patrice, because she was real and the footage was real and the fluttery butterflies happening in my chest were structurally unsound.

Behind me I heard Kingman get pulled into a photo by three grandmas at once, and heard him go along with it, delighted, and I did not turn around to watch, which was a personal achievement I intend to be proud of for years.

The workshop started and the women who I hoped would actually show up to tryouts filled the floor. Zahra and the other girls warmed them up and helped everyone with the kind of moves that I and the panel of judges would want to see.

It was everything I was never given and I was not going to let anyone see that on my face. I smiled, I clapped, I made notes.

Isak Kingman did the same, well minus the notes.

And I really needed to stop paying attention to him. I recentered myself on the girls, the routines, and checked in with Dev on how the filming was going.

By the time the workshop was done, I was swamped with potential new cheerleaders asking more questions than I could answer. Kingman was standing near the door, signing some more autographs, but when I looked again, he was gone.

Good. Fine. He was probably supposed to be at practice anyway.

It wasn’t like I wouldn’t see him again this afternoon for the content shoot. I didn’t even know why he’d been here this morning anyway. And it didn’t matter.

Nope. Not one little bit.

I stopped to grab some lunch on my way back to The Den. While I waited for my sandwich, extra pickles, my phone buzzed.

Cat Daddy

What’s up, Buttercup?

I smiled at my phone and then looked around the restaurant to see if either a helmeted man with a cat or a famous football player happened to me standing nearby texting on his phone.

There was only a group of teenagers refilling their sodas.

That’s Peanut Butter Cup to you.

I’d smash a peanut butter cup right now.

Is that an innuendo?

Pass.

I rolled my eyes, but in the “why is he so cute and charming about hiding his thoughts” kind of way.

Okay practical question. What do I wear tonight?

Something you can move in, but that covers your skin. Jeans, and layers on top. It’ll be cool after dark.

I need more than that to pack appropriately.

You don’t need to pack. You need to show up.

I’m an engineer. I require data.

You’re an engineer?

Bachelors of Science, baby. Don’t make it weird.

That’s the least weird thing I’ve ever heard. That’s extremely cool.