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I thought I’d lead with the front foot in case he thought I was putting myself in his line of vision all the time. “You’re not stalking me, are you?” I teased.
He made a scoffing sound and sat back in his chair. “I’m pretty sure you were in my office the other day, and now in my gym!”
“Oh, your office, your gym,” I said, raising an eyebrow and challenging him. “Last time I looked, you were playing a team sport … which means there’s more than just you in that office, and I’ve been going to Archer’s gym for years. Longer than you.”
“Want a bet?” he snapped back.
“Yeah, I do, bring it on.” I was pretty sure I could win this one. “What odds do you want?”
“Okay,” his eyes narrowed. “If I win, you have to do an exclusive interview with me and get it into the paper, or at worse, online,” he said. “And I better come off looking good.”
“Done, big head,” I teased him.
He grinned again. “I have an ulterior motive… we have to do a set number of media interviews a year… you can count as one.”
“Yeah, we had the same at the Suns,” I assured him.
We thanked the waitress as she put our two coffees in front of us and two apple muffins.
The Russian shrugged. “I took a gamble. If you don’t want yours, I’ll eat it.”
“You know a muffin is pretty much the same as a cupcake, don’t you? It’s just clever marketing… you’re not going to eat a cupcake for breakfast, but you’ll eat a muffin if it’s marketed as breakfast food,” I said.
“I disagree,” The Russian said. “A muffin is bread based, a cupcake is cake based. Well that’s what I’m telling myself, but if you don’t want yours…” he reached for it but I was quicker.
“I can probably manage half,” I assured him, clutching the muffin. “So our bet, if I win, you have to accompany me to the Suns’ Gala Ball and Auction night this Sunday.”
I was watching him carefully and he didn’t react at all; no shock, no pleasure, no fear, no panic, nothing. Or he didn’t think he was going to lose, so wasn’t worried.
“You’re on,” he said. He reached for his wallet and pulled out his Archer’s membership card. It was dated five years back. He showed me and smiled. “Beat that, Brooker,” he said, using my surname.
I gave him a smug look and reached for my purse. I pulled out my membership card and placed it on the table between us. “Read that and weep, buddy,” I said. The Russian didn’t know that everyone on our basketball team had automatic membership with their contract. But I had joined even earlier than that, in the last few years of school when I was training to break into the big league – seven years ago.
His face dropped as he looked at my membership card.
“Right,” he said, “suit or black tie?”
I grinned at him. “Black tie. Got one?”
“Naturally,” he said, like he was always swanning around the house in formal wear. “Better text me your address and what time to pick you up.” He reached for my phone and put his number in. I have his number!
“You’re picking me up?” I asked, taking a bite of the muffin even thought my stomach was flipping with excitement.
He frowned at me. “Of course. You’re a chick, you’ll need every last minute to get ready, won’t you?”
I sighed. “Thanks.”
The Russian laughed. “I’m not saying you’ll need it, but I’ve never known a girl who can be ready to go anywhere in less than fifteen minutes.”
“Well, you have now,” I said. “Fussing is not my thing. But it would be nice to be picked up, thanks. So…”
“So?” he asked as we drank our coffees.
“Do you think you should tell me your name? I may have to introduce you to a few people at our table on Sunday night,” I said. I held my breath and hoped it wasn’t going to be something totally unsexy like Boris, hence The Russian nickname.
He nodded. “I put my phone number under my name in your phone.”
I grabbed the phone and opened my contacts list. The second name in the ‘A’s was new.
