In the grand scheme of life, one year is a drop in the bucket. When you’re looking for someone, wondering if they’ll call or when they’ll come back, a year feels like forever.
Sylvia said it. Caleb told me that Iris left, but I still keep thinking maybe she’ll call or contact me. Caleb’s been seen with other chicks, living his life, so I assume he told the truth and they really aren’t together anymore. His girlfriend has left, and I’m the one who can’t move on.
“You should fuck.”
I glance up from the report I’m studying at lunch with Jared. Our server, who overheard his comment, blushes and stretches her eyes.
“Um . . . did you need anything else?” she asks, sliding a look between Jared and me.
“We’re good for now,” I tell her, forcing a smile. “You can bring the check.”
“Sorry,” Jared says, but he doesn’t look repentant as she walks away. “Her overhearing it doesn’t make it any less true. I’ve never known you to be this . . . grumpy.”
“I’m not grumpy. You make me sound like an eighty-year-old man.”
“You have the sex life of an eighty-year-old man.” He sips his wine. “Hell, I’d be grumpy if I didn’t get any ass for a year.”
“I’m not you.” I flip through the report, hoping to divert his attention back to business. “These second-quarter numbers look good. Elevation’s doing even better than we hoped it would.”
“Yeah, they look great. Don’t change the subject.”
“The subject is none of your business. Speaking of business, let’s talk about it.”
“Okay.” Jared tears a bread stick into little pieces over his plate. “Did you talk to Pippa about signing on?”
“I did. She’s interested.”
“In fucking you.”
I tilt my head and blank my face, exasperated.
“Are you saying she doesn’t want to?” Jared asks. “She would have already signed if you’d give her what she wants. She practically spelled it out in the sand when she visited the office last week.”
One advantage of living and setting up our agency in San Diego is an office only a pebble’s throw from the beach. It’s worked for us, wining and dining clients oceanside. Well, I don’t wine and dine. I’m still a silent partner but have recently started persuading high-profile athletes that since I now trust Elevation with my representation, they should, too.
“What are you now?” I smirk and pour water from the carafe on the table. “My pimp?”
Jared’s expression loses most of its humor. “If you need me to be.” He sighs. “She may not ever contact you, Gus. You should move on.”
Does he think I don’t know that? That I want to be in this limbo where I think Iris might come back? I’m not an eighty-year-old man, and there is nothing wrong with my sex drive. I simply have no outlet. The only person I want is gone. The obvious solution is to want someone else, but my heart and my dick don’t see it that way.
“I do have something we need to discuss.” Jared narrows his eyes, assessing. “I need to put on my agent hat for a minute.”
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Deck called.” The look Jared angles at me holds excitement and speculation. “You won’t believe this, but the Waves are open to a trade.”
The glass in my hand stops midair halfway to my mouth. I set it down with a thump on the table.
My contract isn’t up for another two years. I’d resigned myself to spending the first five years of my NBA career on a losing team and just distinguishing myself on the court so I’d get good looks from other teams when it was time to go.
“You shitting me?” I ask.
“Nope.” Jared grins like a buccaneer. He’s a hard-ass negotiator and probably relishes the prospect. “They know they could get a few quality players from Houston for you.”
“Houston?” My mouth drops open. Houston is in the playoffs again this year, as we speak. They might even take it all. “Houston wants me?”
“Bad.” He leans forward, elbows on the table. “They’re focused on the playoffs right now, of course, but some of the front-office execs reached out on the sly. They’re looking ahead.”
A disturbing thought occurs to me. “So are the Waves open to this because they don’t think I’ll be back a hundred percent?”
Rehab was long and grueling, and by the time I could get back on court, I’d lost almost all of my second season. Playing those last couple of months was more a test for the upcoming season than anything else, seeing if I still had my strength and explosiveness off the dribble. My distance-shooting hasn’t been affected. Jag had me shooting from anywhere on court seated in a wheelchair from the early days of rehab.
“No, they aren’t worried that you won’t be back full-steam,” Jared assures. He knows that would bother me—the brass thinking I couldn’t perform anymore. “If anything, it’s the opposite. Everyone saw how good you looked out there at the end of last season. If they want to build, to add some key pieces to the roster, you’re their most valuable asset to get them.”
“Huh.” I lean back in my seat and consider leaving Deck and Jag. Even Glad and I have become friends.
Winning has always been the most important thing in my life. I’ll never get used to losing, but I was getting used to those guys. We were just starting to feel like a real team.
“Did you say ‘huh?’” Jared asks, a frown snapping his brows together. “’Cause I don’t speak grunt. You want me to move forward or not? And if you say ‘not,’ you’re a fool.”
He’s right. If I’m stuck in this place, mired in too-few memories of Iris and the little time we had together, something in my life should be moving forward. Why not my career?
“Yeah.” I smile at the rosy-cheeked waitress and accept the bill. “Let’s see where it goes.”
And if it takes me to Houston, I’m closer to a championship than I thought I would be for years. That should make me happy. And it does. I can’t be ungrateful. A percentage of a percentage of people live the way I do, have the things I have, but something’s still missing. I don’t have to ask what.
I know what it is. I know who it is.
I just don’t know where to find her.
