20. Diego
I checked the clock.2 A.M.
I should be asleep.
My first year with the Breakers, the pre-game schedule drove me nuts. Game film, followed by dinner, then a team movie, and lights out by nine. I’d toss and turn and fight the urge to play video games or go out for a drink. But over four seasons, the schedule turned into a ritual as necessary as my other pre-game rituals.
Only tonight, sleep wouldn’t come.
After tossing and turning, I’d pulled out a book and fired off another text to Cassandra. No response.
Unsurprising.
Noa said Lena had a full itinerary for their night out and judging by the phone call earlier that afternoon, Cassandra had been all too happy to follow Lena around the strip. That should have put me at ease. Lena would keep them out of trouble.
My phone buzzed to life, illuminating the dark hotel room like a beacon. I pushed off the covers and grabbed the phone, knocking the cord out of the wall as I fumbled to answer the call.
“Hey.”
Cassandra’s soft giggle eased all the tension out of my chest. All the anxiety that I didn’t want to admit had been building up over the evening.
“I didn’t think you’d answer. It’s late, Diego.” She lowered her voice, as if chiding a naughty child. Her words were slurred. Buzzed, maybe on the precipice of drunk. I couldn’t tell.
“It’s late. I thought you passed out hours ago.” I extracted myself from the rumpled sheets, standing up with the phone pressed to my ear. From the window, I could barely make out the Bellagio in the distance. Too far away to count the floors up to her hotel room.
“I wanted to wish you good luck tomorrow.”
“You could have done that in the morning.” She exhaled, her breath a hum over the line. “I couldn’t sleep, anyway. What’d you get up to tonight?”
“Lena gambled, a bunch. Then, we went on a sightseeing tour, got a picture with the Welcome to Las Vegas sign, saw a show. Then got dinner at some fancy restaurant. I ordered a sake flight.”
“A sake flight?” I grinned. “Was it good?”
“Two. Two sake flights,” she corrected. “It was okay.”
“Just okay?” I peeled myself away from the window and relaxed into an upholstered chair beside the bed.
“I liked the drinks at the show better. Lena insisted we ordered drinks. I told her they were too expensive.”
“You have my credit card,” I reminded her.
“Twenty dollars for a drink is ridiculous.”
“There’s nothing ridiculous about you having a good time, Cassandra. You had a good time, right?” The tension in my chest eased with every second on the phone. “You sound like you had a good time.”
“I missed you.” Before I could even process the admission, she charged on. “I mean, I would have had a better time with you. The rules you have to follow are dumb. Like am I even supposed to call? It just seems ridiculous to ask a grown man to go to bed at a certain time.”
“You missed me?” I circled back to the only important part of what she said. I couldn’t change the league rules. I couldn’t change Coach Simmons rules. But I was glad I answered her call.
“A little.”
“A lot?”
“A moderate amount. Lena’s great. She’s just not…”
“Wildly handsome and irresistibly charming?” I closed my eyes, imagining her smile as her laugh tapered off.
“Annoyingly companionable.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Which hotel are you at?”
My throat constricted. “Why do you ask?”
“I just thought we could have a nightcap? I’ll smuggle you a drink.”
I paused, sure that if I opened my mouth immediately, I’d say yes, and Cassandra would be on her way over before I came to my senses. It wasn’t as if the coaches prowled the hallway, but I shouldn’t do that to my team. I should be in bed.
“There’s literally nothing I want more.” I exhaled.
“But…I sense a ‘but’ in there.”
“But we shouldn’t. I shouldn’t. And you probably shouldn’t either. It’s late.”
She hummed. “You should be in bed.”
“Yeah.” I pushed up from the chair, eyes back on the bed, more than a little disappointed. “You’re going to wear my jersey tomorrow, right?”
“I’m wearing my favorite player’s jersey.”
“You mean me, right? I’m your favorite player.”
“Good night, Diego,” she giggled.
“Good night, Cassandra.”
* * *
I wiped sweat off my brow, jogging off the field as Frankie rounded the end zone, the ball held up to the crowd. A spattering of boos followed his procession which I expected with us playing on the other side of the country.
“You look good out there, Salazar.” Coach Mack patted me on the back, his wrinkled face breaking out into a toothy grin. “You look a little tired, but you’re playing well.”
I nodded, my attention flitting into the big screens, hoping for another look at Cassandra on them.
An apologetic text message had greeted me after breakfast.
CASSANDRA
Sorry I was drunk and sloppy. Good luck.
Drunk and sloppy and, judging by the sunglasses and hat, she pulled down over her face whenever cameras panned in her direction, also nursing a massive hangover. But the number eleven splayed on her chest had been more than enough to forgive the late-night call.
Seconds counted down on the clock, and we clinched another win. I didn’t have any interest in the sideline reporters, weaving through them as I searched the fans making their way to the tunnel entrance.
Not spotting her, I followed my teammates to the tunnel. While most stopped for a quick picture or two, Kweame hung out by the entrance, signing every piece of memorabilia, and posing for all the pictures. Not spotting Cassandra yet, I joined in, posing for pictures and signing jerseys.
“Hey, think you can sign my jersey, too?” Cassandra’s soft lilt captured my attention away from the dozens of other requests for photos.
I grinned. “I only sign my own jerseys.”
“Well, good news, I have a Diego Salazar jersey. He’s my favorite player.” She leaned over the railing, biting her bottom lip. “You played okay out there.”
“Just okay?” I lifted an eyebrow.
“Well, it’s no four touchdown game, but you won, so that’s gotta count for something.”
Distracted, I accepted a picture shoved in front of my face by another fan, scribbling my name onto the back and returning it. “Thanks for noticing. After your phone call last night, I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”
“And miss all this?” Cassandra rolled her eyes up to the stadium roof. “When I could be gambling? Or dancing? Or watching a show? You’re crazy.”
I covered her hand, rubbing my thumb over her knuckles. “You know, some people come to Las Vegas just to watch the game.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’ll never understand football fans.”
“How about players?”
“I’m coming around to them.” Hinging at her hips, she rested her chin on my hand. “Slowly.”
“Hey, Diego? Can we get a pic?” The flash from the camera blinded me before I could agree. My head pivoted onto the field where the photographer had crouched down, snapping pictures in tiny blasts of light. “How about a kiss? Can you let her onto the field?”
He waved down a burly-looking guard with his head tilted down to his phone. The guard jerked his head up, eyes roving to me and then Cassandra. He gave the photographer a nod. Cassandra laughed, her hand slipping from mine as she walked the short distance down the stairs and onto the field.
Normally, I’d never agree to the demands of a pushy on-field reporter. Certainly not one at an away game. I’d stalk back to the locker room without a second glance and shut him out of photographs or questions for the rest of the season. But the promise of Cassandra pushed up against me, my arm around her waist, her lips…Well, he caught me in a good mood.
She slipped beside me, her beaming smile aimed squarely at me.
“How long have you been dating?” The question held a hint of an accusation. Was I dating Cassandra while I was seeing Zoey? Did she cause the breakup?
“Barely any time at all,” Cassandra answered breezily. She tilted her head, hair brushing my chin. I tightened my grip.
“Have you known each other long? Is it true you’re Rebecca Barton’s sister?”
“Guilty as charged,” Cassandra laughed, her fingers drawing circles on my lower back. Her touch was methodic and calming. “We’ve known each other for a while.”
“So a friendship that turned into lovers?”
The guy had no shame. Cassandra ducked her head, cheeks blooming red.
“I don’t know if I’d have phrased it that way. We’ve had a passing acquaintance for years, but I moved to Norwalk when Becca left the team and…” She shrugged, cementing the timeline. When Becca left. That’s when we started dating. Well after Zoey.
“How about a kiss?” The reporter goaded.
Zoey would have scoffed. She would have pulled out her phone and dialed her agent, asking for the press pass of whichever reporter deigned to ask the question.
Cassandra laughed breezily. “I’m taken, but thanks.”
She slid her hand around my forearm, pulling me back into the locker room with a grin. My chest tightened. A kiss would have been nice, but having Cassandra on my arm was better. I dropped my chin, inhaling orange blossom and clove. “So, where are you taking me today?”
“Somewhere…interesting.”
“Interesting?”
“How do you feel about art?” Her eyebrow raised expectantly. It made me want to lie and say I loved art. Couldn’t get enough.
I hated art. Hated museums. “Um, it’s okay.”
“What about immersive art? You know, like watching an artist cry while reading a phonebook or strip naked and juggle fish heads? Not these cheesy shows on the strip. Real art. Shock and awe art.”
I pulled her to a stop before we reached the locker room entrance, with its cadre of reporters waiting to file in for post-game interviews. “What kind of art are you into?”
“The fun stuff.” Her fingertips glided down my forearm as she swayed toward me, a teasing smile on her lips.
My throat tightened and I chanced an arm around her waist. “I think the fish heads are really going to sour my enjoyment of the show.”
“Good news! No fish heads this time. And the place even has a bar.”
“A bar? That’s what you should have led with. Not the art.”
“Well, I’ll remember that for next time,” she drawled.
Next time. My mind latched onto the word.
“Diego, we need you for the press conference.”
I startled as Coach Mack interrupted our conversation. Reluctantly, I dropped my hand from Cassandra’s waist and stepped away. “Give me thirty minutes and I’ll be ready to go.”