22. Chapter 22
Ames
On Friday, Saint says goodbye with a hint of sadness and restraint hidden behind his eyes.
The start of the playoffs is in two days in another city, and his Thunderdome curfew approaches fast. I choose not to question the heaviness that envelops him.
I ask if I can give him a hug, and we hold each other for a long minute, before I kiss his cheek and he leaves.
Restlessness prickles my chest. It doesn't go away after I close the door behind him, or when I wake up the next morning, or after I clean up the remnants of my lunch. I'm already nervous about the game they will play in less than twenty-four hours.
Alone in Saint's condo, I putter about mindlessly. I end up doing admin for my business, and shop around for potential loans if it comes to that. The distraction doesn't last long. Later that night, I sit on the sofa and set out to deal with these nerves in the only way I can imagine.
Ames : Please don't respond if you can't. This isn't a priority. But do you mind if I invite the girls over for a watch party tomorrow? I don't think I can do it alon e
It doesn't take him long to answer. I can imagine him in his hotel room, laying in bed. Maybe smiling after getting my message.
Saint : Invite them. Have fun. Watch us win. It's your home, too, Ames.
It helps the nerves somewhat.
Ames : I know you will be amazing but I also know the stakes are high. I already get anxious during games
Saint : I love that you're making it into an event.
Ames : It helps when Evie and Pen and Nat are there to calm me down
Saint : my sports psych would call that intellectualization, Amy. It's okay. You don't need to keep explaining. Do what makes you happy and have fun
Ames : I'm sorry. I should be a cheerleader. I have total trust in your skills!
Saint : You're good. Don't apologize for this. I like that you care. Trust me, I'll play better now that I got to text with you. If you're watching I'll want to show off.
I welcome the change in topic. Teasing is so much easier than having my self doubts pointed out to me.
Ames : Oh, yeah? But you're such a showman it's like you're always peacocking, on and off the field. How will I know this time you're showing off because I'm watching? Tell me what kind of signs to look for
Saint : peacocking? Excuse me. I dance because I enjoy it.
Ames : And because you want to show off. You like the edits your fans make online, be honest
Saint : Have you been checking out those edits, Amy? Be honest.
I snort. Of course I have. Before bed sometimes, just to check what people say about him.
Alone in the dark, I can watch Evie's video of him jumping the rope and study it in detail, unafraid of what my face might show despite my best intentions.
If the algorithm starts feeding me more and more videos of him dancing, or collections of him in his best outfits, I cannot be blamed.
Ames : I think the app geolocated me somehow and thinks I'm a fan.
He sends me a picture of him grinning. It triggers a small heart malfunction that I ignore.
Saint : You're funny. I know how those algos work. Your eyes linger, don't they?
Ames : Only because I'm trying to figure out if that's what it looks like when you're showing off.
Saint : Tell me you like it and I'll send you a selfie of what I'm wearing right now. As a reward.
Ames : So cocky. You can't help yourself, can you?
Saint : I cannot. Now tell me
Ames : I will not
Saint : Are you sure? I'm shirtless.
Ames : Gael, stop.
I send the two words before I know what I'm doing. My breathing has picked up.
Saint : But you wanted to know the signs! This is me showing off.
Ames : I thought it was something like… I don't know. Logan and Bear headbutt their helmets together and make power poses. You and Dom dance. Anything else I've missed?
Saint : Logan makes a heart toward Evie.
Ames : I didn't think that was showing off
Saint : he's showing off his feelings.
I lick my lips. Texting can be like walking on an icefield. You miss out on all the tone cues. Assuming he meant that in a wistful way could crack the white surface and drop me into freezing dark waters.
A few words appear on the screen anyway. I'm typing them myself, but I hesitate. It's a question I shouldn't ask.
How would you show off your feelings for someone you love? I'd like to keep track for no reason at all.
The full sentences glare at me on the screen, the cursor blinking patiently until I make up my mind.
A call comes through from an unknown number.
Fuck it , I mutter as I press send on the text .
I answer the phone to distract myself.
It's Mark, the producer from the streaming network.
"I'll keep this short," he says after a few niceties.
"We liked your presence— your energy while recording the Christmas special.
We want to produce a pilot for a cooking show with you.
We're in a rush. TV is always in a rush, but we'd like to get the conversation started on Monday with your agent and our team.
Get the vibes right, pick a few tentative dates, all of it. Are you on board?"
I'm not altogether sure a tremor didn't hit the city, and reached me up here in Saint's condo alone. I say yes, like this isn't the kind of news to shake up my system.
The call ends and I leave my phone screen-down next to me. I'm shivering, despite the perfect temperature in the room. It's an internal source of cold and shock. I need to recover before I go back to my texts, but I stare at the device with little shakes at the tips of my fingers.
In the quiet of the space, the ceiling lights glint on the black mirror of the phone lenses, and the symbol at the back stares right back at me.
Saint is busy, and I shouldn't text him again and get in the way of his concentration.
He needs to win, so he can stay in the city.
But we were already messaging and having mindless fun.
I asked him a daring question I hope he doesn't read too much into.
I might have a reply from him that might give me clues of his interpretation.
All I want to do is tell him about the call. Hear what he has to say. See his encouraging smile.
When I finally break and get on my phone again, I see Saint responded within one minute of my last.
Saint : You'll know because I will tap my chest twice, three times in a row, with my right hand. Tap tap. Tap tap. Tap tap. Like a heartbeat.
A few minutes later, he sent another. Then another.
Saint : everything okay? Did I lose you
Saint : text me later if you like. Or whenever.
If you send me a few encouraging words during the game, they'll make me smile after, no matter what happens.
I may not always be able to get to my phone when I'm away, but I like getting a notification with your name on it.
I will always get to them as soon as I can.
Ames : Thanks for that. I actually needed it. Something big happened and I wanted to tell you.
Dots appear on the screen right away. Like he'd kept an eye on his phone.
Saint : I'm always happy to hear what you have to say. What happened?
Ames : Mark called. He wants me to record a pilot for a cooking show
Typing it sows anxiety seeds in my diaphragm, and roots sprout as I wait for Saint's response.
This show could solve my business problems in a way I can't yet comprehend.
It's the kind of thing I can't dare to dream about, until every step has taken place, all paperwork is signed, and I'm in front of the cameras again.
Is it a good idea, or am I being terribly foolish? I don't know, and it's too soon to predict.
Saint : What?! That's incredible! Of course they would see you and want to give you your own show. You were amazing. You'd be great on TV
Ames : So you think I should do it?
Saint : Please tell me you'll do it. We'll figure it out. We'll celebrate both our wins tomorrow night .
For the next thirty hours, I focus on preparing the watch party, having fun, and managing my nerves.
I get Evie to take up as a temporary agent for me, and we make a toast to celebrate the opportunity and the incredible game the guys are playing.
If I get a few extra drinks while entertaining my friends, I tell myself it's not a big deal.
It's preparation for my celebration with Saint.