Chapter Thirty
Gray
America sits beside me while we watch eighteen-year-old Diogo Costa make basket after basket. Seven feet tall and unstoppable, he has a very bright career ahead of him. The local crowd cheers, but that’s nothing compared to the fans that await him in the NBA.
He has what it takes to be a professional athlete. Natural talent in spades. But also the ethos that I’m looking for. He works hard in both the game and his family’s restaurant. He has a steady girlfriend and keeps off social media. There’s no gossip about drugs, booze, or misbehavior.
And he has what it takes to take Frontline Sports from a concept to a contender. It’ll take more than one athlete to build the company, of course. But signing Diogo Costa would be proof that it’s possible. That first brick is the most important.
My hands clasped between my legs, I chew the inside of my cheek. I’m not normally this nervous, but then I don’t usually have so much riding on signing a player as I do today. This isn’t just my career. This is my future, and I am grasping for the possibility with both hands.
I might only have one shot with this kid before the big agencies start to circle. One shot to get this company of mine off the ground before All-Star catches on to what I’m trying to do and makes my life difficult. I cannot fail at this.
America places her hand on my knee, stopping my rapid-fire bouncing. “You’re good at what you do. He’s going to sign.”
I cover her hand with my own as the tension vibrating inside me calms. Yes, there’s a lot riding on signing Diogo Costa and building up my own business. I’m dumping my life savings into getting Frontline Sports off the ground.
But I’m not the same person I was when I showed up to sign Mann. Fuck, I was a jerk to ask so much of America. And an idiot for not recognizing what I was throwing away. Thank God I came to my senses. “I’m so glad that you’re here with me.”
“Me too.” She smiles before turning her attention back to Diogo. “Talk me through what I’m watching.”
I lean in and announce the game for her like I’ve done since we became friends way back when she was in high school. Diogo makes an amazing shot and America beats me to the explanation while she cheers him on.
I’ve explained games to her before. She’s picked up a lot of knowledge about basketball. And hockey, football, golf… “You know what’s happening. You don’t need me to tell you.”
“I know.” She runs a strand of hair between her lips. “But I love it when you explain the things you’re passionate about to me in that deep, low voice. It makes me hot.”
I stare at this woman I always thought I knew. “But I started explaining sports to you when… you wanted to know all about baseball… that was when you were…”
“Fourteen.” She nods. “I know.”
Well, that’s awkward. I had no idea. Grateful for that, actually, considering the age gap between us. It’s nothing really, not now, but back then it was.
Still, I can’t believe I didn’t realize. She certainly recalled enough to be able to tell what was happening without me talking her through it. “You seriously pretended you didn’t know the rules so…”
“We could be close. Yeah.” She leans forward, watching the game intently. “At first. And then it was too late to drop the ruse. You were with Indy. It would have been weird to tell you that I just liked the way your voice aroused me. So then I was stuck with you explaining things and stuck with the way that made me feel. It was a horrible time in my life, Gray. Do you have any idea how awkward it is being turned on by your best friend’s boyfriend? I hated that I wanted you and hated that I couldn’t have you.”
I gape at her. And here I am still explaining the game to her with no comprehension… “What you’re telling me is you’re wet right now?”
She pushes my chin up. “Close your mouth and concentrate. You can worry about the state of my panties later when we celebrate. Because he is going to sign. I have faith in you.”
She was distracting me. And it worked. I forgot to stress. I know sports. I know how to be an agent. I’m good at it.
The game ends and the stands empty out. I make my way down to the floor with America. We wait outside the doors to the locker rooms.
A couple of players walk out with their gear bags over their shoulders. They were good. Another year in and they might be worth pursuing. But they’re not on Diogo Costa’s level.
When he finally appears I fall in beside him as he stalks across the gym. America hurries to keep up with us but stays a few steps behind while I start telling the kid how phenomenal he is.
He stares down at me blankly.
“Grayson Ford from Frontline Sports. I’d like to talk to you about a partnership and what I could do for you.”
He frowns. “ Sem inglês .”
Great. He doesn’t understand me. My confidence sinks. How am I supposed to sign him now?
“ Olá, meu nome é America.” She steps between us and starts to talk to Diogo while I feel like an idiot, unable to understand a word they’re saying.
Diogo laughs and America joins in.
He smiles at me over the top of her head, flashing rows of pearly teeth. Then walks out ahead of us.
“What was that?” I ask as America and I walk across the almost empty stadium. I know what it was. My woman is a genius with languages. “I didn’t know you spoke Portuguese.”
“Some. I don’t count it because I’m not super fluent.” She leans toward me and lowers her voice. “He actually does speak a little English but not fluently, so he only speaks to agents when his brother is around to help translate. Since his brother isn’t here, he was giving you the brush off.”
“So that’s it then?” I’ll have to work out my next step. Quickly find another talent to sign, so I can establish myself, my company.
“No. He actually does want to hear what you have to say. I convinced him I could help translate where necessary. But he needs to get to his family’s restaurant, and his brother will be there. He invited us to share a meal. We’re going to follow him there.”
“So you’re saving my ass?” I want to scoop her up and kiss her for being so smart.
“Something like that.”
We follow Diogo to the restaurant and end up seated around tables on the cobblestoned street outside, where we get acquainted with the whole family. Umbrellas and string lights create a joyous and casual ambience as the sun goes down.
He has four younger brothers and two older sisters who all work in some capacity at the restaurant. His father pours America a shot of Ginjinha. He pats her forearm as he speaks to her in a quiet, friendly voice.
“It’s a sour cherry liqueur,” she tells me as she lifts it to her lips and sips it. She’s having a fantastic time, conversing animatedly with all of Diogo’s family. Including the children that are running around underfoot.
Diogo’s grandmother’s huge, fluffy Portuguese waterdog is sleeping on top of my feet while his sisters bring out petiscos. Cheeses and meats. Salamis. Olives. Snails.
America arches a devilish eyebrow when she sees that last one. “Ever had snails?”
“No. But I’m good with weird food. If they want me to try them I will.”
“As long as no one brings out Jell-O,” America teases.
That shit makes my skin crawl. Makes me gag.
It brings back memories of my parents screaming at each other. Of my mom throwing a bowl of it at my father only for the contents to land on me instead. It had coated my hair and dripped in my eyes so that I could hardly see as he packed his bags and walked out on us.
It reminds me of losing Indy too. I didn’t realize it at the time, but the night she came home covered in that shit she’d already left me.
I can’t think about it without my tongue getting stuck to the roof of my mouth. Bile racing up my throat.
So I won’t think about it. I’ll focus on the here and now. On getting Diogo to sign so that I can take America back to the hotel and explain whatever late night sporting event is on, in between putting my mouth to good use.
We eat and drink. We talk, and America and Diogo’s brother translate for us. We eventually get around to discussing business.
Diogo’s sister flirts with me and his mom tells her off for being so casual with a taken man. I wrap my arm around America’s shoulder and make it obvious that we’re more than coworkers. I’ll never again put America in the position I did with Everett. The move earns huge grins from Diogo’s parents.
“They like that you’re not all business,” America leans in to tell me. “They’re so much about community. It’s important for it to be about more than legalities and money. It’s the people who support us when we go through important events in life that really matter. They want to make sure that Diogo is surrounded by people who will take the same care of him as they would their own family.”
Her phone vibrates on the table, and she picks it up before excusing herself from the conversation. Leaving her seat, she wanders along the cobblestones with the device pressed to her ear. She touches her hair and smiles as she talks.
We make eye contact, and she glances away, but not before I see the longing there. It’s Indy. I saw her name on the screen when America flipped over her phone. She misses her best friend. Her parents. Her aunt and uncle. And EJ. She probably even misses Indy’s husband. They’ve become friends to some degree as well.
Of course she’s homesick. That’s where she belongs. With them is where she feels she fits the most.
I miss them too. But they’re no longer my community. I can’t see myself ever feeling that way about them again. Well, maybe EJ. He’ll always be my best friend. But I can’t stand the idea of being in the same place as Indy’s other half.
Eventually America will probably want to go home, and I don’t want to think about what I’m going to do then. There’s a warmth in my chest that is both new and familiar. I know what it means though I swore I’d never feel it again.
The more time I spend with America the more I care about her. The worse it will be when she decides to head back home.