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“You knew better than to ask that. Anyway, do you have plans for New Year’s?”
“Not yet. Why?”
“Wanna come to Denver to celebrate my gold after the PSL World Cup?”
I rolled my eyes. “There you go, counting your chickens before they hatch.”
“Have you seen the lineup? Light work,” he bragged.
“It’s light work until you’re crying and throwing shit around in your hotel room.”
“Hey… that was one time, and I was 15.”
“Doubt that. But I’ll get back with you and see what my schedule is looking like.”
“That’s what’s up. Call me when you’re back in Washington. Love you.”
“I love you, too, Snoh.”
I hung up and immediately answered an incoming call.
“Panama Canal.”
“Phil Collins,” I answered breezily.
“Your identity has been verified. I got your pictures, and your sugar daddy did his big one,” she squealed.
“That he did,” I agreed.
“At first, I believed your sugar daddy was on the Vancouver Vikings, but the fact that you’re in Toronto for a game proves your sugar daddy is on the Washington Warriors.”
“Don’t try to guess who he is because I won’t confirm or deny.”
“You suck,” she said, pouting over the phone.
I listened as Monica filled me in on what she planned on getting into for the weekend when Hart returned. He plopped down on the couch beside me and lay his head in my lap. I scratched his scalp while I wrapped up my conversation.
“We can do dinner on Monday night—my treat,” I promised before hanging up.
“Take her to Andre’s; I’ll have your meal comped.”
“Stop. I’ll shut that restaurant down.”
“I wouldn’t have ever guessed by looking at you that you could eat like you do.”
I shrugged.
“It’s a gift.”
“I need your help,” he said suddenly.
“With what?”
“My manager Flip is on my ass about my social media that I’d been neglecting. I have to post something tonight. Do you have any suggestions?” I stared at the fire licking and twisting in the fireplace as I tried to recall the content Hart usually posted: thirst traps, thirst traps, thirst traps, pictures of his pristine Bronco after detailing, creative cuisines, more thirst traps, his travels, and hockey-related content. “I have some things in my draft if that helps.”
“I’ll take a look.”
Hart unlocked his phone, navigated to Instagram, and handed it over. I’d barely scrolled through his unposted content when notifications kept popping up that I desperately tried to ignore. I sucked my cheeks in when I accidentally clicked one that took me to a lovely pair of Double D implants. I heaved an annoyed sigh, which caught Hart’s attention before I could back out.
