Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Bash

I should be down at the hotel bar by now to have a post-game dinner with the team, but I can't stop watching videos of Sage. The woman is flat-out mesmerizing.

Her laugh cuts right through the noise—genuine, infectious, and it hooks me every damn time. And those videos of her? They're killer. The way she moves, whether she's hiking up some rugged trail or just tossing her hair back, it's got a raw, natural kind of sexiness that's impossible to ignore.

And those eyes? They're a whole story on their own. Even through the screen, they've got this intense, come-get-me vibe that punches me square in the gut. I keep telling myself to head down, mingle with the team, and do the whole social thing, but it's like she's right here. Every clip, every smile she throws, it's like a line tethered straight to me, pulling me in.

It's torture, not touching, just watching. And I want more. How's a guy supposed to just switch off and walk away from that? So, instead of making myself presentable and wandering downstairs, I continue to scroll and shove my hand down my sweatpants to palm my dick.

I have mixed feelings about going too far back and prying into her personal life. My abortive date with Tiffany illustrated just how uncomfortable it can be when someone goes overboard on social media stalking… but Sage did put this information out on the internet. It's not like I'm sneaking into her room to read her diary. Besides, she accepted my friend request. If she didn't want me to see what she's posted, she could easily have blocked me by now.

So I scroll, watching little videos of her adventures with Annie, back into posts that show her with Flossie. Then there are a few with a guy. I'm not sure who he is. They don't look that close. Sage certainly doesn't look like she has feelings for him. He could be anyone. Then again, he could be someone .

I don't know what to make of that, but unless Sage offers up that information freely, I'm certainly not going to ask.

I'm about to close my phone when the icon in the corner of the screen pulses, and a little notification pops up: Live. Sage is recording right now. I nibble my bottom lip and debate whether it would be appropriate to join, and when I can't think of any reason not to, I tap the button.

She's in my house, after all. I want to make sure she's okay.

Immediately, my screen fills with an image of Sage digging through my closets, and a rolling wall of messages, most of which say things like Hey gurl! and Where's Annie???

"Don't get too excited, people, I'm not going to show you any of the skeletons!" Sage calls. "If you tuned in earlier today, then you know we're doing odd jobs around the house. Ooh, look at this!" She pulls out a box of decor. "Looks like my knight in shining armor hasn't had time to put this up. What do you say we start looking for spots? Oh, golly, there's framed art in here, too!"

I know my comments would just get lost in the mad rush of emojis and gifts that pop up every few seconds, so I send her a text. I like what you've done so far.

On screen, Sage checks her smartwatch. Her eyes light up. "Bash, are you lurking on this live? What's your handle?"

I text my response: @ ThePoutine .

"Well, heck, why don't you join? Come on, we can share the screen." Sage scrambles over to the camera and pokes a few things. An offer to join the live pops up. I quickly survey myself in the mirror on the far side of the hotel room. Hair looks good? Check. I flick another light on, since the room is fairly dark otherwise, and settle on the sofa.

"Bash!" Sage claps her hands when my image pops up. "Nice to see you! Do you really like the way I decorated?"

"Definitely. I can't wait to see it in person." I've paid special attention to certain rooms in the house—the guest room, my bedroom, the kitchen—but never got around to doing things that make it cozy. It's been functional, but the place is so big, I didn't really know what to do with it.

Sage seems to have no such trouble. She flips the camera to show me the rest of the living room and part of the dining room. She hasn't moved any of the furniture, but she's added little details: a runner and a decorative bowl on the table by the front door, place settings at the dining room table, an entryway mat, a shoe rack that I bought and completely forgot about.

"It's starting to look like home," I say.

"Well, then, wait ‘til you see this. I did a teensy-weensy construction project, too…" Sage scoops up the phone and carries me, along with her swarms of fans, into the office. She uses one hand to cover the camera. "It's a surprise. Ready?"

"Of course."

"I built your floating shelves!" Sage points the camera into the office.

I gasp and sit forward, as if pressing my face to the screen will allow me to step through into her space. " Mon dieu! Really? You didn't have to do that!"

"Well, I wanted to thank you for your hospitality, and doesn't it look nice?" She stops by the door. "I don't wanna get too close. I put up some of your family photos and stuff, but you get the general idea."

I do indeed. The trophies and photos that took up most of my workspace are now dusted and displayed. "What a wonderful office!" I cry, forgetting that we're on a live and not a personal call, and that several thousand people are currently getting an up-nostril shot of my smiling face. "I've lived there for over a year! I can't believe you did all this in a few days."

"Mostly just today." Sage winks. "I'm glad you like it. Consider it rent for letting me stay."

"No, no, I should be paying you . You are so handy. I would surely have made a mess of things."

Lines of checkered flag emojis climb across the screen. Sage laughs. "Thanks, everyone. I see your flags, and I happen to agree."

A few comments from familiar accounts are peppered in among the flags, and I hastily scroll back to see what I've missed.

LathamListens : @ ThePoutine , happy for you. Any chance you're going to join us in the bar as planned?

VenomDad : Be nice, @ LathamListens.

VenomDad : @ ThePoutine , we're waiting. Patiently.

CaptainBeck : @ ThePoutine , I'm not patient. I'm hungry.

TheDocIsIn : @ ThePoutine @ CaptainBeck is #hangry. Wrap it up.

I grimace. "I'm sorry, Sage, I have to go. My team is waiting for me. See you soon!"

"Goodbye, Bash. And congratulations on winning the game tonight!" Sage blows me a kiss just as my screen cuts out.

Hold on, she blew me a kiss? What does that mean? And that comment about the game… did she watch it? Or just check the score? If she checked it, why?

I'm vibrating with nervous energy as I hurry down to the bar. My teammates are waiting, but it's obvious that any claim to patience is an exaggeration. Anders, in particular, looks like he's on the verge of a tantrum.

"Sorry!" I dip my head sheepishly as I take my seat. "I lost track of time."

Briggs peeks up from over the top of a menu. "Yeah, right. Your dick was getting hard just watching her. Don't even deny it."

Anders shreds his napkin while glaring at me. "Well, well, well, if it isn't The Poutine King. I'm so glad you finally decided to grace us with your presence."

I scoot my chair in. "It's prince, actually. Poutine Prince."

"Nice alliteration," Oliver says from the far end of the table.

Briggs shakes his head. "Wrong crown. You don't understand crowns. Violet could totally school your ass on that."

Coop smirks over the rim of his beer glass. "From what I've seen, he doesn't understand women either. Any one of us would have the girl nailed down by now."

"Or just nailed," Latham says. He and Briggs high-five.

"No, you wouldn't." I point at Coop. "I may not have seen everyone's courtship practices, but I know you were a mess when Toni went to Italy without you. And Latham, you do know that I listen to your podcast, don't you? From what Scarlett has said, your first attempt to nail her, as you say, was a dismal failure."

Latham's face heats up. "I had a concussion," he mumbles.

"And I have respect for a woman who needs someplace safe to stay. So, watch your mouth. Now." I lay a hand on Anders's shoulder. "Let's order some appetizers before this man goes on a rampage."

Three baskets of mozzarella sticks later, our team captain's hanger subsides. "Next time you dick around waiting for your dick to stand down, we're not gonna wait for you," he says, though without much heat.

"That's what she said." Oliver smiles at his own joke. "Seriously, Bash, I understand what you're saying about respecting Sage, but there's clearly chemistry there. I don't think making a move would be untoward, provided you go about it the right way."

Briggs guffaws and lifts his beer glass in a one-man toast. "Did you fucking just use the word ‘untoward' in a sentence? This from the man whose courtship practices were the dictionary definition of glacial."

"I'll think about it," I hedge. "By the way, what was with those flags in the chat? The little checkered ones, like Nascar."

"They were green flags," Ranger says.

I shake my head. "No, they were black and white."

Ranger clicks his tongue "You're too literal. When girls talk about how guys behave, they call bad behaviors red flags, neutral behaviors beige flags, and good behaviors green flags. There's no actual green flag emoji, but the checkered flag is, like, the go-ahead. You're boyfriend material apparently. They approve of you."

"They think I'm good for Sage?" What her followers think doesn't matter too much, but Sage said she agrees. Does that mean that she thinks I'm boyfriend material?

"How do you know all this shit, Ranger?" Noah asks.

"Because I'm not old like the rest of you."

Those are fighting words, and a scuffle breaks out at that end of the table. I sit there in silence, smiling to myself. I like the idea of being a green flag.

Maybe the guys are right. Perhaps I should tell Sage that I like her in a way that won't put pressure on her. I'm not sure how yet, but there must be a way. After all, she wouldn't install just anybody's floating shelves.