Settle the Score / Hustle Play

Chapter Six | An Assist and a Fumble

The next several weeks felt like a blur.

Aside from the fact that I was neck deep in my academics, I was also constantly invited to attend sports-related events that, funnily enough, never required me to wear anything sporty. There were cocktails, trade launches, fashion shows—you name it, I got invites for it. To say I got completely overwhelmed was an understatement.

After one such affair, I phoned Charles to whine about the murder of my feet, all thanks to a pair of high-heeled shoes.

“You gotta get used to this, Garns.” He was sympathetic, but I could also hear him struggling to hold back a laugh. “You’re some kind of celebrity now, y’know.”

“Pfft, I’m not a celebrity. Celebrities are effortlessly glamorous, and I’m pretty sure they’re not the type to be sitting barefoot in some corner of an event hall massaging their feet.”

I made him laugh then. “I have a pair of slippers in the car you can use. I’m just waiting for Nat’s ballet class to be over, then we can pick you up right after. The little bugger misses you. I do too.”

“Sounds like a plan. I miss you too,” I said, looking up when I noticed an imposing shadow hovering over me. It was Chris, who wore an amused smile on his face. “I gotta go, see you later. Drive safely. Bye.”

Chris picked up my shoes and sat beside me. I observed him as he examined them like they were the most interesting pieces of footwear he’d ever seen in his life.

“Boyfriend?”

“Uh. No.”

The rival school’s hard-court hottie narrowed his eyes at me. “Sure?”

I play-punched him on the arm, and he pretended that it actually hurt. It’d become a thing. Since that magazine shoot, Chris and I had been bumping into each other a lot at events like this. But if I’d been awkward around him the first time, now was a different story. I never told Charles this, but the way Chris and I fell in sync with each other was so natural, it was almost like having a second Charles around.

Needless to say, I’d been seeing a lot of Chris lately, and his fans had taken notice. Some of them firmly believed there was something going on between Chris Barcelo and myself that a dating rumor got spread around the Internet just last week. He was quick to deny it.

“Stop teasing me.”

“I’m not teasing! I was asking an honest question.”

I paused and thought of how much I missed Charles’ warm smile. Because he had also been busy getting schoolwork done the past several weeks, the only time we were able to see each other was during lunch breaks. And since his Kuya Arthur came home from the United States for a vacation, Charles’ weekends were all about family time. Non-negotiable.

“He’s… someone I’m waiting for.”

“Ohoho! Here we go!” Chris leapt to his feet, still holding my shoes between the thumb and middle finger of his left hand. “Spill, Figs!”

Figs. That was also a thing now—Chris’ nickname for me. Calling me “Ms. Figueroa” was tiresome, he said, and he didn’t want to call me by my first name like everyone else. I didn’t mind. I’d gotten sillier-sounding nicknames from my teammates.

I got up and motioned for him to return the shoes, but he took a few steps back. “Tell me more about this someone,” he said. “It’s the cheerleader, isn’t it?”

I didn’t say a word, but the answer must’ve been written on my face.

“Called it!” he declared with a laugh. “Whatshisname... Chuck? Charlie?”