I say diplomatically.
“Nah”—Trav props his elbow on the tabletop, resting his chin in his upturned hand—“Kay will tell E he has Bette to cheer him on so Mase can have her all to himself.” One of his large hands claps me on the shoulder, and he really hams it up by giving me a wink. “The real test will be when I’m playing.”
I scratch at the back of my neck, subtly giving him the finger. I get another wink in response. He’s such a jackass.
“So the rumors are true?” The question has both of us turning from our private moment and looking out over the crowd of microphones and cameras that have seemed to double in number. “Kayla Dennings is dating both of you?”
This fucker posing as a reporter will be responsible for launching a thousand memes thanks to the Did this moron really just ask us that? faces Trav and I make.
“The fu—” Trav manages to catch himself, cutting off the curse before it’s completed. Dropping f-bombs in front of the press is a sure-fire way to have Coach Knight thoroughly ream us out. “I’m sorry, I thought they only let legitimate journalists into Media Day, not storytelling paparazzi.” He flattens a hand over his heart, doing his best to look contrite. “My mistake.”
A buzz of discomfort rolls through the crowd gathered in front of our table. Trav’s charming persona isn’t just something he’s known for with the ladies; it extends to his reputation with the press. Unlike me, he’s never been known to lose his cool. Him being the one to put this gossipmonger in his place? Yeah, that speaks louder than words.
Trav chuckles, but there’s not an ounce of humor in it. “And you wonder why my boy here”—another clap on my shoulder—“refuses to talk about his girl when you ask.” He shakes his head like a parent disappointed in his child.
I wisely keep my mouth shut. I was seconds away from epically losing my shit this morning when those old pictures from the time when Chrissy/Tina played us started circulating on UofJ411. If Trav hadn’t dragged me to the weight room inside the hotel as soon as they did, who knows if I would still be eligible to play tomorrow.
“I will say this once and only once.” Trav holds up a single finger for emphasis. “Honestly, I can’t believe I even have to address this bull to begin with.” This he says more to me, but since he didn’t cover the mic, it carries.
He’s doing his best to project a devil-may-care attitude, but the vein pulsing at his temple tells me he’s as close to losing it as I am.
“Kayla Dennings is Mason Nova’s girlfriend—only Mason Nova’s girlfriend.” Trav hooks an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into an almost chokehold. “Mase here is my best friend, my brother from another mother, my comrade in arms on and off the field. Automatically, that makes any person important to one important to the other. If you’re going to insist on trying to turn this into something it’s not, we’re done here.”
A hushed, stunned silence follows Trav’s decree, the echo of his chair scraping on the stage as he stands abruptly punctuating his words. Off to the side of the stage, I see the other guys coming closer in case we need backup. Even Coach Knight has paused in his own interview, giving us his attention.
“Does it make you nervous at all dating someone who comes from such a pedigreed football linage?”
I would say a classification like that is a bit of a stretch. Yes E is a top player in the NFL, but he’s the only person in their family who has played professionally. It’s not like the Dennings are the Mannings, but whatever’s going to get the link clicks, right?
“Puh-lease.” I mime brushing dirt off my shoulder. “This is me we’re talking about.” I haven’t pulled out the cocky Casanova persona in a while; now seems appropriate.
“But you play the same position as Eric.”
“Was there supposed to be a question in there somewhere?” That came out with a little more bite than it should have, but I’m approaching my limit here.
Trav barks out a laugh, going as far as wrapping an arm over his stomach and smacking the table.
“Bro?” I ask.
When he finally composes himself, he wipes away a tear from under one of his eyes. “Sorry. I just find it hysterical they think E is the tough critic in the family.”
Now I’m joining in his