I'm So Into You

Flagrant

"Can you give me the last brussel sprout, please?" Josiah jokingly begged Brett. He stuck out his bottom lip in a pretend pout and fluttered his ridiculously long eyelashes at her.

"Even looking at this plate when that is obviously my brussel sprout — never mind begging for it is a flagrant foul, completely uncalled for!" she shot back. "I got that right, yeah?"

Their two hours together had passed with ease as they talked about everything from his upbringing on Long Island, his work mentoring kids in every city he played in, his punishing training regimen, and what books he read on his flight to New York.

He was notoriously a voracious reader and they each had a drafted small handwritten list of books they thought the other would like. He wanted her to read The Bluest Eye, the Michael Jordan autobiography, and some book about mindfulness. Brett had given him a list with Ocean Vuong's On Earth, We're Briefly Gorgeous, Braiding Sweetgrass, and Paulo Freire.

Tiny charcoal-coloured plates of perfectly roasted vegetables, dotted with tahini, pistachios, mint, and dates had been devoured and only one lone brussel sprout remained.

Josiah was surprised and delighted by Brett's thoughtful questions, focused on things like finding the root of the work ethic he was known for, his formative basketball experiences, and the mental and emotional cost of being a player who bounced around like he tended to do the past few years of his career. He knew her questions were driven by what was probably a lack of understanding of the technical aspects of basketball, but she was a good interviewer and he found himself often being more candid than his publicist probably would have been comfortable with.

Brett had a reputation for being a tough-ass firebrand online, but those big eyes of here were so disarming and she was actually easy to talk to. Her critics loved to position her as being, well, a combative bitch. But she made Josiah feel like she was really listening him with empathy and interest. When she got fired up about something they were talking about, she just came across as passionate. She also had these endearing mannerisms, like biting her lower lip — almost like she was trying to feel his pain when he talked about some of the more mentally challenging aspects of his career or gently rubbing her earlobe when she was amused by one of his anecdotes.

The server was circling and Brett decided to put him out of his misery and pay the tab, taking a picture of the receipt right away to make sure she'd get reimbursed by Swish for the meal. The team's PR rep was texting Josiah to summon him to the arena for new headshots and to film some videos for social media promo. It looked like they were going to part ways and Brett felt her stomach sink. For two hours she hadn't been Brett West, polarizing media figure and lightning rod for 'freedom of the press' debates, she was just someone having a conversation with Josiah Smythe and laughing at his jokes. His presence was grounding and he spoke with such conviction and honesty, it was hard not to be captivated by what he was saying.

"Brett, where are you headed after this?" Josiah asked, leaning across the table just a little bit and the spark that Brett felt when he brought his body even inches closer to hers surprised her. If this was a date 'what are you doing after this?' would almost definitely be an invitation to continue onto drinks or to take a walk next to the river or head back to— Brett stopped herself. Why on earth was she imaging 'if this were a date'? Why did the thought of Josiah inviting himself back to her place make her stomach flip? This was a professional fucking interview. She chastised herself for slipping, for allowing herself to get too personal and found her words.

"I'm headed back home, to Brooklyn...Bath Beach. This interview lasted way longer than I thought it would and it's not going to transcribe itself." Brett groaned, mostly in jest, secretly excited by the thought of getting to relive their conversation.

"Ah, the complete opposite direction of where I'm headed. Hmm...Let me check something real quick." Josiah fired off a quick text message and his face lit up when he received their response. "My driver said he's cool to drop you home after he lets me off at the arena. I figured the prospect of air conditioning and not having to deal with gawking strangers on the train might be appealing. Plus I can play you that training playlist we were talking about."

"Oh wow, I'd love that, truly," she said, surprising herself by lightly squeezing his forearm to emphasize how much she wished she could accept his thoughtful offer. "But, you know, conflict of interest and professionalism and all of that. I want to make sure Deane is proud of me."

Josiah seemed disappointed, but another text from the PR rep emptied his mind of everything but work. Well, almost everything. There was an almost-imperceptible tattoo poking out of Brett's pushed up jacket sleeve and he realized he had no idea what it was. It was weird to spend the better part of an afternoon being interviewed by someone, baring so much of yourself and not really getting to ask any questions in return.

"So, would you prefer if I call or email if my editor needs me to ask any follow-up questions?" Brett asked, now all business. She could tell Josiah was consumed by texting whoever was causing all of the pings on his phone, feeling guilty she was potentially getting him in trouble with whoever it was. She had gotten his attention for two hours and while she'd love to have the opportunity to get more of it, she didn't want to be greedy and also really wanted to grind out these transcripts.

"Phone is best, for sure. As you can tell, I'm pretty hopeless at keeping up with messages on this thing," he said gesturing with his phone and giving her a half-smile. He reached out for her phone and their fingertips barely grazed each other as he grasped it and inputted his number under 'Jojo'. He gave her a quick clasp on the shoulder and turned away, whisked into the shiny black Mercedes G-Class waiting on the curb as Brett fired off the recordings to Deane for feedback.

As she emerged from the late afternoon D Train at Stillwell station, Brett felt her phone buzz wildly in her pocket. She had four missed calls from Deane and three texts.

"CALL ME."

"NOW."

"I MEAN IT."