**Disclaimer: The following is completely fictional and it is nothing but pure fantasy
I was on pace to deliver Clint the chapters for a new novel. My agent appreciated my work effort so much that he took me to a Brooklyn Nets game as a reward. The stadium was massive. It was a true Mecca for basketball. While I preferred Madison Square Garden, given its historic nature, the Nets had a nice stadium dedicated to the sport.
While the Milwaukee Bucks would not have been the first team, I would be clamoring to see the Nets face. It was a nice reprieve from hunching over Clint's coffee table and typing away. Court side was more than decent accommodations.
So, Clint and I got settled into our seats as the buzzer sounded for the event's start. "Thank you for this again, Clint."
"Well, I understand all the work you are putting in firsthand since it's all being done in my living room. Despite everything, you are producing a fine novel that will make plenty of money for us."
"You have given me plenty of gifts lately, so I appreciate it all. My wife may have gotten the house and all our friends in the separation, but I got you. And you are worth more than either."
"I would be touched if I were unfamiliar with your penchant for flattery."
It was nice just to get absorbed in the atmosphere. There were no songs like at Anfield, and I was nowhere near as invested in the outcome as I was in the Liverpool match, but being surrounded by people rallying for one purpose, was nice. It highlighted how connected we are despite our separate experiences. The enjoyment and bliss of getting lost in a moment were written all over the faces as I scanned the crowd. It was a pure unadulterated pleasure.
Then I noticed a woman sitting on the opposite side of the court. She was gorgeous beyond belief and decked out in Milwaukee gear. She was a sight to behold. She had a girl next door look combined with the body of an Olympian.
"Who is that?" I pointed her out to Clint.
He glanced over, "That is Morgan Reid. She is the wife of Grayson Allen on the other team."
"She sounds familiar. Where would I know her from?"
"I have no idea. She was a professional soccer player. Perhaps that is it."
"Did she make the national team?"
"I do not believe so."
"Then that can't be it." I wondered, but after a few minutes of speculating, I thought I had it, "She wrote a Player's Tribune article a few years back about being objectified as a college athlete. That's where I know her from."
"And here you are objectifying her," Clint mused.
"I would say admiring more," then I saw Morgan's ass as she turned around to walk up the steps, presumably to get something. "Never mind, that ass is the greatest thing I have ever seen."
Her legs were thick, likely from hours of training for her former profession, which only made her ass that much more of an asset. Her behind was the kind of toned that took years of dedication to sculpt into what it was, and here I was witnessing it in short shorts.
"Well, you know, there were other reasons for our attendance tonight," Clint informed me.
"Really? Like what?"
"I may have had a side bet with Morgan's husband, Grayson. And he may be losing horribly on that bet to the tune of a million or so."
"Jesus, Clint, what sort of racket are you running?"
"Assuming you do not want to be implicated in my underground bookkeeping, I'll ignore that. But let's say his losses are compounding. The score is off. He may have bet on his shooting ability too much and a few other minor details."
"How many side hustles do you have, honestly?"
"Again, unless you would like to be implicated, I believe you would prefer I decline to answer."
"Fair enough, but you did bring up your bet for a reason. What was it?"
"Well, I believe Mr. Allen may be in over his head. And since you seem quite interested in his wife, and my primary source of income is your literary talent, I think there may be a deal for you and me out of this situation."
"What sort of deal?"
"Perhaps a night with the gorgeous Morgan in exchange for an expedited publishing timeline?" Clint suggested.
"You know, if I did not know better, I would think you somehow predicted this entire situation so that you could get a larger advance on the book."
"No one could have foreseen all of this. John, do not be preposterous."
"I am not hearing an outright denial, but okay. The deal sounds like one I am willing to make."
The rest of the evening, there was no mention of Morgan or any deal. Instead, I soaked up the atmosphere and took in the moment of reprieve from writing. But the next morning, while I was tapping away on my keyboard, Clint interrupted my flow.
"Tonight, you have a dinner date with Morgan at SAGA. You are to meet her at six on the dot."
"Wait, you arranged that?"
"Of course I did. We made a deal. I will discuss the new timeline with you tomorrow when you get home from your night with Morgan. She has a room booked for you two after your dinner chat."
"And her husband agreed to all of this?"
"He did not have much of a choice. If he paid the money he owed, the NBA would have had to suspend him for gambling. There was no way he could hide that sum. This was the only agreement where everyone could win."
"Well, I am glad that me getting laid was a solution then," I laughed at the sheer absurdity of it all.
After I got to a point where I could stop my work, I made sure to wear my most impressive ensemble. Unfortunately, since I did not have a closet as I used to, which meant a royal blue sports jacket, white shirt, and pants that matched the jacket would have to do.
So I burst onto the scene of SAGA, an upscale restaurant much more Clint's taste than mine, but dinner was just the prelude. When I got to the host, he knew who I was before I opened my mouth. Clint must have arranged everything down to the air we were breathing. "Good evening Mr. Keyes. Your date has already been seated."
The worst part was that my host had out-dressed me quite noticeably. He had a tuxedo, and all I could muster up was something barely passable for a high school prom. And, of course, I knew I had been thoroughly outclassed once I was standing over Morgan, and she stood up to greet me in an immaculate red dress that sparkled brightly. She even had these big dangling earrings with rubies paired with maroon lipstick. She looked scorching.
"Welcome to your table Mr. Keyes," The host left me to my own devices as Morgan extended her hand to me.
I placed her hand in mine and made a show of kissing the back of it. "You know you are five minutes late. I thought your agent told you on the dot."
"He did," my lips pulled away from her, and I pushed her in after she retook her seat. "I just had trouble finding anything suitable to wear, thus my current attire."
I took my seat across from this athletic beauty. All she gave me in response was a hollow death gaze. It was not hatred, but perhaps disdain was more like it. Morgan was reluctant to be here. That much was plain.
"So, tell me, what kind of guy are you? What sort of person sees another man's wife and thinks I have to tap that to the point of using leverage to do just that?"
"Can I get you both something to drink?" The waiter interrupted us before I could reply, but all things considered, that was welcomed. I needed the added time to think up a response.
"We will each take water and a bottle of your most expensive wine. Thank you!"
Morgan shooed the waiter away, clearly burning to have her question answered.
"Well, I saw your butt from the other side of the court and mentioned it to Clint. Then this all got arranged. I never requested it or anything. Clint did this all on his own."
"However, you did not refuse. You are happy to have me anyway it comes."
"I suppose there is no denying that," our glasses of water arrived. "But I am hardly the first man to notice you. You even wrote in your article that all your photos ended up on blogs one day declaring you a hottie."
"You read that?" Morgan took a sip before continuing. "Then you also know how all that attention made me feel, like how I looked was all that mattered."
I had to admit. She had me there. Even Clint mentioned how I objectified her despite reading about how that made her uncomfortable. But in my defense, I was not doing this on purpose. It just developed this way. I cannot say that to her without having water thrown in my face.
"I do, and that is why this chance to get to know you over dinner is an excellent opportunity for us to understand each other before doing the physical things."
I could see Morgan's guard lowering. She had not quite thawed from my warmth but was at least not openly confrontational. Even her face told a different story now. The contempt that added stress around her eyes and her nose scrunching was relaxed now. She was not quite open to me but not hostile, either.
"Fair enough. I suppose we can make the best of this. It is not like Grayson is blameless anyway. He should not have been gambling in the first place, not when his career was at stake. If I could still play professionally, I would never have put it on the line like him."
