Page 27 of Truth or More Truth
“Of course it’s Diego. He’s like a brother to me.”
“Yeah?”
“Yup.”
“Do you have any real brothers or sisters?” she asks.
“Is this the ‘more truth’ part?”
“Yep. How many siblings?”
I shift in my seat. “One.” I don’t elaborate.
After a few awkward seconds of silence, she says, “You’re not ready to tell me that story, either, I take it.”
“Nope.”
“I’m going to get all your secrets out of you one day, you know,” she teases.
I grunt in response. Little does she know, she doesn’t want to hear some of them.
“For now, what’s something you feel comfortable telling me?” she asks. “How about school? Where did you go?”
That’s easy enough. “USC—for both undergrad and law school.”
Melissa turns in her seat so she’s facing me as much as she can with her seatbelt on. “You’re a lawyer?”
“I am. A lot of agents are. It helps to understand all the legal ramifications of contracts, endorsements, and so on.”
“That makes sense. I have an older cousin who went to USC. Graduated in ’75. What year did you graduate?”
I give her another side eye. Does she know how old I am? This might open up a can of worms I’m not necessarily ready to open, but if I refuse to answer, she’ll know something’s up. “Undergrad in ’71.”
Again, she’s quiet for a while. “So you graduated college at nineteen? How much of a genius are you?”
I laugh. “Not a genius.” Technically, my IQ says I am, but I’m not about to say it. If I do, she’ll never let me live it down.
“You going to tell me that story?”
I sigh and give her theReader’s Digestversion. “Things weren’t great at home. I legally emancipated myself at sixteen, my high school guidance counselor helped me apply to USC and jump through a lot of hoops, and I was accepted. I got some scholarships and a couple of jobs, and I worked my way through undergrad in three years, then law school.” I clench my teeth as I pray she won’t ask me to elaborate.
“Why did you decide to be a sports agent instead of another kind of lawyer?”
“I had an undergrad classmate at USC who played football. After he graduated and was drafted, a terrible agent took advantage of him. He fired that guy and asked me for legal help, so I learned all I could about athletic contracts, and I discovered I enjoyed helping athletes get the contracts and endorsements they deserve. The rest is history.”
“Aww.” She places her hands over her heart. “You’re a softie deep down inside. I knew it!”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not.”
She places her hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “You are. Instead of Sport, I’m now going to call you B.S.”
My eyebrows raise. “B.S.?” Those are my first two initials, as my middle name truly is Sebastian, but I don’t think that’s what she’s talking about.
“Big Softie.”
A laugh bursts out of me as an unexpected warmth fills my chest. “You can call me B.S. as long as you never tell anyone what it really stands for.”
“Deal.”
