"IS it just me or has Fuentes been acting weird lately?" Patrick leans back in his chair, hands clasped tightly on top of his stomach. The bolts make a creaking sound when his weight hits against them. Black eyebrows pull tight in deep thought.
I stiffen. "I'm sure it's nothing."
"Nah." Patrick shakes his head. His pressed shirt bears a coffee stain. Thick lips press into a thin line. "I suggested a cross-promotion between him and one of our other athletes. Fuentes turned me down. Said he didn't want to commit to something beyond the two-month probation."
My fingers stall on the laptop. "Did he say anything else?"
"No." Patrick's eyes burn into me. "But I was hoping you had a clue." "I don't."
