#Score (28 page)

I glance over at the alarm clock he has on the nightstand beside us and groan to myself. It’s already after seven, and my flight leaves at nine thirty. I should get up and tell him goodbye. I should make sure he understands how much this whole thing means to me.

That tiny little voice that tells me it’s okay to be impulsive starts thinking about staying. He’d like it. I know I’d like it . . . but I can’t. I can’t keep living in this fantasy. Everything always goes back to the way it was before, and to say a real goodbye to Elijah is way too painful.

When I’m finished cleaning up, I slip the little note I’ve written under the clock so the corner is tucked away. He’ll understand why I can’t face him. He has to know I can’t do it all over again. So with that, I leave. Hungry, sore, and miserable.

I
’ve never cared
about the loss of someone in my bed. The few women who actually make it here tend to want to stay and chat, have breakfast, and act like the sex was more than what it really was. I would have to kick them out the second I had the chance. I’m not proud of that, but it’s the truth. I’m not made for relationships, and I’m damn sure not down for drama.

But when I lazily reach across the span of my bed and realize the sheets are cold and there’s no soft-skinned, redheaded beauty lying next to me, I bolt upright with a start.

I figure that if maybe I call her name out suddenly, she would appear out of thin air. Maybe she just went down to get something to eat, something to drink. I calm myself down and take my time getting dressed. I refuse to go over to the other side of the bed, because I know that if I don’t find her purse, at the very least, I would know what it means.

I pull my pants on, one leg at a time, and even start to make my side of the bed before I hesitantly walk around the other side of it. For just a split second, a sort of relief washes over me and I walk over to see that Paige has left me a note. But it’s short, and it says everything I didn’t want to hear in a sweet way only she could put it.

Elijah, thank you for all the new memories. I already miss you. — Paige.

I pick it up because this can’t be real. The Paige I know . . . the Paige I
knew
. . . wouldn’t just leave without saying anything to me. And even though I try to deny it, she did not seem that much different from the old Paige. Yet I’m still standing here with this little note in my hand, wondering what the hell went wrong.

That one voice in the back of my head finally speaks up, having been pushed down and kept under the surface since Kevon mentioned her name a couple of days ago. I should have expected this. I should’ve known that the most I was going to get out of her was a booty call—a really good one, but nothing more. Real life doesn’t work in a way where people find each other years later and everything just works out.

Call me crazy, though, but I thought that at the very least, she would say goodbye to me, especially since we had a pretty rough history of not getting that final goodbye in. Then again, maybe I’m just making way too big a deal of this.

Actually, yeah, that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’ve tricked myself into thinking this was something out of a dream, something that I could hold onto and just see where it goes. It’s clear to me now that it’s just bullshit, and I need to move about my day, not worrying about Paige or why she does what she does. I need to do what
I
do.

After grabbing a bite to eat and some coffee, I give a little wave to Romina, who’s just finishing up vacuuming the kitchen area, and head out. I don’t want this stuff lingering in my brain for too long, so I decide to get a good workout in at the gym. A lot of times, I just stick to my own gym at my place, but I need a little fresh air, so I might as well run to the local gym and work on some different equipment today.

The shitty part about being out in public like this, especially where everyone knows where you live, is that you tend to get bombarded by people one way or the other. Sometimes it’s just fans who want autographs or maybe to get a selfie with you. And that’s not too bad, because I’m pretty grateful for every person who actually gives a shit about me, even if only because I play ball. But sometimes, they can get a little overzealous, and I’m just not down with that kind of shit. Especially on a day like today.

Then there’s the fucking paparazzi. I knew that as a football player playing in the Pro League, I might get the occasional reporter or whatever trying to take my picture on the sly, but I never dreamed . . . I never thought that anything like this would be the new normal for me.

And damn if I’m not right as I turn the corner at the end of my block. There’s a group of three paparazzi standing on the opposite end, taking shots of something going on in the street, when one of them catches me out of the corner of his eye. They start shouting out my name, waving at me to look over at them, but I just turn away, dashing off as soon as the road’s clear.

One thing I never really took into account when I signed the first fucking contract was how much of my life would be dictated by the Pro League, namely Johnny Maine himself. It’s not something I’ve thought too much about, but it hits me as I walk up to the gym entrance. Our first preseason game is in two days, and had Paige stayed with me, I wouldn’t have gotten any time in to practice, even though practice is a huge part of the contract contingencies—it’s actually mandatory for us players.

I know it as sure as the sun. I wouldn’t have been able to concentrate, not with her around. And that could’ve definitely caused a big problem, so maybe it’s for the best that she left and went back home. Which is exactly why I don’t plan to contact her.

--

T
he sweat
steadily slides down my forehead and jawline. I’ve been training at the gym for almost two hours, my muscles groaning at me to take a break for a few. But I don’t. That’s what happens when I have too much shit on my mind—I take it out on the weights, the equipment, and my body.

One of the familiar trainers comes around into the weight room, and I catch her staring at me in the mirror that spans the entire wall. I used to think it was just for people to sit and watch themselves out of pure vanity, but I know better now. Well, some people still do that, but mainly, it’s for those of us who are serious about our training to make sure we have proper form, something my father religiously pounded into my head. I don’t think I’m even capable of taking an uneven position any more.

I try to ignore the trainer, but it’s kind of hard when she keeps glancing over at me. I know she knows who I am, especially because she sees me in here from time to time. For a second, I think maybe I’m doing something wrong after all, but she adjusts an open machine and wipes it off before walking over to me. I know it’s not about my membership, because that stays paid through Johnny Maine’s checkbook. I raise a brow at her when she stands directly in front of me.

“Hi.”

I grunt in response as I finish off my clean and jerk, dropping the barbell so that it lands with a heavy thud on the floor.

She just smiles at me, and I wait a moment to see if she’s actually going to say anything.

“You’ve been here for a while today. Is everything all right?” Sure, it sounds genuine enough, but judging by the way she keeps flashing me a smile and messing with her ponytail, I have a feeling it’s more than just moral support she’s wanting to give me. She glances down, right at my dick, as if it further proves me right.

I won’t lie—this kind of attention usually puts me in better spirits—but I can’t bring myself to smile back at her. Maybe it’s the bleached blonde hair and one-too-many trips to the tanning salon. She’s sexy in her own way, but honestly, it does nothing for me.

And after last night, it’s going to be difficult for any girl to come close.

“I’m fine. But I think I’m done here.”

“
U
gh
, you two are so freaking hopeless,” I mutter to myself, closing my dog-eared copy of Pride and Prejudice. A silhouette of Jane Austen peers up at me from the back cover and I frown, pulling my knees up under my chin. “Oof.” I unfold myself back the other way, trying to get comfortable, because God knows, I can’t just squish everything into a tiny space like I used to when I was a kid.

I nearly spit out the popcorn I made earlier today, which has now gone grossly stale. “Can’t anything go right?” Instead of doing the weird thing and answering myself like I sometimes do, I pull my old, worn blanket back up to my chin and try to locate the remote to the TV.

And of course, nothing’s on. Fucking typical.

I wince when the doorbell rings, but since it opens right after without missing a beat, I know exactly who it is. No one else is as rude as Stacey when it comes to being nosy, and since I’ve barely messaged her or texted her, she’s been pretty much bugging the hell out of me lately.

Just as suspected, my sister walks in with her dainty arms already crossed over her chest. “Okay. This is getting a little ridiculous, Sis. I’ve been trying to reach you . . .” her voice trails off as she takes a good look around the main room of my apartment. “Holy shit. Is this the part where I call for an intervention? Because I swear to God, Paige, I will so do it. I’m not about to let you turn into one of those old hoarder ladies with dozens of cats. And ferrets. And sometimes, those cute little—”

I let out a loud groan. “It’s not even that serious. I’m allowed to have a mental breakdown every now and then. Right?”

Stacey looks at me solemnly and nods, but without so much as another word, she takes one of the empty Chinese food cartons and throws it across the room. “No, dammit. You’re not allowed to have a mental breakdown. And why would you be having one, anyway? This wouldn’t have anything to do with you coming back from San Antonio a couple of weeks ago, now would it?”

Of course, I don’t have to say anything because she already knows the answer to that. “I’m not saying a word.”

Stacey rolls her eyes at me and kicks my feet off the coffee table, making me yelp. “You’re a grown-up now, Paige, in case I have to remind you. You have your own business, for God’s sake. Now I know that you’ve been going into the office and you’ve been doing your thing there, but you haven’t asked me for any help lately, and I know you didn’t hire anybody else because you can barely afford me. So what the hell’s going on? All of the sudden, the wind’s out of your sails or something?”

Sometimes, I’m pretty sure Stacey and I are not at all related. This is one of those times. “I’ve been doing my job, just like you said. So what’s the problem? This is my life. This is my place, and I’m allowed to keep it in whatever state of total trash I want. I’m allowed to cry and read ridiculous romance novels written over a century ago if I want to, dammit. So stop judging me.”

Stacey takes the blanket from my hands, and this time, I stand up until we’re face-to-face.

“Will you just leave me the fuck alone? Seriously. I just want to be alone right now.”

But Stacey’s not having it, as usual. She’s never been one to let me have any kind of personal space, much less take time to mope around if I want. “You’re right. This is your place. And it is trashed. So you need to take care that. I read in a book somewhere that you need to have a clear, open space in your house, one where you can go and relax and not have everything cluttered like it is in your mind. Because I can tell that there’s obviously
something
going on here.”

“Obviously,” I repeat.

“Will you just tell me what’s going on? Or do I have to do it the old way? Because so help me, Paige, I will. And Mama’s not going to be able to stop me this time.”

If she’s referring to all the times she used to gang up on me and basically beat the crap out of me because she wanted to . . . I really hope she understands the severity of saying something like that to me. Me, who is quite a bit larger than her. Little sister or not, I could definitely take her out nowadays.

“Buck up and spit it out, Paige.”

But she does have a very expert way of driving me absolutely insane. “All right, fine. Yes, it’s San Antonio. Yes, before you even ask, it has a lot to do with Elijah. Yes, things happened between us, and yes, I feel like a miserable twat because what am I going to do now?”

I can tell she wants to take me seriously, but the smile that’s threatening to cut clear across her face is winning. “Oh my God. Did you really just refer to yourself as a miserable twat? You really have lost your mind, haven’t you?”

“Oh, shut up.”

But Stacey sits down with me, pulling the blanket back up over the both of us. “So what happened with Elijah?”

“It really started with FitCon. I thought it was going to go so well and I’d find all these ideas and we could get started on having those yoga clothes manufactured. I had it all planned out, Stacey. But I don’t know. I went there, and it was like I was getting laughed at by everybody. I talked to a couple of the well-known brands about how they got their start, and they completely shut up and didn’t give me any good advice. When they found out that I was looking to do the same thing for plus-size women, ha, it was like I didn’t exist. And suppliers? That was a big joke too. One of the fabric manufacturers had the nerve to tell me that because it takes extra fabric to make plus-size clothing, he doesn’t sell to
that kind
of market. Because it loses him money. Can you believe that?”

Stacey is really quiet.

“But then, oh man, it was just . . . I don’t even know how to explain it, to be honest with you. I ran into one of the players who just so happened to be close with Elijah. He set the whole thing up, and when I showed up, it was so surreal. I mean, all these things were going on in my brain, and I couldn’t even sort it out enough to say a single word to him. I looked like such an idiot, I’m sure.”

Finally, she giggles. “But he was sexy as hell, right? Because damn, that commercial . . .”

I shake my head at her slowly. “Stacey, you have no idea. It’s so hard because I had this image in my head of what Elijah was when we were younger, and it was totally like trying to put that idea and match it with what he looks like now, which was not working. It was almost like I had to pretend Elijah was somebody completely new and not the same old Elijah. Which is weird and kind of confusing. But yes . . . he was amazing.”

This time, my sister raises her brow at me, leaning in closer. “Amazing? At what, exactly?”

I could feel my cheeks blushing deep crimson before I can say anything, and Stacey looks like she’s about to choke on her own words. “Pretty much everything.”

She lets out a squeal, bouncing this way and that. “Oh my God. You totally fucked him, didn’t you? Oh my God, Paige, look at your face! You totally did! Damn, girl . . . I’m kind of proud of you now. What was it like? He was totally hung, wasn’t he? I knew it. It’s like they take all those steroids to make their muscles all huge, but then I thought that was supposed to make something else really small. Okay, I’m so confused.”

“You and me both. Anyway, like I said, it was amazing. I’m not to go into all the details obviously, but . . . no, don’t even give me that look, Stacey. It’s none of your business. Seriously,” I say, battling my sister’s pitiful whines and sad, pouty face. “He was a lot like the old Elijah. Just with all the extra sexiness involved.”

Stacey nods, compelling me to go on. “Okay, and what else?”

I shrug my shoulders and lean back into the couch cushion, the sting of my having to let him go still thick, covering the whole scene in my head. “That’s it. We had sex, it was the best night of my life, and then I had to go in the morning. That’s pretty much . . . it.”

She bites her lip and looks straight ahead, clearly trying to do some sort of problem in her head. “Okay. So, you guys did the dirty deed. What did he say when you were leaving? Are you guys gonna try to see each other again, or . . .?”

And that’s about the time that the tears well in my eyes, and I drop my head into my hands. “I don’t know. I didn’t say goodbye to him. I sort of left while he was still sleeping and left a note instead.” The panicked desperation in my voice is almost as bad as I had imagined it would be.

Stacey’s eyes nearly bug out of her head. “Say
what
? You didn’t actually tell him goodbye? What the hell is wrong with you, girl?”

I slump deeper into the couch, wishing I could just turn into a couch cushion myself. Was it the right thing to do? I’m not sure. I’m not sure about any of it any more.

Stacey stands up, smoothing over her hair until it’s back into its super-sleek, shiny updo. “You know what you need to do? What you need to do is stop letting those same old insecurities knock you down. And when they do manage to, you just need to get back up.”

“What are you, a fortune cookie now? It’s not that simple, Stacey. I can’t suddenly tell myself
okay, everyone else is wrong and you’re right, and you can do whatever the hell you want
.”

She looks at me like I’m a complete dumbass. “Um, yes you can, actually. And you should. You should call Elijah right this minute and tell him whatever it is you feel like you need to tell him. Because you didn’t just sit around on your ass for two weeks and let your apartment turn into a total dumpster for no reason. I know you better than that.”

I sigh. Maybe she’s right, but I’m not sure I can muster up enough encouragement, even from her decent advice, to actually call Elijah and apologize. I mean, he didn’t exactly try to get in contact with me either. So maybe the whole thing meant way more to me than it did to him. In fact, I’m betting on it.