by Kata Čuić
That’s fair enough.
“Oh my God!” I blurt, desperate for a distraction from the sight directly in front of me. “That’s why you were so concerned with the color not matching! I just thought you were uncomfortable wearing makeup.”
“I was.” He pops his eyebrows. “Never thought I’d be the one who needed concealer. It was a mindfuck to be on the other side of that fence for a change.”
Without any more of an explanation, he lifts my chin then gently turns my face in all different directions. He studies all my flaws with a focused gaze. His voice is a soft hum. “You don’t need me to prep you at all.”
“Excuse me?” Get your mind out of the gutter, Vittoria.
The corner of his mouth lifts in a weird half smile, half grimace. “You have perfect skin. You don’t really need any primer. You probably don’t even need foundation, but we’ll use it anyway. Maybe it’ll help cover your blushes on the sidelines, so the press won’t think you’re embarrassed to be seen with me.”
“I’m not embarrassed to be seen with you!” I’m such a jerk. I’m worried about not crossing any imaginary lines, and he’s thinking that I don’t want to be around him for totally different reasons. “I’m sorry I made you think that.”
His smile is more genuine as he dabs foundation all over my face with his finger. “I’m messing with you.”
“You shouldn’t. I am now in possession of very juicy information about you that I could accidentally leak to the press.” I close my eyes when the sponge gets a little too close as he blends the makeup over my face, expecting—hoping—he’ll tell me he’s going to make me look like a deranged clown in retaliation.
“I’m not worried. You won’t.”
I open my eyes when all sensation leaves my face. Mike’s holding a tube of concealer, studying his canvas again.
“I thought you said I have perfect skin? Is the foundation not enough to cover the evidence of my lack of sleep?” I never had to worry about dark under-eyes before. I only have concealer because he needed it.
Mike blinks like he lost his train of thought. “No, I—” He throws the tube down on the vanity with a little too much force. “Habit. You don’t need it. It’s fine.”
I don’t believe that for a second. He’s withholding again. I can feel it. “Really?”
“Really,” he reassures me with a more confident smile before turning to check my pile of makeup again. “You do need setting powder though. I can’t find it.”
“I didn’t buy any powder. I didn’t know I needed to.”
He raises an eyebrow. “All right, then. We’ll put it on the list to buy before game day.”
This might be the sweetest, weirdly most heart-melting interaction I’ve ever had with a guy, but we still have a problem. “Um, okay, but…you’re not going to be able to do my makeup before game day. You’re going to be kind of busy with more important things.”
His smile softens as he tickles my cheeks with a blush brush. “If you like this look, then I’ll teach you how to do it for yourself.”
I take a stab in the dark about his cryptic explanations. “Just like you taught your sisters because your mom was busy being a single parent?”
“You’ve never fished so obviously before.” Mike’s smile turns sad as he rests his arm against his knee, still clutching the blush brush in his capable, big hand. He blows out a breath. “You believe me without question when I say I can do makeup, and there’s a hell of a lot of trust involved in actually letting me do it. I guess it’s time for me to make this more of a two-way street, huh?”
I can’t fathom where he’s going to go with this, but I scoot closer anyway. I’m all ears. “That’s what friends do, yeah. They trust each other. You know by now I’ll never use anything you tell me in confidence against you.”
He switches out brushes—eyeshadow replaces blush. A tap with his finger against my nose, followed by a murmured, “Close your eyes.”
As he feathers the gentlest caresses against the most sensitive parts of my face, he weaves further instructions between horrific stories of hazing and abuse from college.
“Look up….it all started with rookie training camp…close your eyes again…circle jerking for the cameras…look down…we were, uh, apparently drugged out of our minds…open your mouth a little…so, that’s it. That’s what Evie finally told me when she came to visit.”
I work in PR for football, so I’m aware being a professional athlete isn’t all sunshine and roses. The nastier parts of marketing are what brought me into Mike’s life to begin with. But never, ever, ever in my wildest dreams could I imagine the utter horrors of what he’s just told me.
“I…I have no idea what to say other than I’m sorry.” I gaze up at his face that’s completely devoid of any emotion at all. “That doesn’t seem like nearly enough. Is there anything I can do for you?”
He swallows thickly then glances away. “Evie told me all that because she thinks I need closure I’ve never gotten.” He returns an even gaze to my own. “I don’t necessarily agree, but I do want to make sure Chelsie is all right. The only problem is I can’t seem to track her down. I have no way to know where she is now or how she’s doing. I’ve moved on with my life, and I guess I just need reassurance that she has, too. That what she went through because of me didn’t fuck her up too bad.”
I rise from my seat on the floor with shaky legs. “Don’t be mad at me…”
Mike actually barks out a short laugh. “Famous last words.”
I truly hope not.
I cross my bedroom and retrieve a file folder from my nightstand drawer before returning to Mike and dropping it in his lap. “I did a little digging. Just to make sure she wouldn’t be a threat to your career now.”
He doesn’t open the folder, just glances up at me with apprehension in his eyes. “This is part of your job description?”
“Yeah.”
After a deep, bracing breath, he reads the information I’ve found—complete with current address. “I don’t think I should do this alone. She would be completely justified to slap me in the face if I show up on her doorstep. Would you, uh…would you maybe come with me?”
I don’t hesitate a second to jump over the line of professionalism. I shove the folder to the floor then climb onto his lap, wrapping my arms and legs around him like I can possibly hug all the hurt out of him. I nuzzle my face into the warm, smooth, delicious-smelling skin at his neck. “She would not be justified to slap you in the face. I don’t know if it’s a good idea for me to go with you. I might just cause more bad publicity. Because I’m going to punch that cunty bitch right in her stupid face for even thinking for a second that you cheated on her first.”
His laughter rumbles through me. “It’s so wrong, but I love it when you get mad enough to swear, Peaches.”
I lift my head, only to be horrified at the yellowish-brown stain I’ve left on his otherwise pristine, white tee. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!”
He glances down to where I’m gaping then chuckles. “This is why we need to get you the setting powder.”
“Why does she live in Jersey now? We’re from Ohio.”
It’s a stupid question, and it doesn’t matter. I’m standing on my ex-girlfriend’s front porch like a freaking creeper while my fake girlfriend shrugs beside me.
“I don’t know the whys or hows. I only dug up the whats.” Tori’s voice softens. “Stop stalling and ring the doorbell.”
It’s not a rocket science deduction that I’m absolutely stalling. I have no idea what to say. No clue what to ask. This could all blow up in my face. Frankly, that’s exactly what I’m expecting, but I can’t live with myself until I’ve paid my dues.
Tori’s hand on my shoulder doesn’t even calm me down. “Tell you what? I’m going to take a walk around the block. Maybe having an audience is making this harder for you. If you need me for any reason, I’m just a text away.”
That’s a horrible idea. “You can’t just go walking a
round in a strange neighborhood! There could be…creeps! Lurking!”
Her smile is soft, and just like Tori—genuine. “Just because something bad happened to Evie doesn’t mean it’s going to happen to me.” She gestures at the tree-lined street in what appears to be a quaint little neighborhood filled with small but well-kept houses. So much like my hometown. “There are plenty of other people out for a stroll, so I won’t be alone. I have my phone. I’ll be fine.”
“But, but, but…” I would be more embarrassed about stuttering like an idiot if my heart wasn’t racing at the same pace.
She reaches up on her tiptoes to plant a gentle kiss on my cheek that finally, finally warms all the cold places inside me. “I have the utmost faith in you, Michael Mitchell. You’re gonna be just fine.”
I call out to her as she turns tail and bounds down the stairs. “You’re really afraid you’re going to punch her, aren’t you?”
“Yep!” she yells back as she flees down the sidewalk at a brisk pace.
I blow out a breath and push the doorbell since the clock is officially running down now. I sure as hell hope Chelsie’s husband isn’t a Newark fan. This is going to be awkward enough as it is.
The door slowly swings open. A face I barely recognize stares back at me. Her blond hair that felt like silk in my greedy teenage hands is frizzy and crazy. The blue eyes that could build me up or cut me down with a single look seem tired and ringed with dark circles. It makes me feel like an asshole to notice, but the body I once knew so well has, well…changed.
“Mike?” She obviously recognizes me still.
“Hi.” Solid opening, Mitchell.
She opens the door wider then pushes past me to glance up and down the street like she’s expecting cameras to announce she’s being punked. Satisfied that nothing looks out of the ordinary, she steps back inside. “What are you doing here?”
“I, uh, was in the neighborhood…” Wow. I never knew I was the shittiest liar in the world until now.
She chuckles, shakes her head, then glances down at her feet before returning a slightly amused gaze to me. “I thought you got drafted to Albany?”
I thought she hated my guts. So, how does she know what team I got drafted to?
“I did. I am. I live in Albany, I mean. I play for the Wolves still.” Man up, Mitchell. “I’m sorry to show up here and probably annoy the hell out of you, but…uh…can we talk?”
She swings the door open wide and gestures for me to come in.
The hallway is littered with clumps of dog hair and toys—both for kids and pets. A few pairs of small shoes and women’s shoes are not-so-neatly stacked by the doorway. No men’s shoes.
“Is this a good time?”
She crosses her arms and raises a skeptical eyebrow at me. “You obviously drove here all the way from Albany. The regular season is starting soon. I’m guessing this is as good a time as you’re going to have for a while.”
She’s not wrong, but…hell. I don’t even know where to begin.
“Where’s the dog?” That’s not the best place to start.
She snorts. “I don’t have visitation this week. Since when are you afraid of dogs?”
“I’m not. I was just expecting one.” Awesome. This just keeps getting better. I might as well tell her to sweep the fucking floors because her house is filthy.
Wait a minute…“Visitation?”
“Ah, yes.” She nods and purses her lips. “The soon-to-be ex-husband doesn’t give a shit whether he sees his kid on the weekends, but the dog is apparently non-negotiable.”
That’s why her body looks different. She has a kid now. That wasn’t part of the information Tori dug up.
“Soon-to-be ex?” I recognized Chelsie’s last name had changed, but again…missing information.
She calls to me as she strides down the hallway. “Come on. If we’re going to talk about this, I need an afternoon delight.”
Holy shit. Is she offering me rebound sex?
She disappears around a corner. “We have exactly forty-five minutes until Charlie wakes up from his nap, so get a move on, Mitchell. I know you’re faster than this.”
I don’t feel fast at all. I feel like I’m bogged down in quicksand up to my ears while a coach screams at me to push harder. Drills next week are going to be a cakewalk compared to this.
She’s uncorking a bottle of wine when I make my way into the kitchen. A wry grin twists her lips. “I hope you like cheap red and sob stories because I’m all out of pretending everything’s fine for today.”
“Chels…” That old nickname doesn’t taste right on my tongue. “What the hell happened?”
For the next God knows how long, she pours out her sob story to me—a husband who cheated while she was pregnant with their first child, fighting to keep the house they bought together and planned to raise a whole family in, having to see his mistress every day in the halls of the same interior design firm they work at, being a single working mother while trying to raise her young son.
That last part hits a little too close to home.
“Why don’t you sell this house for a profit and go home?” Shit. I think I slurred that question. I didn’t want to be rude by refusing her offer of a completely non-sexual afternoon delight, but I don’t drink anymore. My job demands that my body be firing on all cylinders at all times. “Isn’t your family still in Ironville? You could start up your own interior design company there and have help with Charlie.”
She scoffs at my suggestion. “You know how Ironville is. If I crawl back with my tail tucked between my legs, I’ll never hear the end of it.” Her blue eyes soften into something that resembles a memory. “I was supposed to be the wife of a professional football player, not a single mother divorcee of an IT grunt.”
I reach across the kitchen island to grasp her hand. “I am so fucking sorry, Chelsie.”
She swipes at the tears streaking down her cheeks with her free hand. “Sorry for what? You didn’t cheat on me while I was pregnant.”
“I did.” My brain is wine-fuzzy, but I came here with a plan, and she’s given me the perfect opening. “You weren’t pregnant. At least not that you told me, but I recently found out about what happened that night during the rookie hazing at State. I had no idea you cheated on me because I cheated on you first. If I had known then what I know now, I would have fought for you. I would have tried harder. Instead, I just let you go, thinking that’s what you wanted. I’m so fucking sorry.”
She wrests her hand free from my grip.
I brace for the expected slap.
Instead, she gently knocks on my temple. “Did you take too many hits during the preseason? You didn’t cheat on me! You were drugged!”
Wait. What? “I’m sorry, but…what?”
She chuckles then pours out the rest of the wine into her glass. After finishing off the bottle, she sighs. “Mike. I didn’t cheat on you as a way to get even. I was young and stupid, and I was eager to see what—who—else was out there. Who marries their high school sweetheart these days? I’m sorry you found out the way you did. I kept meaning to have a talk with you once we got to campus, but you were always so busy with practices, or team activities, or…” She tips her empty glass toward me. “Getting blowjobs from women who weren’t me.”
I can’t believe my ears. Is she doubling back on her absolution of my sins? Thank Christ Tori isn’t here. This would not end well.
Chelsie’s smile is half-hearted at best. “I honestly figured since you enjoyed it that I didn’t need to face the music. You were ready to move on, and I already had.”
Wait…what? “How long had you been cheating on me?”
She winces. “The first time was the same afternoon as the hazing, but I thought I had more time to talk to you about it and break it to you gently!”
Well, shit. All the guilt that’s been eating away at me for nearly a month evaporates. It was always going to come to this. I just didn’t know it at the time.
“Stil
l.” I hold my open palm out to her. She was my first…everything. For that alone, she deserves my forgiveness and respect. She took a chance on me at a time when I believed no one ever could. Or should. “Evie told me everything. I’m sorry for what you went through as my girlfriend. Even if you already had a foot out the door.”
Chelsie laughs and shakes her head. “You know, I always hated Evie in high school. I couldn’t stand how much of your time and attention she took up that I truly believed belonged to me. She was really there for me that night. She held me up when I was bawling my eyes out about what was happening. How’s she doing, anyway? I saw that nude spread she did our senior year of college, and honest to God, it made me feel so guilty for ever thinking poorly of her at all.”
I don’t know if it’s the wine or all the revelations from different perspectives than I ever had before, but I shake my head to try to physically make all these vectors merge into a single straight line. “She’s, uh…she’s good. Some high school sweethearts actually do get married.”
“To Falls?” she guesses.
I wince. If I wasn’t drunk, I wouldn’t have let that slip.
Chelsie laughs. “I hope Rob has a better season than the last one. I couldn’t even believe that was the same guy I used to know.”
That makes two of us. “It was a rough transition, but I think you’ll recognize the guy on the field this season.”
She takes my glass and hers to the sink to wash them. “What’s the secret to your better transition?” She shoots me a wink. “Were you still in the honeymoon phase with your new girlfriend? Trying to impress…Tori? That’s her name, right?”
Suddenly, the nameless, faceless fans who see photos online of me and Tori aren’t so ambiguous. Shame creeps up my neck. I didn’t come here to rub anything in Chelsie’s face, especially not after what she’s told me about her shitty situation.
“Nah.” I wave off her assumptions. “I never have to impress her. She likes me for me.”
Chelsie’s smile is the most genuine it’s seemed all this time. “I’m glad. You’re a good man, Mike Mitchell.” She wags her finger in my direction. “She’d better be deserving of you.”