by Alexa Martin
Twenty
Unlike the guest room, Gavin’s windows are treated with fancy electronic blackout blinds. Tuesdays are Gavin’s day off, and when I called Brynn last night to let her know what happened, she banned me from coming in. So I take full advantage of the dark room and comfy bed. Gavin, however, still wakes up at the ass crack of dawn.
When I manage to climb out of bed and join him in the living room, it’s almost noon, and Gavin has my Fresh’s coffee order and croissants waiting for me.
I fall back into the corner of the couch and snatch the remote out of Gavin’s hand. Not a chance in hell I’m gonna watch ESPN all day.
Chris’s remote was off-limits. It sounds ridiculous (because it was) but one day I took the remote and turned on Ellen and he didn’t talk to me for a week. Gavin doesn’t care though.
“Go for it, but if you turn on a soap opera, I’m out.” Lucky for him, I stopped watching soaps years ago.
I open Gavin’s DVR and come across a butt load of unwatched Jeopardy!’s and almost lose my shit. I’m a trivia freak. I buy little kids’ yogurt instead of grown-up ones just for the little trivia on the side . . . and maybe because cotton candy yogurt is amazing. #NotAshamed
“You watch Jeopardy!?” I toss a throw pillow at his head.
“I try to, but if the number of unwatched episodes tells you anything, I don’t get around to it much.”
“Well at least I know what we’re doing today.” I stand, giving him my best elderly woman impression, and find my purse. When I come back to the couch, he’s sitting there looking both amused and curious.
“What’s going on?” He watches me as I lower my sore self back into my spot, and I don’t miss the way his jaw tightens.
“We’re playing Jeopardy!” I state the obvious. “Get your phone. For each question, we bet like they do. Except, I’m not a baller like you, so the first round, we do it in cents. Two cents for two hundred, four cents for four hundred. You get it. Then for the second round, we move to dollars. Twenty dollars for two thousand.” I point to the calculator on my phone. “Keep track of your total on your phone.” I stop and look at him. “Honor system, Pope. Then at the end, we bet for final Jeopardy! and the winner has to pay the loser.”
“Are you serious?” He grins and drums his fingers against his coffee table. “How have I never played this?”
I press my lips together and shrug. “You know, Pope, you might be the big football player in the room”—I point both of my index fingers at myself—“but I’m the Jeopardy! queen. Be prepared to go down.” I push play on the first unwatched episode I come across. “Oh. And also, if somehow you do manage to win? I’m broke, so don’t expect me to pay you.”
* * *
• • •
“IN YOUR FUCKIN’ face, Pope!” I yell at his back as he walks to the kitchen to grab another pop. “Who doesn’t know that Italy is the second most used setting in Shakespeare? And you call yourself a competitor.”
What? I never claimed to be a gracious winner. #NaNanaNaNa #BamWHAT
“I didn’t call myself a competitor. I think the term I used was ‘aficionado,’ you’re the one who wanted to bet real money.”
“Tomato, potato,” I toss at him while picking the next episode to watch.
“You know the final Jeopardy! question, but you don’t know it’s tomato, tomato?”
I’m about to answer him when Gavin’s picture behind a news anchor draws my attention. I exit out of his DVR and fight back the onslaught of nausea that takes over as I hear the news story.
“A mugging and assault brought the police to Denver Mustangs’ quarterback Gavin Pope’s home late last night,” the news anchor says robotically, imposing the right inflections at certain points, tilting his head, creasing his eyes with the skill of a practiced reporter. “The victim, Marlee Harper, was attacked in Lincoln Park walking home from dinner. She managed to escape and run to Pope’s downtown residence for help. We were told that after Harper arrived at Pope’s downtown Denver residence, he went outside looking for the attacker. Police have named Gregory Thomas and James Walters as the suspects for the attack.”
I know James set me up, but my heart clenches knowing he’s getting in trouble for this. He needs help, not jail.
“Wow, Mark. Not only is Gavin Pope saving the day every Sunday, now he’s proving to be a hero off the field too,” the perfect redhead next to him says.
“He really is, Andrea. And you may remember, Marlee Harper is the longtime girlfriend of Mustangs receiver Chris Alexander. Bet he’s going to be very thankful his teammate was around when she needed him.”
“So true. We’ll be right back with the weather,” she says to the camera, her pearly whites gleaming beneath her tan.
Oh no. No. No. No! This is bad.
I was so wrapped up in the report, I didn’t even realize Gavin had come back from the kitchen until his hand touches me.
“You okay?” His quiet voice holds unhidden concern.
“How’d they even find out? And why would they report my name? Isn’t that illegal or something?” I ask, very much not okay.
“The media is full of vultures. If they think it will bring in viewers, they will broadcast your pain loud and clear.”
“This isn’t good.” And as if to confirm my words, both of our phones ring. Gavin squeezes my knee and gives me a quick peck on the forehead before going to his phone. It’s so sweet, so dreamy, if I wasn’t in the middle of a breakdown supreme, I might’ve melted into a puddle of contented goo on his couch.
Thankfully, I called my mom and dad and filled them in this morning before Channel 7 was able to, but there are many people I didn’t tell and I have a feeling they will all be much more interested in a certain blue-eyed, bearded quarterback than my brush with danger. I’m expecting to see Naomi’s name on the screen, but as luck would have it (because I have no luck) Chris’s name flashes on my phone.
Not in the mood to hear his mouth, I hit ignore, but before I can even put the phone down, he’s calling again. We play the ignore and call again game ten more times before I give up and answer.
“What do you want, Chris?” I sound as defeated as I feel, which is to say, really freaking defeated.
“So you’re fucking Pope?”
What a well-thought-out, meaningful greeting.
“I’m fine, thank you. He only landed one punch before I was able to run,” I respond, my voice shooting up an unnatural octave. “So nice of you to check on me.”
“Don’t play coy, Marlee. That shit’s not cute.”
“But I’m fucking Gavin, Chris. Isn’t that what you just said? So why would I try to be cute for you?” I can picture the color rising in his cheeks as he paces the floor, the way he always does when he gets angry.
“Shut up, Marlee!” His loud, angry voice rings in my ear. “You leave me and run to that arrogant bastard? What the fuck? Are you trying to ruin my career?”
“Chris,” I say gently, “I don’t think about you anymore. I know you think you hang the stars and the moon and are god’s gift to women, but you aren’t. I’m living my life and you won’t believe this, but my decisions have nothing to do with you. We broke up. I’m moving on. And whether or not I’m with Gavin while I do is frankly none of your concern.”
“So you’re fucking him.” Dense as ever. Really, how did I stay with him for so long?
“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. Either way? It’s none of your business.”
“I swear to god, Marlee. Do you not see how embarrassing this is for me? I fought to get you involved. I paraded you around my teammates and their families and look at you. You’re the same as these groupie sluts. Spreading your legs for anyone who looks your direction.” The acid soaking his words makes me aware that he really believes what he’s saying.
“You’re delusional if you think after the way you
treated me, embarrassed me, that I’d dedicate a single thought to your image or your comfort.”
“Whatever, slut. Tell Gavin I said fuck him too. He’s just as foul as—” The phone’s out of my hand and Gavin’s moving across the room, listening to Chris’s rant.
“I already told you I’m not your fuckin’ boy, Alexander. You treated Marlee like shit and now she wants to spend her time with someone who can appreciate her. If you ever want a ball thrown your way again, I suggest you lose her number, because if I ever hear you say the shit you said to her again, I will end your fucking career.”
Are you kidding me?
I know I had quite a few aspirins last night, but I’m still pretty positive I didn’t imagine the conversation we had where I asked him to step down. And here he is, twelve hours later, doing it again.
“It’s not a threat, it’s a promise. When you see her at the games with me, don’t even look her way.” He pauses and even from this far away, I can vaguely hear Chris yelling on the other end. “Yeah, it’s like that. Last warning, leave Marlee the fuck alone, Alexander.” He ends the phone call and stares at me for a moment before he moves back toward me.
Gavin’s long strides make quick work of closing the distance between us and when he reaches me, his right hand runs through his hair, and he avoids making eye contact.
Good.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because you asked me last night to let you fight your own battles and I just did it again.” He’s quiet when he answers, and I can tell he regrets what he did, but I’m having a hard time caring.
“Oh, so you do remember? I wasn’t sure if you forgot, but now I know you just disregarded me.” I walk to where he left my phone and find my dad’s contact. “Hey, Dad,” I say into the phone when he answers. “Can you come grab me from Gavin’s? Great, I’ll send you the address.”
Sure, it’s not like he’s cheating on me—we’re not even an official couple—but he still disrespected me. I had one request for him last night and already it doesn’t matter. And for the cherry on top, since I don’t have a car and Gregory is at large, I had to call my dad to come pick me up! Like I’m in freaking middle school again.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have taken your phone from you. It wasn’t my place to step in. But I couldn’t sit next to you and listen to what he was saying to you anymore.”
“Yes, you could’ve!” I close my eyes and take a deep breath to try and regain my composure. “You could’ve,” I repeat when I’m calm again. “You just didn’t.”
“Marlee—” he starts, but I don’t want to listen.
“Not now, Gavin. I’m just not in the right mind-set to deal with this.” I turn and walk toward his floating staircase. “My dad’s going to be here soon. I’m going to change.”
When he doesn’t try to call me back, I hurry upstairs and stay there until I hear the doorbell ring and my dad’s unmistakable voice carry through the house.
“Bye, Gavin,” I say without looking at him.
Twenty-one
The first bouquet shows up at my parents’ house the day after I leave Gavin’s.
The second one shows up at HERS two days after that, on a Friday. The third, fourth, fifth, and sixth arrive at my parents’ house during the Mustangs game on Sunday. I didn’t even know they delivered on Sundays.
My mom thinks it’s romantic.
My Dad and Brynn think it’s obnoxious.
I fall somewhere in the middle.
Monday at work, the seventh and eighth bouquets arrive.
“If he moves to singing telegrams, I’m going to walk over to his house and kick him in the balls,” Brynn tells me ever so elegantly.
“Nice. I thought I was supposed to be the irritated one.” I try to look at her, but even though I want to hate them, I can’t stop staring at the flowers.
“You were, but I can see your resolve weakening with every stupid flower, so I’m taking over for you.”
“So does that mean I should run?” a deep voice calls from the front door.
Gavin.
I twirl around so fast, the vase full of pink and purple blooms flies out of my hands and just misses Brynn’s head before it crashes into the wall behind her.
“Oops,” I say at the same time Paisley shouts, “I’ll get the broom.” I look at the sparkling shattered glass mixed with the flowers around Brynn’s feet. It might be dangerous, but it’s really pretty. #ArtImitatingLife
“Are you okay, Brynn?” Gavin asks. He’s no longer in the doorway, and he’s carefully collecting shards of glass off the floor.
“Get away from the glass, Pope!” I yell. All I need is him injuring his hand and the entire city turning on me.
He does as I ask and unfolds from his crouched position to his full height. “So it takes a potential injury to get you to talk to me again?”
“I was going to talk to you,” I say, and he throws me major side-eye. “I was . . . eventually.” What? I’m a crappy liar. “Why are you here?”
“I wanted to see if you’d go out with me.” He rubs his hand down the back of his neck and shifts from foot to foot. “I know you’re mad at me and you have every right to be. But I’ve been thinking this last week that we’ve spent a lot of time together, but never gone on a proper date.”
“Aww! That’s so sweet, and he’s super handsome,” says Paisley. Yeah, she’s supposed to be sweeping Brynn out of the danger zone and into safety. “You can’t say no.”
“Yeah.” Gavin sticks his bottom lip out. “You can’t say no.”
“Oh brother.” Brynn rolls her eyes so hard, they almost get stuck behind her head. “If she goes out with you will you stop sending these damn flowers?”
“Hey!” I glare at Brynn. I like getting the flowers. After being with a man who never apologized, it’s nice to be on the receiving end of a little groveling.
“What?” She glares back. “It’s not like I don’t already know your answer.”
“I don’t know your answer though,” Gavin cuts in. “You wanna fill me in?”
“Before I answer, where would we go?”
“I have one date planned if you want it to be a surprise or you could choose.” He leans toward me, his eyebrows up. Even with his beard, he looks so young.
“Thank you for offering, but . . .” I pause and watch his body slump over. “I hate planning dates. I’ll take the surprise.”
“Is that a yes?” His head pops back up, and he’s got the dimple-revealing grin plastered to his face.
“Yes, it is,” I say right before he punches the air above his head and picks me up off the floor.
“Yes!” He hugs me tight and kisses me on the cheek before putting me back on the ground. “You won’t regret this.”
I know I won’t.
What he doesn’t know is I was going to call him tonight anyway.
Ha. Sucker.
“Are you free tomorrow?” he asks but starts talking again before I can answer. “What time do you get off?”
“I get off at three.”
“Then I’ll pick you up at five, if that’s okay with you.” He’s bouncing on his toes and still smiling his wide grin. Who needs flowers when their man acts like you hang the moon? Not I.
“Five is perfect.” I try to bite back my smile, but I’m not successful. His excitement is contagious and it’s impossible for me not to catch it.
* * *
• • •
THE ONLY HINT Gavin gave me for our date was to dress in comfortable clothes.
I’m sure there are women who’d be disappointed not to go on some fancy, expensive date with an NFL quarterback, but I’m not one of them. And his knowing that made me feel even more secure in saying yes to tonight.
With Gregor
y still on the loose, I haven’t felt comfortable going back to my apartment, so Gavin gets to pick me up from my parents’. He knocks on the door at five on the button. Punctuality isn’t one of my strong points, but I can appreciate when it is for others. Unlike the first time he met my dad, there are no bro-hugs or nicknames today. By making me mad, interrupting the Mustangs game with flowers, and taking me on a date, Gavin has been removed from my dad’s friend list and placed on his “Guys Who Date My Daughter” list.
Gavin hates it, but I like it much better. Seeing them interact was like watching a dog who only walks on its hind legs. It’s just weird.
“I want you back by nine,” my dad says before we leave.
“Yes, s—” Gavin is in the middle of agreeing when I cut him off.
“He’s messing with you, Gavin.” I turn to my dad, who isn’t doing a very good job hiding his amusement. “Bye, Dad.”
I push Gavin out of the front door and slam it behind me before I hear my mom and dad bust out laughing. Immaturity runs in the family.
“Damn,” Gavin says as he opens my door to his truck. “Is it weird that I already miss your dad liking me?”
I climb into the seat. “Yes. Very weird. But if it makes you feel better, he still likes you. He just likes to mess with you more.”
Dad never messed with Chris. He just shot him dirty looks from wherever he was standing when he came around. This thing he has with Gavin is actually pretty adorable . . . even though I’ll never admit it.
When Gavin starts his truck, he already has the country station playing, and I feel a little breathless. I don’t try to hide my smile when my favorite song comes on and I belt the lyrics out right along with Luke Bryan.
I’m a terrible singer. Chris used to try and turn up the music until it drowned me out or he would get pissed because I “ruined another good fuckin’ song.” Gavin doesn’t do either. Instead, he laughs right along with me, singing just as out of tune and butchering the lyrics. He threads his fingers through mine while he’s driving and brings my hand to his lips during the drive. Each sweet, quick touch of his mouth while he’s laughing causes warmth to radiate through my chest until I worry I might explode.