“I know what they are called. I was telling you that I don’t do that anymore.” I stand at the island, waiting for the microwave to finish my food.
“But you did?” she counters.
“Everyone does,” I tell her, taking the plate out of the microwave and going over to the stool to eat. “When you have all these girls throwing themselves at you as a rookie, you do it.”
“So you are trying to tell me that you only did that when you were a rookie,” she says. “I’m calling bullshit right now.”
“Oh, I’ve had them. I’m saying that everyone does it. But after a while, it’s just not that hot,” I say, chewing chicken. “It’s empty, and well, it sucks.”
“Hold on a second,” she says, and I can see her clearly in my mind as she sits up. “Are you telling me that you don’t like meaningless sex?”
“You are the worst person to have a conversation with.” I laugh while I eat. “You take one thing and spin it around. I like sex,” I tell her. “Just like you like sex.” I wait for her to answer or say something, but she doesn’t. “I am just over the one night, never see you again sex.”
“I live for those,” she says. “I don’t think I ever had sex with feelings before.”
“Oh, come on, Layla. Are you saying you’ve never been in a relationship?” The thought is making my stomach sick.
“I have been, but I don’t know, I think it’s just better without strings,” she says, her voice going low. “Anyway, I would love to dive more into this conversation, Dr. Phil, but I have to drive Grandma back home. She has Aquagym, and she can’t miss it.”
“I’ll call you when I get back, but don’t make any plans for next Sunday,” I tell her, and she hangs up without answering me.
I text her now.
Me: I’m not messing around. You owe me a date next Sunday, and either you can come willingly or I can carry you.
I wait a minute to see if she is going to answer, and when I know she isn’t, I follow up the text.
Me: Actually, come to think of it, I would love to carry you. Bottom line—I win, you lose.
I put the phone down and see the three dots come up and then disappear and then come up again, and finally, I see the text come through.
Layla: Go away. I’m about to block you.
Shaking my head, I finish my food. Once I clean up after myself, I get into the shower and slowly pack my bag for the flight the next day. I’m about to head to bed when I pick up my phone and snap a picture of myself lying on the couch shirtless.
Me: This could have been all yours yesterday.
I press send, wondering if she really is going to block me. Either way, I know where she lives now, so it doesn’t matter.
My phone pings two minutes later, and I see it’s from Layla. I smile so big it hurts my face until I see the picture.
It’s of Nancy naked again on her bed with the caption.
Layla: This could have been all yours yesterday.
Chapter 11
Layla
“Where the hell is my cell phone?” I ask myself as I get off the couch and flip the cushions everywhere. “I swear I just had it.” I put the cushions back and then walk back over to my purse at the front door. I turn on the hall light and look around to make sure that I didn’t miss it, but after emptying half my purse, it’s not in there either.
Going to the kitchen, I pick up the cordless phone and dial the number. My cell rings and then goes to voice mail right away. “Great,” I say, hanging up the phone. Walking into my bedroom, I don’t see it on the white duvet, and the bed is made since Grandma Nancy stayed over. She makes her bed every single day, so since she did it, I didn’t have to. “Shit.” I slap my head and walk over to the kitchen, picking the phone back up and calling Grandma Nancy.
“Hello.” She answers right away.
“Grandma, did I forget my phone there?” I ask, closing my eyes and hoping like fuck she says yes.
“Yes,” she says. “It died right after I sent a picture.”
“Wait, what?” I ask, confused.
“Well, hotcakes sent a picture showing me what was under the suit,” she says, and I run to get my iPad beside my bed. “And he taunted me. So I had to show him what he missed out on. Again,” she says the last word, and I pull up the chat chain on my iPad.
“Grandma, it was just a picture of him on his couch,” I tell her, and then I do what everyone would do. I zoom in on his chest and move it down to see if you can see any bulges in the shorts, and you can’t. “Why are you sending him a nude shot of yourself?”
“He was baiting me,” she says, huffing out. “Why couldn’t he just get naked with me last night?”
“Grandma, we had this talk this morning,” I tell her, reminding her as I shake my head. She rolled out of bed and came walking out of her room as if the night before hadn’t happened. I sat on the stool, waiting for her to remember, and oh, did she remember. She got her cup of coffee and then sat next to me refreshed, she said. A little stiff but no worse for the wear. “Not everyone is okay with nudity.”
“We are born naked, and we die naked.” She repeats what she told me this morning. “I work hard for my body.”
“No, you don’t,” I tell her. “You have amazing genes. It’s what you’ve been telling me my whole life.”
“Okay, fine.” She finally gives in. “I was born with an amazing body, and I shouldn’t keep it to myself. It’s a gift, and I have to share it with the world.” I close my eyes. “Besides, I was just giving him a peek at what you are going to look like in the future.”
“Grandma, who says I’m going to be with him in the future?” I gasp. “I’m never getting married.”
“You’re still young, so you might change your mind,” she says, and I hear covers rustling. “And if you don’t, well, at least he knows what he’s going to get if he wants to tap that at seventy.”
I laugh. “Thank you for showing him all that.” I close my eyes. “I’ll pick my phone up tomorrow. Do not send anymore nudes.”
“I promise I won’t,” she says. “Unless he asks me for them.” I want to say something, but she laughs. “You have to give the people what they want.”
“Okay, fair,” I say, taking a deep breath. “If he messages you for more, then by all means, give him what he wants.”
“Good night, dear,” she says and disconnects.
I take my iPad and send Miller a message.
Me: Sorry, I forgot my phone at my grandmother’s.
I wonder now if he will even message me back. I mean, let’s be real, I’ve put him through a traumatic event over the past two days. When we were talking on the phone, I almost forgot why I hated him. He made me smile, and talking to him was refreshing. He wasn’t cocky. He was just a guy talking to me. Actually, he really threw me off when he spoke about meaningless sex and how he was over it. I mean, I know he’s no virgin, but it’s good to know he isn’t banging a different chick every night.
I don’t know why I’m sitting on my bed, waiting for him to text me back. I don’t know why I even care that my grandmother sent him a nude. He started it by sending a picture of himself on the couch, smiling. Just last year, he tried to send me a dick pic, and it went to all his contacts. I look down, and the iPad bings.
Miller: Two dates. You owe me two dates. One for every time I saw your grandmother naked. Actually, I might ask her to send me one daily.
I answer him right away.
Me: EWWW, you are a pervert.
Miller: Only for you, gorgeous.
I take a deep breath, and my hands move without me even knowing what is going on.
Me: Fine, you earned it. I will go out with you. One date. That is it.
I put the iPad down and ignore the ping that comes after while I get up to take a shower. What did I just do? I ask myself once the water is raining down over me. Like what in the ever fuck did you just do, and why? This is a horrible idea, completely horrible. It’s going to make things muddy. Afte
r I finish in the shower, I towel off and slide into bed. I look at my hands and then the iPad and then my hands again. “Don’t do it,” I tell myself, but my head is not really listening to me these days, so I press the middle button and see the text from him on the top line.
Miller: Gorgeous, that’s all I need to show you how much you actually like me.
Don’t answer him. Don’t answer him. Don’t. Answer. Him.
Me: Or it’ll push me over the edge, and I never talk to you.
I look at it and think about it and then erase it, shaking my hands out. “What the hell, Layla?”
Me: Hate like it’s still an emotion.
After pressing send, I bring the iPad up and hit my head with it. “Stop while you’re ahead.” Placing the iPad on the table and grabbing the remote, I turn on the television. I flip through the channels but then finally give up and grab the iPad. I don’t touch my texts even though I want to. No, I open Instagram instead and click the stories on the top and watch swiping right most of the time until I get to Candace, who’s with Ari in matching shirts.
I cave then and type his name in, and his Instagram pops up first with the blue checkmark beside it. Obviously, it’s public, and the first picture is of him eating, and the caption makes me smile.
When she says eat chicken over steak, you eat the chicken.
I shake my head and go down the rabbit hole, looking at all his posts. I smile through most of them, and then I see one of him with a weird face, and the caption is:
When you want to send your woman a picture and all your contacts get it.
Looking at the date, I see it matches the date of his Snapchat debacle, and I wonder who his woman was. The pit of my stomach burns. I turn off the iPad and put it on my side table, then turn off the television. “You need to get your head out of your ass,” I tell myself as I close my eyes, but all I do that night is dream of Miller and his cocky fucking smirk.
When I wake up the next morning, I’m crabby and bitchy, and then I remember why I hate him. I hate him because he’s irritating and cocky. Grabbing my coffee, I walk back to my bed to get my iPad to check my email. Opening it up, I see there is a text from the man in question.
Miller: Morning, gorgeous. Do you know what is happening in seven days?
Me: Zombie apocalypse?
Miller: Nope, better.
Me: Don’t you have anything other to do?
Miller: I see you are a ray of sunshine when you wake up in the morning. I’ll remember that for Monday.
Me: You are just full of yourself this morning.
Miller: Not just this morning, all the time. Have a great day, gorgeous.
Me: Stop calling me that.
I turn off my iPad and walk back to my bedroom, getting dressed and making my way over to Grandma’s house. He doesn’t send me a text for the rest of the day, but every morning, I wake up to an annoying good morning text with a countdown to our date.
I don’t answer him for the whole week. I go about my day, and the only time I talk about him is when I’m on the air. The team road trip hasn’t been too bad. They have won two and lost one, which is good, considering who they were facing.
The home games are even better, and I only admit it on the air, but Miller is having a great start to the season. His average is a plus six, and he’s scored at least one goal in the past five games.
I try not to think about Miller when I open my eyes on Sunday, but I have no choice since he’s already sent a text this morning.
Miller: It’s today, gorgeous. I can’t wait to see you. I’ll pick you up at three.
Me: Are we senior citizens? Who eats at three p.m.?
He doesn’t bother answering me, and at noon, I give up and call him. He sounds out of breath when he answers, and I wonder what he was doing. Obviously, I don’t care, so I’m not even going to bother asking him. “Are you seriously picking me up at three?”
“Yeah,” he says, and then I hear beeping. “Be ready or not. I can sit on your bed and watch you get ready.”
“In your dreams.” It’s the only comeback I can think of because now my hands are getting clammy, and I’m suddenly nervous as fuck for this date or whatever it is. I’m going to call it a get-together.
“Oh, gorgeous, you do not want to know what you do to me in my dreams.” He laughs.
“You dreaming of your death?” I roll my eyes. I’m so tempted to ask him exactly what I do in his dreams, but I’m not going to go there.
“Be ready at three,” he says, laughing, and hangs up on me. I didn’t even ask him what I should wear or where we are going.
I text him now.
Me: What should I wear?
I press send, and I know even before he answers that I should have rephrased it.
Miller: Naked with a smile.
A shiver courses down my spine when he says that, and I’m annoyed he makes me feel all giddy. Tossing the phone down, I think about it as I walk over to the closet. What should I wear that doesn’t scream date? He’s been chasing me nonstop since day one, but after I saw him with the girl, he just rubs me the wrong way. I’ll never admit it to anyone, but every time he’s around, my whole body wakes up. I make excuses because I’m not ready to admit he intrigues me. I am drawn to him, and I fight it every second of the way.
Grabbing a pair of white jeans, I slip them on and then choose a peach satin spaghetti strap blouse to go with it. Looking at myself in the mirror, I decide this is casual yet dressy with a pair of high heel gold wedges. Even though I take the time to curl my hair, I’ll never admit that I spend way too much time on myself.
As soon as the doorbell rings, I grab my phone and take a deep breath. “Here goes nothing.”
I walk to the door and open it to find him standing there in blue jeans and a navy blue T-shirt that molds to his body. His hands are tucked in his jean pockets, and his aviator glasses keep me from seeing his eyes. The minute he sees me, his face splits into a huge smile, making me smile. “What, no flowers?” I joke. He comes in, shocking me by putting his hand around my waist, and I wait for him to kiss my lips, but instead, he kisses my cheek.
“God, I missed you, gorgeous,” he says and then looks at me. “You ready to go?”
“I mean, am I dressed okay?” I ask. Suddenly, I’m nervous about this date and worried I’m not dressed appropriately.
“You look gorgeous, no matter what you wear,” he says, grabbing my hand and leading me out to his car. He opens the car door for me, and I get in and watch him walk around the front of the car. When he gets in and starts the car, he looks over at me, and his smile is still all over his face.
“I can’t believe this is actually happening,” he says as he backs out of my driveway.
“So are you going to tell me where you’re taking me?” I look at him. “It’s not like I can jump out of a moving car.”
“I mean, if you say it like that,” he says, laughing, “I’m actually taking you back to my house, and I’m going to cook for you.” My stomach sinks because one, he’s so fucking cute, and then two, he is actually going out of his way to cook for me.
“I can still jump out?” I look over at him and see his smirk, and for the first time in a long time, I laugh wholeheartedly.
Chapter 12
Miller
As I gaze at her, I swear I wouldn’t be able to frown, even if I wanted to. It’s so good to finally see her. For the past week while I’ve been traveling, I sent her a text each day, even if she didn’t respond. I knew she got them because they showed as read. “I’m going to get on the highway now.” Her hands rest in her lap, and I wonder if she would hold my hand or try to break my fingers if I held out my hand.
“I can still jump out,” she says, trying to hide her smile. When she opened the door, and I saw her, she took my breath away. She is always stunning, but knowing that she spent time to get dressed to go out with me did something. “If I tuck and roll, I might be okay.” I reach out, not even caring, and grab her hand. “
You can’t drive a car and yank me back,” she says, but she doesn’t move her hand either. “How was your week?”
“Good,” I say. “I don’t want to jinx it, but …” I loosen my hold on her hand, expecting her to let go, but she doesn’t.
“You guys are meshing well together,” she adds in. “I mean, there are still a couple of things even you can work on.” I laugh and look over at her. “What, you didn’t think I would not tell you what you did wrong?”
“I know how much fun you have with it.” I laugh. “So tell me.”
“Well, number one, you need to hustle back a little faster,” she says, and I know exactly what moment she is talking about. Manning lost the puck in the neutral zone, and by the time I looked back, it was a three on one. “Also, you get a little heated on the ice.”
I laugh now. “Is that so?” I shake my head, and she shrugs.
“But all in all, it was a solid performance by you and the team. Manning, though …” She winks at me. “That man is a beast.”
“He’s married.” My voice comes out harshly, and she raises her eyebrows at me. “I mean, maybe not happily, but still.”
“Relax there, hotcakes. I was talking about him on the ice. Nothing more.” She drops my hand and holds her hands up in surrender. “Besides, he’s not really my type.”
“Really?” I say. Looking over at her, I want to ask her what her type is. But I have to wait because I pull up to my gate and need to enter the code.
“Oh, look at you. So fancy,” she says, laughing. “Is this to keep the harem away?”
“Something like that.” Driving in, I park the car, then turn to her. “Welcome to my home.”
“I would say thank you for having me.” She leans over to open the door. “But you sort of forced me here.”
I shrug, giving zero fucks about how she got here. I’m just fucking happy she’s here. “Bottom line is you’re here. So let’s go with you being here.”
“It’s almost like a smoke mirror,” she says as she gets out of the car. I shake my head and open my door, meeting her in front of the car. “This is nice,” she says, and I nod my head. “Very you.”
Only One Chance Page 7
