by Alexa Martin
I’m starting to think I should’ve stayed home.
But then, I get the most brilliant—or the worst ever—idea.
When Courtney’s voice comes over the speakers as she welcomes everyone to the fashion show, I run to the back of the line where the single players are paired together and find Gavin.
I don’t have to look hard—he’s so gorgeous, I swear a little angel follows him around, shining a light over his head. And also, he’s super tall and easy to spot.
“Gavin!” I poke his arm, startling him out of the conversation he’s having with TK. “Will you walk with me? I was supposed to walk with Chris, but you know what happened there. Then I thought I wouldn’t have to walk at all. But because I’m in the program and there’s music timing or some shit, I do have to walk, and Courtney hates me, and I’m in this.” I motion to the skintight atrocity I got stuck in—literally. I might never be able to get it off. “And she has me alone and—”
“Marlee,” Gavin cuts me off. “I’d love to.”
“Damn, Marlee,” TK says. “How’re you gonna ask this scrub when I’m right here?”
“Sorry, TK, but you’re too pretty to walk down the runway with. You’ll upstage me.” I wink.
“Oh shit, girl. You’re right. This ugly motherfucker was definitely the better choice.” He laughs as he dodges a punch from Gavin.
“Where are you in line?” Gavin asks.
“Where do you think?”
His eyebrows go up and his head shoots back. “She wouldn’t.”
“She would, and she did.” I point down the line to the empty spot behind Chris and Ava.
“Damn. That’s cold.” He reaches for my hand and intertwines our fingers. “Well, let’s show everyone how it’s done.”
When we get back to my spot, Courtney is finishing up talking about all of the work she put into the event and thanking the Lady Mustangs for assisting her. She touches on the charities benefiting from this event for a brief moment and finishes by having all of the designers and donors who made this night possible stand up and take a bow.
Everyone around me is buzzing with anticipation, thrilled with the prospect of having all eyes on them, even if only for a short time. The guys are laughing and having fun while the women are practicing their model walks in the open space. And me? Well, I’m just hoping I don’t throw up.
Oblivious that I’ve found a partner, Chris turns around, his mouth already open, preparing to, at least I assume, say something to get under my skin. He’s known me forever. We might not be dating, but I doubt he forgot about my fear of being in front of large crowds.
But when he sees Gavin next to me, his eyes go wide, and the words die on his lips.
“Make sure you stop and watch us when you get off the stage, Alexander,” Gavin says.
Chris doesn’t respond. Instead, he pulls a play out of Ava’s playbook and gives me a dirty look instead of Gavin.
Ugh. What did I ever see in him?
The curtains open, and Courtney comes flying through, her blonde hair bouncing, eyes wide as she directs people to start walking. The line is creeping forward, and every inch causes my stomach to turn a little more. When I feel the breeze from the curtain as the couple in front of Chris and Ava walk through it, I contemplate running. My fear of crowds is no joke. The first time I had to present in a college lecture room, I ran out of the room to throw up . . . I had to repeat that class. But lucky for me, I have something—or someone—I didn’t have in my freshman public speaking course.
Gavin squeezes my hand and whispers in my ear. “Relax. You look gorgeous.”
I have too many knots in my stomach to respond, but I look up to him and give him the best smile I can manage.
Chris and Ava step through the curtain in front of us, and I try to focus on the feel of my hand in Gavin’s instead of the cheering crowd and flashing lights.
I’m not successful.
“Ready, Marlee?” Courtney asks as she’s peeking through the curtains watching Chris and Ava go.
“We are,” Gavin says.
Thank god, because I still can’t talk.
His deep voice stole her attention, and she spins around.
“Gavin! No! You’re supposed to go at the end, and she’s supposed to be alone!”
I can’t tell if she’s more pissed I’m not facing public humiliation alone or that he’s messing up her order.
But either way, she’s pissed, and it’s just the distraction I need before Gavin shrugs and pulls me onto the runway with him.
Before I know what’s happening, the bright lights hit me. The loud music slightly masks the gasps and growls the women make when they see me with Gavin. We walk side by side until we reach the stairs and Gavin motions for me to go in front of him. Once we reach the bottom, we circle around to the back so we can return the clothes to the designers we borrowed them from. After we’re back in the clothes we came in, we’re guided to the front of the stage where a group of empty seats is waiting for us to watch the fashion show with the real models.
Gavin is waiting for me as we head for the seats in a single file line. The cherry on top of this delicious (rotten) evening is after Gavin and I sit down, Chris plops down into the seat next to me. Gavin must sense my urge to run and before I can go anywhere, my small hand is wrapped up in his large one again.
“Hey.” He leans in close. “Are you good? We can go somewhere else if you want.”
Le sigh. He’s so dreamy.
“I’m fine.” I don’t know if it’s his proximity or the shots I took earlier, but I forget everything—and everyone—else. I sit next to him, watching the fashion and feeling giddy, regardless of all of the death glares being sent my way.
That is . . . until Chris makes it impossible to ignore. His long arm reaches in front of me, pushing my back flush against my chair, and grabs Gavin’s shoulder. “What the fuck is your problem, Pope?”
The Gavin who was just with me, laughing and having fun, is no longer next to me. His warm eyes have gone cold, and the comfortable grip he had on my hand now feels like a vise. “You want to get your hand off me and your arm out of Marlee’s face?”
“No. I don’t. I want to know why the fuck you’re touching my girl, inserting yourself into matters that don’t concern you.”
His girl? Is he insane?
“She’s not your girl, Alexander. First, because she got rid of your sorry ass and second, because she’s not property, you lowlife piece of shit.” Glad to know at least Gavin and I are on the same page.
“Oh. I’m the fuckin’ lowlife?” Of course he only heard the part about him. “You walk into the locker room like you’re god’s gift, changing plays, cutting my routes. Then I invite you into my fucking home and you make a move on my old lady. It doesn’t get lower than that.”
“I’m only twenty-seven. I don’t think that qualifies me for an AARP membership.” I speak up even though it’s clear I’m only being talked about, not talked to.
I say it to Chris since he’s the one who said it, but I’m looking at Gavin when I do. And when he turns to me, eyes soft and his lips curving up, my insides turn to jelly.
“Goddamn, Marlee. Can’t you ever shut the fuck up?” Chris’s arm is back in my face, and his voice has raised high enough to draw the attention of a few people around us. “You want me to notice you so bad, you’d act like a fuckin’ slut with my teammate you already know I’m having problems with? Fine. Let’s talk.”
Say what now? #BetterCallBeckyWiththeRedHair
“I’m acting like a slut. For what? Sitting here?” I can’t believe what’s happening. I look to Gavin to see if he’s witnessing this too, or if I’m in a tequila-induced hallucination. But when the same cold grip that grabbed me earlier strikes again, I know this is just the latest chapter in Marlee’s Great Misadventure.
I’m abo
ut to tell him where he can shove his hand, but Gavin beats me to the punch.
Literally.
One second Chris is sitting next to me, grabbing my arm, and the next I’m free, and he’s standing several feet away from me, nose to nose with Gavin.
“Do. Not. Touch. Her.” Gavin whispers so low, it’s a miracle I can hear him over the music.
“You Captain Save-A-Ho now, Pope?” Chris was never too smart, and he’s an idiot when it comes to reading people. Like right now? If I were him, I’d shut up because Gavin looks about ready to explode. But he keeps going. “She’s not worth the effort.”
I mean, come on now. I’m right here! Is this stomp on Marlee night? Because I know I didn’t include that in any of the promotions I designed.
“You should stop talking.” Gavin speaks for everyone watching, which, unfortunately for me, is everyone in the player section.
Chris doesn’t listen.
“She’s a boring fuck. I only kept her around for appearances, but if you really want a go at her, we can compare notes later.”
First? Rude.
Second? Screw you, Alexander.
I get he’s having some weird testosterone showdown in front of the rest of their gang, but I can’t believe Chris would say something so vulgar. Did all of these years mean so little to him he doesn’t care about me at all? He cheated on me. I did nothing to deserve to be on the receiving end of his vile behavior.
All of the anger I’ve been suppressing these past two weeks makes a sudden reappearance. I shoot to my feet, fully intending to give Chris a piece of my mind. But before I reach him, Gavin’s fist lands square into Chris’s nose with a sickening crunch. Chris, not one to stay sober at an event like this and always one for dramatics, falls to the ground upon impact and holds his nose as blood leaks from the sides of his hands. He rolls around on the floor, moaning so loud I wouldn’t be surprised if the valet attendant could hear him.
Gavin, on the other hand, is calm as ever as he pulls his sleeves and turns to find me in the crowd. When he spots me, he walks toward me until he’s few feet in front of me. He looks a little nervous, which in turn makes me really nervous.
“Did you come with Dre and Naomi?”
I was expecting something between a friendly farewell and stay the hell away from me, but not that. “Umm . . . Uber?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
How he’s so proper in the middle of pure chaos is throwing me off. I want to answer him, but I can’t stop looking behind him at Chris’s hunched figure on the floor, or the accusatory eyes of just about every woman watching.
“Telling,” I manage to respond.
“Okay.” He nods. “I don’t know if you want to stay and leave with them later, but I’m heading out now. I can give you a ride or sit with you until your Uber driver gets here.”
“I can Uber it. I live downtown, I’d hate for you to have to drive out of your way.” I was planning on leaving with Dre and Naomi, but after the scene that just played out, I’d rather leave sooner than later.
“I live downtown too. Why don’t you ride with me so I’ll know you made it home okay?”
“You do? I figured you lived in Parker with all of—”Courtney cuts me off, grabbing my shoulder and spinning me around to face her. Because my encounter with Chris wasn’t painful enough.
“Are you happy, Marlee? We’re going to lose sponsors and money because you couldn’t just stay at home and mind your own business.” She stops and moves her narrowed eyes toward Gavin. “And I’m so disappointed in you, Gavin. I don’t expect much from her, but you should know better. I can’t believe Coach Jacobs replaced Kevin with someone who would fight a teammate. Kevin would never behave the way you have tonight.”
“You’re right,” Gavin says. Courtney’s eyes widen with surprise—her forehead still doesn’t move—and it’s clear to anyone around us she approached us looking for another fight. “Kevin would never stick up for a woman who’s being harassed. Which is the reason I was brought in. Your husband lacks the integrity and leadership it takes to have a winning team.” He turns his back on her and completely blocks her from my vision. “So are you riding with me?” he asks, like Courtney never happened.
“Dear god. I need wine.” I ignore his question. I clearly do not share his ability to ignore everything going on around us.
“Is that a yes?” he asks.
I nod, watching the smile cross his face before he reaches for my hand and guides me to the bar.
“White or red?” he asks me when the bartender approaches us.
“With alcohol.” Because after the way this night has played out, I have no right to be picky.
“Can she have a bottle of your most popular wine, please?” Gavin asks the bartender, who happily agrees. Both men are looking at me with huge grins on their faces, and the bartender is laughing! Apparently he was one of the unlucky few who didn’t see what just happened. If he had, he’d be looking much more sympathetic and handing me a bottle of Patron.
He’s walking away when I remember one very important detail and yell after him, “Make sure it’s a twist lid!”
“A twist lid bottle of wine? Really?” Gavin says beside me.
“Yes, really. Do you have a corkscrew in your truck?”
He’s full on laughing at me when Mr. Bartender comes back with a bottle in his hand, its metal lid gleaming under the lights.
“It’s not our most popular, but it’s the only one I could find that didn’t have a cork.”
“Do I seem like my standards are sky-high right now? This is perfect.” I start looking through my clutch trying to find my card, because I’m guessing unopened bottles of wine aren’t covered by the open bar. “How much?”
“It’s covered,” he says at the same moment I pull out my card. I look to the bartender and the smile on his face has grown tenfold, something I understand when I see the hundred-dollar bill in front of him.
“You really didn’t need to do that, I can pay.” Which might be a lie. I stretched my budget to the max at the mall today, and there’s a good chance my card might be declined.
“I know, but I wanted to.” His fingers find their way between mine again, and he gives my hand a comforting squeeze. “Grab your wine, boozer. Let’s go.”
I go.
But not because he said so. Because with an ass like his? I can’t imagine there’s any place I wouldn’t follow him.
#HisAssMadeMeDoIt
Thirteen
“You’re really nice,” I slur. We’re waiting for the valet to bring Gavin’s truck around, and it feels like the fresh Colorado air has increased my alcohol level from drunk to trashed . . . and I still haven’t cracked open my wine.
“You’re pretty nice too.” He’s watching me closely, and I’m trying to watch him closely. His eyes are crinkled with amusement; mine are struggling to focus.
“I really wish you were an investment banker.”
Oh no. The loose lips part of the night has arrived.
“Besides my mom, you’re probably the only person in the world who does.”
“Because everyone else would miss their superstar quarterback in his super-hot pants throwing the ball every Sunday?” Sober me hates drunk me so hard right now.
“Because I’m terrible with numbers. I had three different tutors trying to get me to pass my math courses in college. And I’m not sure most of the fans focus on my pants, but I’m glad you do.” His body is shaking with laughter as he nudges me with his shoulder.
Now, any other time in my life this would be fine. But at this moment? Not so much. You know that feeling when you’re standing on a bus or train and it starts moving before you are prepared? The sensation of the ground being pulled from under your feet while you’re left scrambling to find anything to grab on to before your ass meets the floor in the m
ost embarrassing way? Well, that’s me right now. After all of my work to get all dolled up and fancy, I’m going to end my night with my ass on the pavement.
Nope.
I’m not ripping this dress and only wearing it once.
I spin and dance like an ungraceful ballerina back to my feet. I’m a little dizzy and still wobbling a bit when Gavin’s hands reach for my waist to help stabilize me.
“Sorry about that. You okay?” He’s looking down at me, watching me with warm eyes and a wide, genuine smile.
“Uh-huh,” is my well-thought-out response.
“You sure?” he asks, still smiling.
“Positive.” How could I not be? I’m standing across from Gavin while he’s resting his hands on my waist and revealing his dimple, right?
“Good.” He glances to the street. “Where’s this kiss?”
Wow! I wasn’t prepared for that! And I have no idea why he’s asking, but who am I to deny him?
As much as possible in my heels, I roll onto my toes, trying my hardest to get closer to him—or more specifically, his lips. When I can’t get all the way there, I bring my hands to the back of his head, feeling the softness of his hair beneath my fingers, and pull his head to mine.
The kiss starts out gentle . . . reluctant even. I’m not usually the forward one, but he asked for a kiss, so a kiss I’ll give him. When I part my mouth and I suck at his bottom lip, the hesitation he was showing disappears. He nips at my lips and then takes full advantage of my mouth opening with the gasp I let out. Our tentative tongues join in this wild, wonderful dance. Slowly, the kiss becomes more urgent, more demanding. Our tongues are tasting. The hands that were satisfied only with touching are now grabbing and pulling at the other. It consumes me. I forget we’re standing on the sidewalk outside of a building with my ex inside until the gentle clearing of a throat snaps me back to reality.
