Overnight, I’ve become the Weenonator. Yeah, that’s right. The Terminator of Weeno. Apparently, my reaction to the Weeno Award has become a symbol for the rejection of “toxic masculinity” on “insightful” journalistic websites such as MenAreFartBags.com, IHateAnythingWithaDick.net and DieMen!Die.org.
I can’t even…
I don’t know what’s worse; the fact that Mitch did that to me, when I was starting to have feelings for him, or that the poor Weeno company is getting hammered over my rejection of their man-panty crown. Either way, it’s a disaster and I need to get back to work.
Unfortunately, Sam has been avoiding me. After texting him for the eighth time in three days, I finally call him, as Georgie so delicately hinted I should do—Pick up your phone and call, Abi! Or I swear I’ll divorce you both!
P.S. I know I’m not married to Sam yet, but I will take action if the two of you don’t talk.
“Hey, Abi, how are you?” Sam answers his phone sounding like a doctor who’s about to deliver very bad news.
“Am I fired?”
“How did you know?” he replies.
“It’s a little obvious, don’t you think?”
“Listen, Abi. I think you’re incredible. In fact, the best bodyguard I’ve ever seen, but—”
“But ‘you’re fired’? Seriously, Sam?”
“No. And yes.”
I hang my head. “Why? What did I do?”
“This is not your calling. I want it to be. You’d be a huge asset to my company. But this isn’t you.”
“Why would you say that when I kept your biggest client alive? Okay, it was less than a week, but that was a tough few days! Like, dog-year days.”
“Your skills aren’t in question, Abi. You could do this job with your arms tied behind your back. But this isn’t what you really want, is it?”
“Well…”
“It’s okay to say the truth.”
“I wanted it for now. Doesn’t that count?”
“Abi!” Georgie comes on the phone. “Here’s the sitch, ’kay? I’m giving you the money to finish school. Your mom has already decided she’s selling the house and will use the money for a start-up and to pay her legal bills.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not taking your money, Georgie.”
“Uh. Ya. You totally are.”
“No. I’m not.” She can’t see me, but I stomp a foot anyway.
“Yes, you are, and if you don’t—”
“Abi,” Sam is now back on, “Georgie considers you a sister, and that means so do I. So while we might not be the family you were born with, we are the family you’ve chosen. So, I beg you—something I never do because it offends my male senses—to take the money and let us all get a good night’s sleep.”
Ugh…I don’t want to. I can’t. I’m not about handouts. “Sam, Georgie, I appreciate the gesture, but—”
“It’s not a gift, Abi,” Sam cuts in. “You earned it. As part of the SMS family and the extraordinary service you’ve given to our gold-star client, I am giving you a bonus of fifty thousand dollars. Do what you like with it, but the money is already in your account.”
I’m defeated. And while my pride protests, my heart doesn’t. It means a lot to me that Sam and Georgie would help me like this. “Thank you, guys. I really mean it.”
“We love you, Abi. And we just hope you’ll remember that when we ask for free, unlimited babysitting in about seven months.”
“What!”
Georgie giggles. “Surprise, Auntie Abi!”
“What? Ohmygod. Congratulations!” The wedding is set for June, so Georgie is going to need a different dress. The one she picked out had a tight corseted waist.
“I know. I’m a soiled, indecent woman. But man, is Sam’s baby hammer powerful. He just pounded that sperm right in there.”
I cringe. “And…we’ll be ending the conversation right here. Congratulations. Thank you for firing me, Sam. I mean it. We’ll talk soon.”
“Oh. Don’t hang up!” Georgie yells as I pull the phone from my ear. “We need to talk about Mi—”
“I love you! Buh-bye.” I end the call quickly. The last thing in the world I want is to talk about Mitch. For my own sanity, I’m done with him. And shame on me for letting the fantasy in my head get so big that it took on a life of its own.
My phone chirps, and I answer, “Georgie, I’m serious. I don’t want to talk about—”
“This isn’t Georgie. It’s Gisselle Walters.”
The reporter woman? “How’d you get this number?”
“I have my ways.”
“Okay. Well, I have things to do, so—”
“How do you feel about the news that Kristoff Bones has escaped?”
“Sorry? When did this happen?”
“The news just hit a few hours ago. He took out three guards while in transit to another jail.”
Fuck. “But they’ll catch him before he goes anywhere, right?”
“Who knows. The man is the master of disguise, a world-class hit man.”
“You think he’s coming here to Houston?”
“If there’s money in it.”
“Is there?” Because I remember Georgie mentioning that was over. The Kemmlers wouldn’t dare go after Mitch now.
“Can I get a quote? I need it for my story.”
“Yes. Goodbye—you can quote me on that.”
I quickly dial back Georgie.
“Hello?”
“Why didn’t you tell me that crazy Kristoff broke free?” I bark.
“I tried. Remember? You hung up.”
“What happens next?” My heart starts to pound.
“That’s what I was trying to tell you. Sam wanted to reassure you that this Kristoff guy is halfway around the planet. They’ll catch him before he gets anywhere near Mitch, but as an extra safety precaution, Sam found a new owl, so you have nothing to worry about. Mitch will be kept safe.”
“Oh, well…it’s not like I care. I just wanted to be sure you knew about it.”
“Uh-huh. Sure…”
“So, um…who’s the new owl?” I don’t even know why I’m asking. It’s not like I’m jealous or anything.
“I don’t know. Just some woman. Sam says she’s got solid military training and blends right into the detail.”
I am not jealous. He is not my man to protect. He is not mine at all. “Great. Sounds great.”
“Hey, Abi?”
“Yeah?”
“I know it’s over between you and Mitch—”
“Never even started,” I correct.
“Okay. If you say so. But he has some big national time trial thing this afternoon at the university. I’m going, if you wanted to come and keep me company?”
I suddenly hear retching on the other end of the phone.
“G-cow? Are you okay?”
She hacks and then comes back on. “Oh wow. That was nasty.”
“You have morning sickness?” I ask.
“Morning? I should be so lucky. I’m pretty much talking to the monster all day long. Ralfff…yack.”
Poor thing. I can’t imagine being sick the entire day. “Where’s Sam?”
“He just left for work. But don’t worry. I’m fine. A few crackers and some—oh, hold on! I need to blow a few more chunks.” She heaves in the background. “And…that was part of my stomach.”
“You should stay home and rest. Not go to some swim meet.”
“I’m not staying cooped up for the next seven months—or however long this lasts. No way. Because once my little nipple-nibbler shows up, my days of freedom are toast. But don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” She sighs. “All alone. With my barf bag. Sitting in the bleachers while Sam guards Mitch.”
“A, you’re the worst.” She knows exactly how to push my protective buttons. “B, why don’t you just come here? We can watch movies and eat popcorn—”
More heaving. “Don’t say that word, Abi. Not if you want to live.”
“
You weren’t this sick in Miami.”
“My mom says it’s the Walton curse. Starting in the second month, we get extreme vomiting or monster hemorrhoids. Trust me, I’ll take vomiting over elephantiasis of the butthole any day. My pants would fit all weird.”
Eeesh.
“Anyway, the only thing that seems to help is fresh air,” she adds, “but I totally understand if you don’t want to come because one of the swimmers just happens to be some guy you don’t even care about.”
Damn her. “I hate you.”
“See you there at two?”
“Yep.” I sigh. “But I’m closing my eyes when he swims, and I am not going to speak to him. Got it? Because if you so much as make me try, I will spread evil rumors about you. That reporter lady, Gisselle Whatsherface, is dying for an exclusive, and I think I can come up with one: Georgie Walton has secret love child with Weeno walrus.”
“That actually has a nice ring to it.” She snickers.
“Shut up.”
“See you there. I gotta go. The porcelain god demands many sacrifices in his honor, and I must obey.”
We end the call, and I just want to scream. I’m not stupid. I know why Georgie is doing this. She hopes Mitch and I might work it out because, let’s face it, she fan girls over him. But as much as I love her, I can’t give her what she wants. Mitch doesn’t care about me or anything but himself and swimming. Proof being that whole fashion shit-show and the fact that he’s made zero effort to make amends—even as friends—for his incredibly insensitive gesture.
Of course, I have no one to blame but myself. It was stupid of me to build up our connection into this immature romantic fantasy.
Maybe after today, Georgie will see I’m right. She’ll see that Mitch loves his fame and career more than any human being. He won’t even notice I’m there.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Mitch
Fuck. She brought Abi? And they’re sitting in the front row? Why the bloody hell would she do that? I’ve already told Sam, which is the same as telling Georgie since those two are thick as thieves, that I don’t want to see her. Yes, I could have handled things differently when showing my appreciation for all that she’s done. Yes, I find her incredibly attractive and think about her every minute of the goddamned day. But it will pass. It has to. I can’t give her what she deserves, and if I tried, I’d only end up breaking her heart. I love only one woman and she’s fifty by twenty-five meters.
I do my stretches at the far end of the pool, where only athletes, coaches, and the event staff are allowed. It’s a cold day here in Houston, definitely not what I’m used to coming from the southern hemisphere, where the temperatures are warmer in February, but the pool is heated, and if I want to put Texas U firmly on the map, then I need a national title under my belt. After the 2020 Olympics, and winning four more medals, my plan is to make this university a world-class training facility, which I will lead. That’s my goal. It’s why I took Texas U’s offer to train here even though I’m still swimming for Australia in Tokyo.
I keep my back to the photographers positioned around the sides of the pool and the spectators at the far end. Sam and his team of three lurk in the background, including my new Abi—a woman old enough to be my granny. In fact, that’s exactly what she’s posing as. An idea Sam got from the fundraiser. Guillotine granny had flown under everyone’s radar and likely wouldn’t have been caught if it hadn’t been for Abi’s keen owl eyes.
Abi. Don’t think about her. Don’t think about…
“Swimmers to your mark,” the announcer calls.
I take my position on the number ten diving block and put on my goggles. My mind automatically does what it’s been trained to do. Thousands of miles. Hundreds of thousands of hours. I don’t need to wish for a victory, I just need to have confidence that it’s there. I’ve done the work. My body knows what to do.
Suddenly, the world around me falls away. I see the turquoise blue water, the lanes, and the finish line. I see myself three body lengths ahead as I touch that wall. There is no doubt in my mind. There is only me. Winning. There is only me. Winning. There is only—
I glance up across the pool and my focus is shattered. Abi. She’s watching me with a huge frown.
“Beep!”
Oh shit! Startled by the sound, I dive into the water, but fuck me, I’m already a second behind. Focus. Focus. Focus. Why the hell were you thinking about her? Dammit, I’m still thinking about her! Stop it.
One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. Breathe. One. Two. I try to find my rhythm, but my mind is playing a game of tug-o-war. The sheer act of trying not to think about Abi is only making me think about her more.
For the first time in my life, I am going to lose a race. Maybe I deserve it.
I push my head to the side and take a breath. It’s only a split-second view, but I realize I’ve been psyching myself out. There’s no one beside me, and I have a full view of the other lanes. I’m sure as hell not behind anyone. Even on my worst day, I’m faster than most. If I were in jeopardy of losing, the other swimmer would be in my line of sight.
I find my stride and effortlessly glide through the water. I’m at one with it. It’s as natural as a dolphin slipping through the waves.
That’s it, mate, I tell myself. Just do what you were born to do.
The wall is eight strokes away. Knowing I’ll have to do my turn, I pull hard and take a breath. But when I look to the spot where my eyes naturally gravitate, I see something that makes me stop.
Abi
Wow. Okay. I now get why Mitch is a world champion. He got off to a bumpy start, which I suspect isn’t his usual routine, but within a few seconds, he’s pulled ahead by at least five feet. I can’t explain it, but watching him move is like watching a bird fly. He’s effortless and graceful.
Not that this changes anything about the way I feel about him.
“Go, Mitch! Woo-hoo!” Georgie yells from our seats in the front row. And what d’ ya know. She’s been gobbling down nuts, fruit, and other snacks since we arrived.
I’ve been bamboozled. It almost makes me sad because it shows how desperately she wants me to find love. As much as I want it, too, I have to accept that I won’t find it with Mitch. Doesn’t matter that I felt this incredible connection with him that I haven’t felt with any other man. Doesn’t matter that being around him makes my heart beat faster or my lips tingle. Yes. Both sets. Doesn’t matter how much his smile makes me want to spend the rest of my life discovering ways to make him do it as much as possible. I have to let him go.
The seconds fly, and just when Mitch is about to do his turn, he halts.
Huh? Why is he stopping? The other swimmers do that flip and twist thing and head in the opposite direction while Mitch is suddenly out of the pool, coming straight for me. The crowd around us in the front row of the bleachers is frozen, wondering what the hell is going on. It all happens so fast—Mitch pulling back his fist, that large bicep flexing, the entire arm flying toward my face. I want to duck. I know I should, but my brain is at a stalemate. Why is he about to punch me? Does not compute. Does not compute!
His powerful fist flies through the air, whizzing past my ear, and I hear a smack! Like someone punching a side of beef. A loud grunt is followed by screams and gasps.
I turn my head and the guy behind me has a vacant look in his eyes. I can almost see the stars circling his head.
The man goes cross-eyed and falls backward into a woman’s lap.
Mitch cranks back the old fist again, ready to give him another.
“Mitch!” Georgie pushes out her hands. “Stop. What are you doing?”
An older woman, with gray hair and blue eyes, is jumping between Mitch and me, shielding him with her body. Phil pops out of nowhere, jumping on top of the guy.
“He has a knife!” Mitch yells. “He was going to stab her!”
Sam shows up, pulling Georgie away. Phil starts dragging the man, who’s out cold, down to the ground.
My
head is about to explode. Chaos erupts as onlookers don’t know if this is a gun situation, a terrorist bomb threat, or what. The only people stepping closer are the film crews from the sports channels.
Phil checks the man’s breathing and then pulls something from his hand. He stares down at it like he’s genuinely confused.
“What is it?” Sam barks.
Phil hesitantly produces a butter knife. There’s a block of cheese on the ground.
“What the?” From the look in Mitch’s hazel eyes, this cheese knife comes as a surprise.
“What did you do to my husband! Ohmygod! Eddie!” A woman rushes to the unconscious man. She’s holding a paper plate in her hand. “I just went to the car for a minute! What did you do to him?” She looks at the faces around her, but only one person hangs his head.
Mitch runs a strong hand through his dripping hair. “I saw the reflection of the metal. He was holding it inward, like he was about to stab her.” Mitch looks at me, and I see the humiliation in his eyes. “I thought it was some kind of retaliation.”
Oh God. Poor guy. The devastation is more than I can stomach.
I get up and take his hand. “Come on. Let’s get you to the locker room.” I lead him away. “It’s okay, Mitch. He’ll be fine.”
“I assaulted a spectator. I blew my heat. I’m finished.”
I can’t say anything because I don’t know squat about the rules. All I can say is that had the butter-knife man been after more than just a slice of cheese for his poolside picnic, it’s nice to know Mitch would have had my back.
CHAPTER TWENTY
We enter Mitch’s house, and this is the first time I’ve genuinely felt like I can’t be anywhere near him. My body gets all fluttery and hot. My heart wants so badly for him and me to happen. I have the biggest, baddest case of heart throbs for this man, but I refuse to let myself go there. There being that place where I start hoping again.
“Okay. So…Phil and Igor are outside, your nanny is in the kitchen making you a snack, so I’m gonna head home. Just be sure not to turn on the TV.”
Battle of the Bulge Page 15
