Intercepted (Page 21)

He was almost out of the room and when he turns back to me, he lets his gaze slowly travel from my pedicured toes all the way to what I’m sure is a mascara smudged, hair-resembles-a-bird’s-nest head. “Yeah, I think I can find you something,” he says like he’s in on some joke I’m not aware of. “I’ll be right back.”

“Thanks.” I walk as fast as I can without it looking like I’m running. I open the door to what I’m praying is the bathroom and for once it seems like G-O-D is listening to me. Well . . . until I look in the mirror, then I think He’s apologizing.

Rough is an understatement. I took on tequila last night and it’s obvious it kicked my ass. Because if the memories weren’t enough to taunt me, now I have a physical reminder.

Booze: 1. Marlee: 0.

I wash my face the best I can with hot water and a washcloth. It does a fine job at removing the mascara, but leaves red, irritated skin in its wake. I try my hardest to wrangle my wild hair into a bun and when I look at the finished product, I finally understand what Churchill meant when he said, “Sometimes your best isn’t good enough.”

After Gavin yells that he found a sweatshirt and a pair of flip-flops his mom left behind, I take one last glance in the mirror and the sound of a train’s horn blares in my head.

All aboard, ladies and gentlemen.

#HotMessExpress

Fifteen

Even though I don’t have sunglasses on and the sun is close to burning a hole through my retinas, I can’t stop staring up at Gavin’s sick freaking condo.

“I can’t believe you live here.” I slap Gavin’s arm.

“Why are you hitting me?” he asks even though he sounds more amused than curious.

“I love these places! They’re waaaay out of my price range, but so effing cool. If I would’ve known I was in one, I would’ve paid more attention.”

When Gavin said he lived downtown, I figured he meant one of the swanky high-rises in the heart of downtown. I pictured him sharing an elevator with the old lady who wore excessive amounts of jewelry and always had her yappy dog on either a bedazzled leash or in a dog stroller. I never thought he’d live in one of the newly built, glass-front condos I’ve walked by dozens of times.

Which, thinking about it, means I’m going to have to find a new route. I can’t walk past his house now that I know he lives there. Sucks, but can you say stalker?

“I’ll have to give you an official tour sometime.”

“I’d love that.” In all fairness, I’d love a tour of the sewer if he was the one giving it.

“Me too.” He slides his hand around mine and gives it a gentle squeeze.

Two words, five letters, one million butterflies. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to prevent my smile from overtaking my entire face. He turns me into the giddy little girl I was in high school, before I fell for the hot football player who led me down a road of lies and betrayal. Dammit, do I never learn?

We walk the rest of the way to Fresh—the organic-only coffee shop—in total silence, and for the first time in a very long time, I don’t hate it. Actually, the opposite—I love it. Once I force Chris out of my head, I’m able to appreciate the simple moment. The clean, brisk air against my face in contrast to the warmth of Gavin’s hand encasing mine; constant chatter of businessmen and women on their phones before they start their nine-hour work shift; the hum of the light rail as it passes and the bored faces looking out of the windows.

Walking into the coffee shop, the strong smell of coffee is equal parts repulsing and enticing. I order my usual, a vanilla latte, Gavin gets a caffè Americano, and we both choose the huge, flaky croissants.

“If you want, we can eat at my place, it’s only a couple of blocks over. Or we can eat here, whatever you like.” The effort I put forth for the question to come out casually is a massive fail.

“Your place sounds great.”

“Yeah?” Shit. I wanted him to say yes, but I thought he’d say no. Now that he agreed, I’m trying to remember what state I left my apartment in after Brynn wreaked havoc on it with her onslaught of beauty products.

He takes our food and coffees from the barista and gestures toward the door. “You lead the way.”

The walk is more of the same from before, minus the hand-holding. I think that’s only because his hands are already filled with caffeine and carbs, and I’d never endanger either of those things.

We make it back to my place in under ten minutes. The smell of coffee was enough to put a little extra pep in my step . . . and so was the idea of Gavin in my space.

Because yum.

Obviously.

“I just moved in, and yesterday was a little insane, so you’ll have to excuse the mess,” I warn him before I open the door.

“I’m sure it’s fine.”

I walk in, flip on the light switch, and as luck would have it, he’s right. It’s not as bad as I feared, still not good . . . but it for sure could’ve been worse.

“Home sweet home.” I gesture with open arms and for some reason do jazz hands.

I shouldn’t be allowed around attractive humans of the opposite sex. Someone please kill me now.

“This place is really great, Marlee,” he says, looking around the room.

He sounds genuine, and I have to admit, I’m surprised. Chris would’ve hated this place. It’s too small. The furniture is cheap. The neighborhood is awful. The list would never end. I was expecting Gavin to have the same reaction and give me something to not like about him.

“Thanks. It’s small, but I love it so far.” I grab the coffees from him and bring them to the tiny, two-person Ikea table I (fine! My dad) put together the other day. It’s the perfect size for me, but now, with Gavin on the other side, I feel like I bought dollhouse furniture and Gavin’s a giant about to crush it all.

“It’s perfect,” he tells me after he’s situated on the tiny stool.

We sit across from each other, eating our croissants and drinking our coffee. Where we were okay with the silence as we walked, it doesn’t reappear here.

“So . . .” I start. My conversation skills are on point. “How are you liking Denver?”

“I love it.” He takes another sip of coffee and places his cup on the table. “I wasn’t sure how I felt about it when the trade happened, and I’d be lying if I said I was welcomed into the locker room with open arms. A few guys are starting to warm up to me now that we’re winning. I’m happy to be here . . . for more than one reason.” He never drops eye contact and his foot taps mine under the table. It’s such an innocent gesture for the big quarterback across from me and it’s disarming.

Which sucks.

I need all the arming I can get around him.

“That’s good. Denver’s a good place to live.” I shove a bite of croissant in my mouth. Not because I’m hungry or lacking basic table manners, but because I need a minute to compose myself. “How’s the weather compared to Chicago?”

Good, Marlee. Weather is a safe topic. Mindless small talk, you got this!

Gavin’s lips curve at the corners the tiniest little bit, and I’m pretty sure he knows the game I’m trying to play here. Fingers crossed he goes with it.

“It’s great. You know Chicago. When it’s hot, the humidity chokes you, and when it’s cold, it chokes you. It’s nice and dry here, I like it.” He humors me. Thank god. “How’s your dad doing? He said his back was bothering him?”