Intercepted

See—that is the only reason to carry a duffel disguised as a purse around.

“I’m trying to ignore it.”

“Marlee.”

She says my name like she’s said everything. And truth be told, along with her pursed lips and the serious side-eye she’s throwing at me? I crack.

“Okay. Fine! That’s a lie. I’ve read every article I could find and then every single comment left on them. I even snooped through some sports forums. People have Photoshopped my head into a GIF of Kanye’s ‘Gold Digger’ song!”

And the bitch laughs. Come on!

“If you want me to seem sympathetic, which I am, I’m going to need you to not tell me things like that.”

I narrow my eyes and go to find the bottle opener. These wines aren’t surviving the night.

“Oh stop it. You can’t tell me your head bobbing around on a video girl’s body with Kanye dancing next to you wasn’t hella funny!”

“You just said hella, which voids everything you said previous to it.”

“Hella, hella, hella!”

“I can’t with you right now.” I hand her a glass of wine and cheers her before we both chug the contents of our glasses.

Because you know . . .

#HellaKlassy

“Anyway. The GIFS were funny. The words were not. It’s one thing for Courtney and Madison to hate me, it’s another thing entirely when it’s the whole city.”

“I bet Courtney was giddy hearing about Gavin’s injury. She might even like you now if she thinks you’ll be able to get Kevin his spot back.”

“She’s delusional. Kevin was losing his spot with or without Gavin. He had an average season last year and a terrible preseason. Kevin’s on his way out, I hope she’s enjoying her final season in charge of the Mustangs.”

“True. And for someone who ‘hates football’”—she uses air quotes. I freaking hate air quotes—“you sure are mighty informed.”

“Not about other teams though,” I defend myself. “You’ve gone to games with me. You know how hard I go for them. But that’s only when I’m sharing a bed with one of the players. If I don’t know somebody on the team, then I don’t care about them.”

“Whatever the case, you need to download the ESPN app on your phone before I leave. I’m over having to blindside you because you’re too busy to type in your Apple ID password.”

“Fair point. Having an advanced warning would be nice.” I grab my wineglass and plop down next to her on my comfy couch.

“I don’t know if I’m glad to hear you’re giving in or worried that you’re not denying something like this will happen again.”

“I mean, there is one more home game left, and I’m thinking with the recent headlines declaring me enemy of the state, I might cause quite the reaction when I show my bedazzled ass at the game.”

“Remind me not to sit by you next week.”

“Please. Deny it all you want, but you love it.”

I just know the Mustangs better win today. I think it’s bad now? I don’t even want to imagine what it’ll be like if they lose and are out of the playoffs.

Twenty-eight

They lose.

Of course they do because Kevin Matthews is their backup quarterback and he’s terrible. He threw three interceptions in the first half alone, and the rage toward the slut who drugged Pope and threw him down on the ice grew as the game went on.

By the end of the game, I was afraid if I opened my curtains, a mob complete with pitchforks would be filling the street.

They weren’t, of course.

But it doesn’t ease the fears running through my mind. Football is religion to these people, and wars have been started over less. And even though there’s still a game left, the chances of the Mustangs making the playoffs are practically nothing.

So when my phone rings in the middle of the night, waking me from a dreamless sleep, every horror movie I’ve ever watched flashes through my head before I see Gavin’s name lighting up the screen.

“Hey,” I try to answer, my voice scratchy from sleep.

“I’m outside your door. You wanna let me in?”

Duh.

I was already halfway across my apartment when he asked.

“Eh. I think I’ll pass.”

“Liar. I heard your sheets, and I can hear your footsteps through your apartment,” he says, laughing. “You know, for being so petite, you walk harder than a rhinoceros.”

Busted.

“Do not.” I open the door, my phone still at my ear.

“You do, but a super sexy rhino.”

“You really need to work on your sweet talk, Pope.” Not true. Only Gavin can make me feel butterflies when he compares me to a rhino. “But I’m glad you came to visit the evil seductress who injured you.”

“Evil seductress? What are you talking about?” His head slightly flinches, and his eyebrows scrunch together—no idea what I’m referring to.

“I’m glad I’m not the only one who doesn’t stalk the internet and stare at the ESPN app all day.” I close the door and follow him to my room. He strips out of his suit (gray this time, still perfectly tailored—pants nice and tight, cropped at the ankle, jacket equally snug) and falls into my bed naked as the day he was born.

Death threats and all . . . I’m the luckiest woman ever.

Once we’re both in our cuddle positions under my comforter—the new one Gavin bought me for Christmas after I raved about his every time I spent the night in his bed—I hand him my phone. While he was changing, I pulled up one of the articles pointing all fingers toward me being the reason Gavin was injured and therefore, the reason the Mustangs lost. This article was my particular favorite as it not only told the world where I grew up and went to high school, but that I’m also the head of marketing for HERS.

“What the fuck is this?” Gavin semi yells, scissoring out of the bed.

And I was comfortable, I should’ve waited until the morning.

Ooh! But maybe he’ll want to work off his aggression in bed?

“Apparently when you told Madison to handle it, she did so by throwing me under the bus. My name, my job, my dating history? All there.” I plaster on my most fake smile. “Did I ever tell you how much I love Madison?”

“I can’t believe she’d do this.” His tone has changed, and the outrage he had only seconds prior is gone. Now he just sounds broken . . . betrayed.

God. I hate Madison.

“I get what she was doing to take the heat off of you. She did her job very effectively by making you the victim. She protected her client and her friend.”

“But she did it in a way I clearly told her not to. She knows how I feel about you, I can’t believe she would throw you into this mess.”

“How do you feel about me, Gavin?” I crawl across the bed toward where he’s pacing.

At my question, he stops moving, brings his hand to my cheek, and looks me straight in my eyes.

“Well, I was thinking since the chances of going to the playoffs are slim to none now, I could take you on a trip when the season ends.”

“A trip?” Intrigued with where he’s taking this, I sit up on my knees. “To where?”

“Surprise.” He smirks. “You tell me the days you can get off, and I’ll plan the trip. Sound good?”