Intercepted (Page 43)

“You read?” I ask at the same time Naomi takes a sip of her water, causing her to spit it across the table and onto Dixie’s empty glass.

“Shit,” she croaks out in between coughs. “I’m so sorry.”

“Really, Naomi. Get a grip,” Madison—MADISON!—says.

Oh. Hell. No.

It’s one thing to come after me, I can handle it. But go after my friends?

No, bitch.

“I’m sorry, Madison. Do you have something to say?”

“Not to you.” She crosses her arms and looks at Naomi instead of me.

“No. I think you do. First, you give my personal information to anyone who will print it, then you show up at my job, and now you’re being a straight-up bitch to my best friend. What’s your deal?”

Now, I may talk a lot (like tons) of shit in my head, but it’s rare for me to say it out loud. Confrontation isn’t my thing, but sometimes it has to happen. And this is one of those times.

“You’re not worth my time, Marlee. You’re nothing but a pathetic cleat chaser, and I have no room in my life for someone like you.” Her arrogant tone carries across the room and causes all the chatter at surrounding tables to stop.

“Madison.” Naomi tries to wrangle her in. “You need to stop.”

“Was I talking to you, Naomi?”

Here you go, ladies and gents. Dinner and a show. There’s a two drink minimum and please, don’t forget to tip your waiter.

“Really? Someone like me? You’re dating my ex. You’ve chosen a profession centered around athletes, and I’m the cleat chaser? Do you hear yourself?” I can’t decide if I want to laugh, scream, or cry, so I settle on a mix of all three. It might not be the best option, but at least it gets her to look at me.

“Loud and clear. You date Chris, you slept with god only knows how many of his teammates, then, the second you see an opportunity to get in with a player who makes more money, you leap at it. Playing victim, acting like Chris was the cheater, faking a mugging. All some pathetic attempt at getting your greedy hands on Gavin.” She stops and points one manicured finger at me. “You. Are. Trash.”

I’m pretty sure my jaw is on the floor when she’s finished with her rant, and the ninja skills I was hoping for never kick in.

“What in the actual fuck are you talking about?” I’m dumbfounded. How she can say all of those things as if they’re absolute facts is either disturbingly impressive or just plain disturbing. “Did someone tell you those things, or is your pretty head so screwed up all you do in your free time is fabricate these outrageous stories about me?”

“You hate me because I see you for what you really are, don’t you? That I don’t buy the innocent, naive victim story you’re selling.” Her face is all scrunched up, and for the first time, her outside starts to match her inside. “You should count your blessings I love Gavin and didn’t want him to hear the truth about you in the paper.”

“And you should count your blessings nobody’s caught on to your brand of crazy and locked your ass up.”

“Screw you, Marlee. Just you wait,” she carries on, oblivious to the camera phones around her. “Gavin’s going to wake up one morning and realize you’re the biggest mistake of his life. And I’ll be there waiting.”

“And you’re going to be Grandma Barbie waiting that long because . . .” Pause for drama. “It’s. Never. Gonna. Happen.” I roll my neck with each word.

“You’re a toy for Gavin—a fetish.” She cuts me with her tongue. “His sister’s my best friend. She doesn’t trust you. His parents are best friends with my parents. Our mothers have planned our weddings since we were in diapers. Do you think his family is going to welcome you with open arms? And does Gavin seem like the kind of guy to choose a girl like you over his family?”

I roll up my sleeves, and I swear I’m only seconds away from taking my earrings out. #SheMustNotKnowAboutMe

“Why don’t you just spell it out for everyone around us, Madison? What do you really mean when you say a girl like me?” I know damn well what she means, the same thing Derek Fuller thought in third grade.

“A girl like you.” She unfolds her long legs from her chair and stands. “A cleat-chasing, rap-video-starring, ghetto bitch.”

On one hand? I have to kind of give the girl props for owning up to the shit she was thinking.

On the other hand? Oh no she didn’t.

I’m can’t decide whether I should prove her right or wrong when Brynn steps in and takes away the choice.

“Enough!” Brynn yells. “Madison, get out. And, Marlee, you know I love you, but you have to leave. I can’t have this shit going on in my restaurant.”

Fuck.

At her restaurant. The same one I’ve been working so hard to help build its good name and reputation.

In one night and—guessing by the number of phones aimed my way—multiple videos, I could’ve ruined it all.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper through the tears I won’t let her see fall and the guilt that feels like it’s wrapping hands around my neck. “I’m so sorry.”

I don’t look at her, or anybody for that matter, as I walk out of the dining room to collect my things. I write her a note and leave it on her desk. I take the back exit out, my pride and shame both preventing me from showing my face again.

Thirty

On my way home from HERS, I take a last-minute detour to Gavin’s place. I don’t want to tell him about the fight, but the more I think on it, the more I think it’ll be better if he hears it from me instead of Madison, or even worse, Chris.

I walk up his snow-covered walkway, my boot prints ruining the perfect blanket of sparkling snow. Once I reach the front door, I pull out the key Gavin gave me and let myself in. Layer by layer, I unwrap myself from my hat, jackets, and scarf and hang them in his entryway closet.

I don’t know if it’s because my ears are burning from the cold or if part of me is still at the restaurant, but either way, I don’t notice the man sitting in the living room watching me make myself at home until he makes himself known.

“Marlee fuckin’ Harper!” Gavin’s agent, Donovan “Donny” Ratiglia, says across the condo.

I scream and jump at least a foot off the ground. But when I land, my knees are so shaky, I fall to the ground, dropping the hanger I just strategically loaded with all my winter protection.

“Shit!” He runs across the room to help me up. “Sorry, got a little excited to meet the fuckin’ girl who’s got our boy playin’ the shit outta this fuckin’ game!”

I’ve overheard a few conversations between him and Gavin over the months, but I thought Donny’s cussing was the exception, not the rule. Looks like I was wrong.

But I’ve liked him from the moment I saw him the first game of the season. He may be a little crude, but a few f-bombs can’t cover the goodness shining out of him.

“It’s nice to know at least one person in the world doesn’t hate me with Gavin,” I say. “Speaking of, where is he?” I ask once I realize he’s not in his usual spot on the couch.

“He went to grab dinner.” He takes a seat on a stool in the kitchen. “And ignore the fans. Some of them can be fuckin’ ruthless and that’s saying a lot coming from me.”