Intercepted (Page 55)

In a way, he is.

A wounded snake in the grass.

#ZeroCompassionZeroGuilt

“But . . . Gavin, please.” Her voice breaks, and even though I can’t see them in the window now, her thick voice does nothing to mask the tears I’m sure are falling.

“No, Madison. You were one of my best friends, but you ruined that.” He walks to her and pulls her into a hug. “Maybe one day I’ll forgive you, but that’s not today. Hopefully this will be the wake-up call you need for you to get your act together. You can’t treat people the way you’ve treated Marlee the last few months. You’re better than that.”

She might say something in response, but it’s muffled into Gavin’s shirt and the sound of her sniffles—which, side note, is such an unpleasant sound. Just sucking your snot back in. Gross. Gavin doesn’t seem to mind though, but Gavin’s also a saint, so he doesn’t count.

I can’t look away from the scene playing out in front of me. I know this is the last time Madison is going to come in between us, and even though I’m being a total creeper, hiding in the shadows, this is closure for me too. Relief courses through my system and a realization comes over me. I had been carrying around stress waiting for the next dirty trick Madison was going to pull. Having her gone, I feel like I’m floating.

When I peek around the corner again, Madison is still crying, and I know what’s coming next. Even though I’ve been invading their privacy for the last ten minutes or so, I quietly retreat to Gavin’s bedroom and let them have these last moments together without me.

I’m lying in Gavin’s bed, trying to focus on my book instead of sneaking back downstairs to listen again, when Gavin walks in.

“Hey.” I sit up and put my glasses and book on the nightstand. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” He collapses on the bed and rolls over until his head is in my lap. “Glad it’s over.”

“I bet. It looked rough.” He’s grown his hair since the end of the season, and I pull it out of the man-bun on the top of his head so I can sift my fingers through it while we talk.

“How much did you see?”

“Enough to know she was still trying to make me look bad and to know you still aren’t having any of it . . . also that she loves you.” I cringe. Listening in the moment felt fine, admitting to it now does not.

“Yeah, that sucked.” His eyes close, and he nestles his head deeper into my lap. “When she called asking to come over, I really hoped she was going to make things right.”

“It sucks when people we care about disappoint us, but maybe in a few years she’ll come around and we can all be friends.”

“Doubt it, but it’s nice of you to say it.”

Dammit. At least I tried?

“You know what else is nice of me?” I nudge his head off of my lap and climb on top of him. “What I’m about to do to you now.”

I set forth unbuttoning his pants, removing his boxers, making sure the night ends on a high and it does . . . just not until well into the next morning.

Thirty-eight

Free agency has arrived.

Now to put it in terms for people not in the sports business, it’s the time that could either bring a career to new heights or end it. It’s when a contract ends and other teams are allowed to court a player (#DuggarTerminology) or no teams call and a career is over. #MakeItOrBreakIt

In years past, it’s been stressful. This is the first year I’ve actually kind of enjoyed it. Chris, obviously, always got an offer, but it was never like it’s been with Gavin. Chris was never satisfied with the offer, but he knew he wasn’t going to get better. With Gavin, it’s been like a bidding war on speed. Donny has officially demolished any doubts I had about him. The contract offers he’s been coming to us with have, quite literally, made me light-headed. Let’s just say Gavin is firmly located in the two-comma club—eight, nearly nine digits.

He isn’t, however, located next to me like I’ve grown accustomed to. Three days ago his mom called him complaining about how much she missed him. Usually during the off season, Gavin spends it entirely in Oyster Bay, but this year, I stole him. And being the amazing man/son/person he is, he flew out yesterday afternoon to surprise her for a couple of days. He wanted me to come, but considering we just returned from the last trip, I had to say no.

We FaceTimed last night before bed and again this morning. It doesn’t come close to having him in bed with me, but you know . . . beggars can’t be choosers and all that jazz. I’ve texted him a few times throughout the afternoon and still haven’t heard back from him. I’m sure he’s busy with his family, and I’m trying my hardest to avoid being clingy. It’s just . . . I’m freaking clingy, all right! Not having him next to me when he could potentially receive a record-breaking contract offer has me batty.

“The waiter hasn’t even taken our order and I’m already seconds away from throwing your phone away,” Naomi says when I look at my notification-less screen . . . again. “Turn off your ringer, put it in your purse, and do not look at it again.”

“You’re right. No more phone.” I toss it in my bag like she said and turn back to her. “Thanks for inviting me to lunch. I haven’t been to your neck of the woods in a long time.”

Naomi called this morning, not long after Gavin and I finished FaceTiming, and invited me to lunch at my favorite little café by my old house. They have the best sandwiches and a killer wine list, and Nay knows those are the only things I need in life. The sketchiest van could pull up next to me, the driver could be wearing a ski mask and have a voice disguiser, but if he said there was bread and wine in the back of the van? You better believe my ass would be climbing in. #WillRiskLifeForBooze&Carbs

“I’m glad you came. Gavin told Dre he was going out of town. I think he wanted us to keep an eye on you. Shut up,” she says faster than I can even open my mouth. “I wanted to go to lunch with you anyway.”

“You missed your football wifey? I’m not mad the season’s over, but I miss you too.”

“That’s part of it,” she says mysteriously, but the waiter comes to take our order before I can have her explain.

“Naomi! Marlee!” Josh, our favorite waiter, calls our names. “It’s been way too long. I’ve missed your faces around here.”

I’m sure he missed us getting tipsy and leaving outrageously large tips even more.

“You know I’m a waiter/bartender at HERS in Five Points. You get to come visit me next.”

“I think everyone who follows Mustangs football knows you work at HERS.”

Touché.

“How could I forget about my Denver’s Most Hated status?” I’m still pissed at Madison for that shit.

“We all still love you here.” Brown nose. “Do you ladies want your usual? Two bacon, caramelized onion, and brie grilled cheeses and a bottle of the shiraz?”

“Yes, please,” I tell him at the same time Naomi says, “Not today.”

“Then I’ll give you two a moment to look over the menu.” He smiles at us then heads to another table.

“You’re getting adventurous on me?”

“You could say that . . .”

“So are you switching the wine, food, or both?”