Chapter 18
18
Elle
“ I t’s weird how much I already miss him, even though I barely knew him, right?” I ask Audrey on our walk back to our cars that are parked at the salon.
“I think he was good for you. A nice distraction. And that kiss was hot as hell!”
“It was. It didn’t feel fake, but it still felt like goodbye.”
“Didn’t look fake either,” she agrees. “I just hope that now that Preston’s leaving town, you won’t give in to the fool.”
“That is not going to happen. I promise. No giving in to the fool ever. And maybe it's for the best that Preston left before we got any closer.”
“Why do you say that?”
I bite down on my lip, worried about telling her, but wondering if I'm overreacting. “Preston got a call right before he got on the bus.”
“Yeah, I saw. What about it?”
“Well, I got a peek at the screen before he answered.”
“And? Who was it?”
“The screen said ‘Maya?’”
“That's it? Just Maya?”
“Yes. It obviously was a woman. I could hear her voice. And Preston smiled when he was talking to her. He ended the call with, ‘see you both soon’.”
“Does he have a sister?” Audrey asks.
“No clue. He never mentioned any siblings.”
“Give me a second.” Her phone is in her hand a second later, the screen’s light illuminating her face. “I can't find anything online about his personal life. But it was probably his mom or sister.”
“She sounded young.”
“So, then it could've been his sister.”
“But why wouldn't he have mentioned her before? And you know how there's like so much tension between Christian and Preston. Sorry, I mean the fool and Preston. What if the reason they hate each other is because of this girl?”
Audrey considers that silently for a moment. “Then why would Preston have beef with the fool if he got the girl?”
“Ugh. I don't know,” I mutter as I yank my hairband out to smooth my hair back into a messy bun.
“Does it really matter who she was since Preston is gone now? You weren't planning to see him again, right?”
“When we first started our fake relationship, he asked me about continuing it through the championships, then pretending like it fizzled out in the summer when we couldn't do long-distance. But he didn't mention it again. If he wanted to keep seeing me, he would've asked tonight, wouldn't he?”
“Maybe he wanted to, but he doesn't want it to be fake anymore, which makes it confusing.”
“I don't know. I'm probably stressing over all this for no reason.”
“I much prefer you stressing over Preston and your fake relationship to you stressing over whether the fool was going to message you, or come over, or break your heart.”
“I'm so over him.”
“Are you really?” Audrey asks, staring at me with her brows raised.
“Yes, or at least I'm getting there.”
“Thanks to Preston?”
“Yes. Thanks to Preston. It was nice spending time with him, taking my mind off being dumped. I enjoyed messing with Chris...the fool, more than I should have.”
“That jerk deserved every second of misery. Besides, it's not like Preston permanently maimed him or anything.”
“At least not yet. There are still at least two more games to go,” I remind her.
Preston
I think about Elle the entire plane ride home. She's probably just glad that I’m gone, out of her hair, so the attention on us will die down.
Although, that goodbye kiss felt like it meant…more. Like it was just for us, not the cameras or the press.
It's late when I get home, so I try to be quiet when I sneak into the house. Of course, my phone dings loudly with a message just as I unlock and open the front door, dropping my bag inside the foyer.
Still, I can’t be mad about the noise, not when I see that it’s a text message from Elle asking if I got home safe.
She wouldn’t ask that unless she cared, right? Or she’s just a nice woman who is worried about a friend, nothing more. A friend who seems to like kissing me as much as I enjoy kissing her. Touching her. I already miss just being in the same city as her.
The anxiety of the championships and this fake arrangement make me want to stress eat. Since we won both games, there aren’t any loser brownies waiting for me on the kitchen counter. A good thing, I guess.
I'm digging through the refrigerator, eyeing the leftover pizza, when the overhead kitchen lights flip on and Maya hugs me from behind. “You're back! Two games down and two to go!”
“Are you drunk?” I mutter with a shake of my head.
She scoffs indignantly. “No, I’m not drunk.”
“Is Finley asleep?”
“Of course he is.”
“Then you should keep it down,” I remind her.
I pull out some leftover spaghetti instead and shut the fridge door to finally face her.
Her chocolate eyes narrow at me. “Shouldn't you be in a better mood after winning the first two games of the championship finals on the road?”
Yes, I should. Why don’t I feel good? Oh, right. “I met someone.”
“No kidding,” my sister snorts. “I was wondering when you were going to mention her. Elle is it? You didn’t respond to any of my texts about her!”
“Guess that means you’ve seen all the photos of us?”
“Everyone in the world has seen the photos, Pres. Even Finley.”
“How did he see them?”
She shrugs. “Some kid at preschool told him he saw his uncle on the news. Finley was furious that he didn’t get to miss school to come to the games in North Carolina.”
“There was no reason for him to miss school for just the second game of the series.”
“I know that. But we both wanted to be there in person cheering for you. He wouldn’t have missed school Saturday.”
“It’s too dangerous for the two of you to be wandering all over a strange city alone, being surrounded by Bobcat fans.”
“Well, at least the next two games are home. There is nothing that will keep us from missing those games.”
“Of course not. Best seats in the house.”
I remove the lid on the storage container and pop the spaghetti into the microwave, punching in the time.
While we wait, Maya says, “So…did you tell Elle the whole history?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you tell her the reason why you try to murder Christian whenever you see his face?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I lean my back against the counter and shrug. “Because it’s nobody’s business, not even hers.”
“A word of advice, big brother. You can’t have a relationship with a woman if you’re not completely honest with her.”
Good thing Elle and I are not in a relationship. It was just to make Riley jealous, get him off-kilter for the finals. And it worked. Better than we even expected. But I don’t tell my sister all of that. She wouldn’t approve of pretending.
“You already miss her.”
“Why the hell do you assume that?”
“Because you’re moping around after winning back-to-back away games for the championship, stress eating old leftovers! What else could it be?”
“Fine. I miss her. I wish I had invited her up to D.C.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I’m not sure if she would come. She has a business to run, and it would be asking too much of her to drop everything to come here for three or four days.”
“It’s only three or four days. And I bet if she’s here, you will be less likely to lose your temper on the ice.”
“There are a lot of reasons why I wish she were here. Still doesn’t change the fact that it’s not going to happen.”
“You won’t even ask her?”
“No.”
“Have you spoken to her since leaving town?”
“She sent a text asking if I got home okay.”
“That’s a good sign. Have you responded yet?”
“No.” I was going to as soon as I saw the message, but I knew that once I sent a response, the communication between us would likely stop. I wanted to think of something to say to get her to send a response back.
God, I feel like an idiot teenage boy again.
“Then ask her to come up here when you respond. She’ll need time to prepare.”
“She’s not going to come to D.C.”
“You won’t know if she will or not unless you ask her. Did it occur to you that she was maybe hoping you would ask her to come?”
“No.”
“It’s the freaking championships!” she exclaims, reminding me of Elle’s enthusiasm for the sport. “And it’s a good thing you have a sister knowledgeable about how women think. They want men to make the first move to avoid looking clingy.”
“You’re probably wrong.”
“If I’m right, then you have to do dishes for a month. If I’m wrong, I’ll do them.”
“Deal. But you can’t trick Finley into doing them for you.”
“Fine,” she mutters. “He just loves making a sudsy mess anyway.”
“Back to Elle…”
“Cute name for a cute girl.”
“Back to Elle,” I start again. “Do you think it would be better to ask her on a phone call or by text?”
“Phone. She’ll be less like to turn you down on the spot like that, or to think too long and talk herself out of coming.”
“Good,” I say, since I wanted to call her anyway.