Chapter 18 #3
My mom would want me to take care of my dad tonight, even though it was a pain in my ass. I got out of my car, trudged over to the fancy doors of the fancy high-rise, and punched in the code. Sure enough, the doors slid open and I was inside.
Thank God no one was in the lobby, because any human who lived in that sleek, modern building would take one look at me and assume I was an unkempt interloper who should be kicked out on sight.
I slunk over to the elevator, punched the code into the keypad, and the shiny doors opened as a ding echoed around me.
I got in and groaned aloud at my reflection in the mirrored wall.
I actually looked worse than I’d thought, so I licked my finger and worked hard at scrubbing away the black makeup streaks that’d settled beneath my eyes and smoothed out my hair.
I wondered yet again what the hell was going on in my life as I rode up to the thirty-first floor.
I lived paycheck to paycheck and currently had only about three hundred dollars left on my credit card limit, yet I was in a private elevator on its way up to an NFL star’s condo. I didn’t belong in a place like this and nothing about the situation made sense.
And that thought screamed through my head even louder when the elevator doors opened, because Connor’s apartment (or condo—I didn’t know the details of his financial portfolio) looked like something from a Bravo real estate show.
“Hello…?” I said, because I wasn’t sure how it worked when an elevator went straight to someone’s apartment. Was there some other door I needed to go to and knock? I stepped out into a small foyer of sorts, sleek and beige, and I could hear all kinds of noise coming from down the hallway.
I could also see three fluffy cats—two gray, one orange—lying on top of each other on a fancy chair that didn’t look like it was meant to hold a pile of tabbies.
I could hear Matty laughing down the hall, my dad talking, other voices I didn’t recognize; it sounded like a full-on party.
I slowly walked in that direction, very aware of the fact that I was wearing my threadbare Coyotes jersey with paint stains, as well as sweatpants that had a hole in the knee.
My hair was in a messy bun and I knew there were still a few black mascara streaks under my eyes from my emotional meltdown at the cemetery, so yes, please—force me into a party situation.
But when I got to the end of the hallway, my mind was blown by two things.
The first—his living room.
Dear Lord.
Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the entire unit, as far as I could see, and all the furniture and trims were light colors and warm wood.
It was stunningly beautiful, the kind of place that would be included in an article about “clean lines” and “simple elegance” in Architectural Digest. I knew nothing of design aesthetics, but living somewhere like this would be sublime.
You could literally see down into the field where the Minnesota Twins played, which was, frankly, too overwhelming for words.
Talk about perfection.
But the second thing that blew my mind made me smile despite my grief and annoyance, because my father was standing there with a game controller in his hand, laughing with Josh Reed and Justin Teeders like they were all best friends.
He looked so damn happy that I felt like crying again.
“There she is,” I heard, and when I turned around, I saw Connor coming toward me from what appeared to be a kitchen.
“How old are you?” I blurted out, because he didn’t act that different from any of my friends from college, but this place was unreal and nothing like a place someone my age could own. “Twenty-four, right?”
“Why do you want to know?” he said, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Curiosity. I know you were drafted last year but I’m not sure—”
“Yeah, twenty-four,” he said.
Twenty-four, holy shit. So impossible.
“I can’t believe you’re my age and own this.”
Oh my God. I quickly said, “Wait—you understand that I’m not talking about money, right? I just mean—”
“No, no, I get it,” he said with a funny smile. “I feel the same way every time I come home. Two years ago, I was living in a shitty house that smelled like beer with three roommates who threw ragers twice a week. So how the fuck do I own this? And I’m not even sure I like it.”
“What?” I asked in disbelief, lowering my voice because I’d just mentioned the most personal question topics and I was in a room full of people. Idiot. Thank God it was chaotic and loud. “It’s beautiful. How do you not love it?”
“I mean, I do. My sister did a lot with the decorator and whenever I come home, it’s very relaxing and I can’t even believe it’s mine.
But I also don’t feel equipped to own property, if that makes sense.
Like what the hell do I know about real estate?
I was the guy who slept on a futon at the last place I lived. ”
I smiled at that, because it made total sense, even to a pauper like me.
“Isn’t it weird how in college you’re totally treated like a teenager by your professors and your parents, but then all of a sudden you graduate and you’re supposed to magically be a functioning adult?
I have my big-girl job now and I’m trying to manage my dad’s doctor appointments and pay his property taxes but, like, I have no idea what I’m doing.
Where is the education for that? You don’t have any training on how to live in a fancy high-rise building, and I don’t have any training on how to figure out what the circle attachment on my mom’s vacuum is for.
Like, shouldn’t there be some adulting class we have to take before we’re thrown into the world? ”
“Holy shit, I feel like this all the time,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and laughing.
“You do?” I couldn’t believe it. “That is shocking. It makes sense that I would feel this way because I’m a fresh college graduate and I’m not successful at anything yet.
I guess I assumed a top-ten draft pick and someone who’s, like, the best in his field would have a little more command of his place in the world. ”
“Yeah, I would have thought so, too,” he said, sounding a little more serious than I liked.
When I glanced over Connor’s shoulder, I saw my dad—who had yet to notice me—and suddenly remembered what I came here for. But I also didn’t really know what I came here for.
“What is this?” I asked quietly.
“What do you mean?” he replied, his eyes roving over my face in confusion.
“I mean, what is all this with you inviting them over?”
His eyes narrowed like he wasn’t sure how to play it and then he said, “I just thought it could help your dad today, and maybe you, too, so you don’t have to shoulder everything alone.
As soon as I invited him I realized I should’ve asked you first, but he was already running with it, so I couldn’t stop him. I’m sorry.”
“But why? Why would you do this?”
He watched me for a long minute, like he was working through exactly what I was trying to get from him.
“Because he’s your dad,” he said with a helpless shrug.
Because he was my dad.
“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath, shaking my head in irritation because how was I supposed to handle this? How was I supposed to stay grounded in reality when the NFL star who was pretending to be my boyfriend kept doing the nicest things for me?
Odds were not in my favor that I’d escape emotionally unscathed.
“Do you want to go out to the balcony?” Connor asked quietly.
“What?”
“I just thought you might want privacy when you yell at me,” he said calmly. “And this unit has a great view.”
“I’m not going to yell at you,” I replied, resisting the bizarre urge to touch him, to assure him that I was definitely not mad at him. Instead, I gave a nod before turning and walking toward the balcony because I did want privacy. “But I actually would like a moment.”
I felt him follow me outside, and after being hit in the face with the stunning view below—you could actually see the whole city—I took a deep breath and turned to face him.
“What’s up?” he asked, looking concerned. The autumn breeze moved the ends of his thick hair, and as the cool evening air chilled my face, I realized I had nothing to say.
Nothing I knew how to express as those earnest blue eyes became the only thing I could see.
So I kissed him.
I was a fool, filled with emotions, but I was helpless to do anything but show him how grateful I was, how appreciative I was of his kindness. His arms came around me and squeezed me tight, so tight that he lifted me off the ground a little bit.
I could barely breathe from how tightly wrapped his arms were around my body and I loved it. More. I’d never needed a physical connection more than I needed those big arms at that moment.
And the man did not need to be asked twice, dear Lord.
It was like we’d kissed a thousand times before, like his mouth was intimately familiar with mine, even though our lips had never met before now.
I’d never been kissed—and I had never kissed—in such a way.
One second my lips were daring to touch his, and the next?
Dear God, he was on the attack, the former Rookie of the Year proving he was always on the offensive.
His teeth dragged over my bottom lip before his tongue went deep, a noise rumbling in the back of his throat as he angled his head and devoured my mouth.
Holy shit.
I slid my fingers into his hair, needing grip as he pulled me closer because suddenly, I could feel his every ridge and muscle pressed against my body.
I was on fire as he held me against him, but at the same time I was drowning, a captive between states of matter as electricity shot through every one of my veins.
“What is this?” he said against my mouth, pulling back a little but not letting go of me. “Not that I don’t love it.”
“Um, it’s, uh,” I stammered, distracted by the heat in his blue eyes as he watched me and the way his cologne engulfed my senses, leaving me utterly under his influence. “This is just, like, thank you, I guess.”
“Well, I reject this as a thank-you,” he said, frowning slightly. “Jesus.”
“What? What does that mean?”
“It means I want more of this, but not attached to gratitude.” He said it like he was offended.
“I mean, it isn’t only gratitude,” I said, feeling my cheeks warm because there was no way he couldn’t see on my face how into him I was.
“Then give me the breakdown, Duff,” he said, the scowl morphing into something else. Intrigue. Anticipation. “How much is gratitude, and how much is you wanting to kiss me?”
“You want a number?” I asked quietly, feeling flirty as I lowered my hands and rested them on his hard chest.
“I’ll take a number,” he said, his face playful yet still sexy as his fingers flexed on my lower back.
“Duffy!” my dad yelled from inside. “Where the hell did you go?”
“I—I’m out on the balcony,” I said, stepping back from Connor and wiping my mouth. He looked amused as he watched me yell back to my dad, “Are you ready to go?”
My dad came outside and cringed at my stained jersey. “That’s what you wore?”
“I told you,” I said, ignoring the way Connor was grinning, “I wasn’t going to get dressed and that you should just come down.”
“I think she looks great,” Connor said.
“Holy shit, what the hell happened to you?” Ty said to me as he walked out with my dad. “Did you lose a bet with that outfit?”
“I’m going down to the car,” I said, flipping him off. “Anyone who wants a ride home has five minutes.”
“I thought Joey was giving us a ride home,” Ty said.
“I thought Joey left,” I said, remembering my dad’s call.
“I left to go get more beer,” Joey said. “But I’m still driving.”
My eyes shot to the little shit who called himself my father. “Dad?”
“I just wanted a plan B,” he said defensively, not even trying to hide what he’d been doing.
“Okay, you’re hilarious, this is great, I’m going home,” I said. “Good night, Connor. Have fun with my insane family.”
“Oh, I will,” he said with a wink.
On my way home, I couldn’t help but shake my head and laugh.
This definitely hadn’t been on my one-year-death-anniversary bingo card.
I was overwhelmed by Connor, truly confused over what was happening with him, but the guy was incredibly good at making me smile.