Chapter 7 #2
He stands and offers me his hand, and when I take it, he pulls me into a hug, his other arm banding tightly around me.
He doesn’t say anything else, but the way his hand lands heavily against my shoulder blade reminds me of the way my father hugged me, and I’m too overwhelmed with familiarity and grief to let myself accept it, so I push away, sniffing a quick, “See you later.”
“Make that appointment with Pearce,” he calls after me, and I offer a single wave over my head in return.
Having no intention of making that appointment.
But I do let Monica run me ragged for an hour and a half, putting me through the paces before stretching me out while she makes fun of me for whining, busting my balls so much, it makes me feel like maybe things can get back to normal.
By the time I arrive home, I’ve made plans for Valerie to come over for dinner since she’s in town for the night, but I’m not really feeling it.
After the short but rough talk with Coach and being reintroduced to shuttle runs and box jumps, I’d rather relax on the couch, but we don’t see each other very often, and I owe my girlfriend some time.
Valerie and I met at a party in Vegas. I don’t even remember what it was for at this point—I think an anniversary of some tequila company.
Or maybe somebody’s birthday. All I recall is that she hopped into my limo and had my cock in her mouth before we even stopped at the first red light.
Had gotten me off by the time we arrived back at my hotel, so I invited her up.
We’ve been arranging nights together ever since, but between her shooting schedule and my season, it’s rare we spend more than a night or two together, especially because she lives in LA.
When I open the door to the penthouse, I don’t immediately see Paisley or Nadine, but there is some god-awful smell coming from the kitchen.
Beyond the mess of dishes in the sink and on the counter, the microwave has been left open, and apparently airing out from the burned popcorn, the evidence of which I find in the garbage can.
I peek around, checking the terrace and Paisley’s bedroom before heading to the media room, where I find the lights off and Heath Ledger on the big screen, dancing across the stands in 10 Things I Hate About You with the captioning on the bottom.
Making my way down the steps toward the big recliner they’re sharing, I raise my voice above the chatter of the movie. “Hey.”
Nadine startles, throwing her bowl of popcorn in the air with a gasped, “Oh my god” while Paisley slowly turns and waves.
“You scared the shit out of me.” Nadine slaps hand to her chest, and I hop down the rest of the incline to the floor, where I hit the lighting panel on the wall, illuminating the room. With popcorn strewn all over the love seat and floor.
“You made a mess,” I say and sign at the same time.
Nadine answers, signing as well. “Because you decided to sneak in here like a serial killer.”
I don’t sign what might be considered a threat in a court of law. “While I’ve had fantasies about wrapping my hands around your neck, I’m not willing to go to prison over you.”
She sneers at me as my sister signs, “You want to watch the movie with us? I know it’s your favorite.”
I shake my head, refuting her. “It’s not my favorite.”
“Ah, come on. Nothing wrong with a big man like yourself loving a rom-com,” Nadine goads with an irritatingly pointed smile, and she really has no idea how often I’ve thought about my hand around her neck.
With a throat that goes red when she’s mad and a rose gold chain with a cross on it.
As far as I know, Erik isn’t religious, more “spiritual,” which always earned an eye roll from me whenever he talked about it.
But I think I remember him saying their dad was Catholic.
My parents took me to Faith Lutheran every Sunday, and we said grace before every meal, but I easily let that part of me go when I arrived at college and learned I wasn’t all that interested in sitting in a hard pew every week if someone wasn’t forcing me.
Though I assume Nadine is the type to go and sit in the front row.
I bet she has Bible verses memorized, believing she’s better than everybody else.
Certainly believes she’s better than me.
“I don’t have a problem admitting I enjoy romantic comedies,” I say, just to prove her wrong. “I love 10 Things I Hate About You. That bit when Julia Stiles gets drunk at the party and he rescues her is my favorite.”
Again, why I had to go that far, revealing more information than necessary, I don’t know, but having Nadine in close quarters has clearly sent my mind reeling.
Instead of concentrating on driving off my standing leg during my sprints, I was thinking about the time Nadine and I crossed paths at a Founders’ fundraiser for an autism charity.
I told her I was surprised to see her in the sunlight since I thought it turned vampires to dust, and she told me I should go back to whatever cornstalks I crawled out of because the crows would eat all the crops.
Then I proceeded to tell her my dad was a mechanical engineer and my mom was a dental hygienist, so I didn’t come from “cornstalks.”
She pursed those lips of hers and lifted a nonchalant shoulder, causing the thin strap of her sundress to droop. “Could have fooled me with all that straw in your head.”
I had no reply, my mind scrambled with the way her hips swayed, the hem of the pink dress shorter than I ever might have imagined prissy little Nadine would wear.
Now, she’s in my home.
Looking completely comfortable.
As if she has not a care in the world.
Even as she’s made a mess of the place.
“Then why did you say your favorite movie was Any Given Sunday when your social media people asked for TikTok?” she asks, drawing me back into our sniping.
“You following me on TikTok?”
She rolls her eyes. “The team, you arrogant asshole.”
Funny, though, that she would even remember something like that. The social media managers haven’t begun making their content yet this season, so whatever video she’s talking about is old.
Then again, if someone asked me what Nadine wore on every occasion I’ve been in her physical presence, I’d be able to rattle off: ice-blue gown for Erik’s engagement party, long and flowy number for the small beach wedding, the tight jeans and black sweater for the surprise birthday party Molly threw Erik, the hot-as-fuck pink sundress for the team’s charity fundraiser, this ugly-ass one-piece thing with wide legs and puffy sleeves for Kai’s baby shower, and she wore denim shorts and an oversized T-shirt with Love Wins written into a rainbow when she came over the other day to meet Paisley.
But, whatever.
It’s not like I ever wrote her a poem about all the reasons I hate her.
Number one being she’s a stuck-up shrew with an unfortunate ability to get under my skin.
“You need to clean up,” I say, motioning to all the popcorn. “Mariam doesn’t come until Friday.”
Nadine doesn’t sign the next bit, too busy shrieking at me as she leaps up from the recliner. “I don’t need you ordering me around. Don’t mistake my goodwill for submission. I won’t tolerate your condescension.”
It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Asking a guest in my home to clean up after herself is condescension? I thought it was good fucking manners.”
She steps closer to me, having to rise up on her toes, but that only gives her another inch, and she still needs to tilt her head back to hold my gaze, her ice-blue eyes on fire. “Yeah, I do have good fucking manners, unlike you. I always clean up my messes.”
I force a laugh. “Little Miss Manners, huh?”
She steps back from me, sneering, “I can’t stand you.”
That’s when Paisley interrupts us, signing that she’ll clean up the popcorn. That it’s no big deal, but when both Nadine and I start to tell her she doesn’t need to, she signs, “Children” with a scoff and then turns to pick up the pieces of popcorn from the floor.
Chastised by a fourteen-year-old, Nadine and I silently trudge out of the media room and back to the kitchen, where we both clean up the mess she made. When it’s finally done, she glares at me. “Neither one of us knows how to work your stupid robot microwave. We burned the first bag of popcorn.”
“Yeah. I got that.”
She flicks her hand toward the cabinets. “And you need the good popcorn with butter. Not that plain, calorie-free stuff. It has no flavor.”
I comb my fingers through my still sweat-damp hair. “My one mission in life, to fill my house with the groceries you want.”
She flings her arm back toward the media room. “Well, it could at least be to make your sister comfortable. You have buckets of money, so you should spend it on her.”
I know that. I’ve already talked to Paisley about it, but Nadine plows on like a miniature bull, stomping around the kitchen.
“You want her to feel at home here, but you’re not doing anything to help her. Of course she feels out of sorts—she’s in a new city, doesn’t know anyone, and you have her sleeping in that hospital room down there.”
“Hospital room?” I live in the penthouse of the most expensive building in Center City.
It has a twenty-four-seven concierge service, valet parking, a gym with a full-time personal trainer on-site, as well as an outdoor terrace with a pool.
When I begin to inform her of all of this, she heaves an exhausted sigh.
“I understand that this—” she circles her finger in the air “—is nice for you, a twenty-nine-year-old bachelor, but not for a teenage girl. There is nothing here that makes her think it’s her home. You haven’t even tried.”
“Yes, I have.” The ability this woman has to raise my blood pressure needs to be studied, and I whip my sweat-soaked T-shirt off, tired of having it stick to my body. “I’ve been trying. I told her I’d buy whatever she wanted.”
Nadine’s eyes momentarily drift below my chin before zipping right back up to my face. “Your sister doesn’t want to live in a museum for the next four years. Start with bedding she likes, toss a couple fluffy blankets around, buy her art supplies. Try harder, Camden.”
The way she says my name in a plea does something I don’t like, making my skin suddenly cold, goose bumps skittering down my arms and up my spine. Like I’ve been plunged into the ocean.
Blinking away from her defiant stare, I mutter, “Are you always so rude?”
“Only to people who deserve it.”
I grunt and push past her right as the doorman calls to inform me Valerie is here. And I haven’t even showered yet.
“Guess I better go.” Nadine collects her purse and cell phone as Paisley shuffles into the kitchen with the popcorn, which Nadine takes from her to throw away and then loads the bowl in the dishwasher.
They hug, signing something I don’t pay attention to while I shuck my sneakers off and run my hand through my hair a moment before Valerie arrives at my door.
She greets me with a kiss, her brown eyes trailing over me, mouth quirked up. “We skipping dinner?”
“No, just haven’t had time to change,” I say, leading her into the house, so she finally sees Nadine next to Paisley.
Valerie stops short, delicate eyebrows winging up. “Oh. You have a visitor.”
From the way she drags her gaze over my bare chest once again, she is obviously not pleased that another woman is in my house.
“This is Nadine Rivera, Erik’s sister.”
Valerie smiles, though it looks like that time she stepped in dog shit in NYC. Cameras were there, so she had to pretend she didn’t. “Hi. I’m Valerie Blondeau.”
Nadine lifts her hand in greeting. “Nice to meet you. I was just heading out.” Then she asks me, “You need me tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Same time. Next week will be every day with training camp starting.”
She nods then turns to Paisley, signing, “See you tomorrow.”
Valerie twiddles her fingers at Nadine in some weird girl code that I don’t understand, not catching what my sister signs out of the corner of my eyes.
Whatever it was, it makes Nadine laugh. A great big chuckle that I don’t expect, and I have a hunch it was about Valerie.
I’m not sure how to feel about that, Nadine and my sister teaming up against my girlfriend.
But I have always liked that Nadine refuses to roll over.