CHAPTER 4
MAPLE
“He thinks I’m a dork,” I say as tears fill my eyes, attempting to hold them back, but now that I’m off duty and in the comforting presence of a friend, I know it’s impossible.
“What?” Everly, my good friend, says as she sets down her milkshake with a stern look crossing her features. “Did he say that to you?”
I shake my head as I twirl my straw around the chunks of Oreos in my drink.
One of my favorite days of the month is Milkshake Monday with Everly.
We meet every second Monday of the month at the Milkshake Bar and catch up on everything that’s going on in our lives.
Funnily enough, she’s married to my ex-boyfriend—long story short, they are perfect for each other, and I don’t think I could be happier for them.
But that’s how I met her, through my ex-boyfriend, and it’s a friendship I’ve clung to ever since moving back to the States, especially since my college friend Polly moved out of San Francisco.
“He didn’t say it, but he implied it.”
“Walk me through the conversation,” Everly says as she crosses her legs in her chair.
After work, I went home, changed, showered, and then put on a pair of comfortable yoga pants and a baggy zoo shirt, not caring who I ran into because I had one thing on my mind—talking with my friend.
Plus, I have zero intention of running into anyone of the opposite sex who would catch my interest. My perspective on life changed after living in Peru for several years, studying flamingos and sleeping in a permanent tent with no running water.
I want a simple life where I can share a milkshake with a friend and spend time with my flamingos but then go home to the quiet of my apartment and work on sudoku while listening to moody music.
“Well, I showed him around the zoo, almost sent him flying out of the golf cart—”
“Uh, what?”
“He made me mad and I might have been driving erratically. The first time I saw him jolt forward, I chuckled to myself and, well, I kept it going until he lost his grip and nearly flew out the side. My braid was the only thing that kept him inside the cart.”
She taps her chin. “Care to elaborate on the braid thing?”
“He grabbed my hair.”
“Ooh, really?” Her eyes light up.
“Everly, please. A little decorum. You’re just as bad as him.”
“Did he make a comment about pulling your hair?” She’s far too excited about the prospect.
“Yes, and it was immature and crass. I don’t wish to revisit the comment.”
Because I hate to admit it, but…the way he talked about tugging on a woman’s hair, it made me have thoughts.
Dirty thoughts.
Thoughts I shouldn’t have about such an insufferable man.
“Fine. Continue,” she says with a wave of her hand.
“Thank you. Where was I? Oh yes, I showed him around while he exhibited zero interest in the zoo, he made a comment about wishing he was with the giraffes—”
“Ass.”
“I know. Then when we got back to the flamingos, I might have gotten a little ahead of myself and was telling him all about them, including their names and charming characteristics. After I spouted off about Martha Stewart being a thirsty bitch, I realized he was judging me from his unamused expression, so I cut it short—”
“Even though you could have kept going.”
“Exactly, I would have talked about all twenty-six of them. But I wasn’t going to subject myself to his visual harassment, so we walked back to the flamingo building, where he took the opportunity to point out that I was wearing high-waters.”
“What?” Everly roars as she sits taller. “He said that?”
“Yes. I got so embarrassed, I’ve never felt my cheeks flame hotter. I didn’t know what to do, so I told him to wash the dishes, and then I vanished into the bathroom, where I told myself not to cry.”
“Oh my God, Maple.” She reaches out and takes my hand. “I’m so sorry. That’s terrible. Ugh, I hate him.”
“I do too,” I say. “Seriously, I’ve spent maybe three, four hours with the man in total, and I don’t think I’ve ever disliked someone so much. Like he’s going out of his way to be a dick. And I told you what he said about the flamingos, right?”
“Uh, yeah. He seems like a giant douche. Like, dude, you’re on assignment to raise the public opinion of your team, and you’re not doing yourself any favors.”
“I know.” I lean back in my chair. “We need this money, Everly. It’s important.
I know Phil could drop the flamingos anytime and build a different exhibit.
He’s even talked about making a merchandise building in that area.
The stupid chicken-wire fence surrounding the exhibit ensures that making a connection with the birds is impossible.
And I just feel like teaming me up with Graydon is a slap in the face.
Almost as if Phil knew Graydon would be useless. ”
“I told you, JP has hounded Hardy and Hudson, and they’re willing to make the donation to shut him up.”
I chuckle, thinking about the billionaire flamingo advocate who was dropped in my lap one day.
JP Cane, one of the three Cane brothers who rule the real estate market, is a champion for flamingos, pigeons, and penguins.
And there’s been a rumor that another bird has been catching his attention as of late, but he’s been keeping it a secret, saying he wants to reveal it to his followers when he’s ready.
But he’s already donated a lot, which has paid for some much-needed, upgraded equipment, including a new fridge, and he’s pressuring his friends, a.k.a.
Everly’s husband and his brother, to donate. But I told them no.
I wasn’t going to go down the slippery slope of asking friends for money. JP is doing enough by bringing awareness.
“You know my rule,” I say. “They can spread the word, but I don’t want their money. It will feel…tainted, forced.”
“I understand. I would feel the same way, but it’s there if you need it.”
I shake my head. “It’s not there, because it’s not an option.”
Not to mention, it would feel really weird getting a donation from my ex-boyfriend even though he’s a good friend now.
“I just need…I need the freaking football man to cooperate and not make me feel like a high-water-wearing dork.”
“‘Freaking football man’ has a nice ring to it.” Everly always knows how to make me smile.
“That’s what he is. And you know what, did I make fun of him for the way he couldn’t fit his body in the golf cart? No. I held my tongue even though I had some serious thoughts about it. Because I have manners. Not him, he doesn’t have any manners. He’s just…he’s a jerk.”
“That’s right, you get it out,” Everly says.
“He’s a big jerk.”
“Enormous jerk. The jerkiest of all jerks.”
“Exactly.” I sip my milkshake. “And his…his fauxhawk is stupid. Just do a real one if you want it so bad.”
“Ooh, good burn. Maybe you can say that to him next time you see him.”
“Yeah, it would be a good comeback. I could say…” I hold my finger up to the air and stare at the ceiling as if I’m talking to him. “By the way…man…your fauxhawk is stupid, just, uh, just get a real one.”
“A little less shaky,” Everly says.
“I’m just pumped with adrenaline right now.”
“I can sense it.”
I pause for a moment, thinking about the man behind the shit day I had. Freaking high-waters.
Wincing, I look my friend in the eyes. “The pants were kind of high.”
She snorts, covering her nose.
“Maybe I should get new ones.”
“No.” She slams her hand on the table. “Absolutely not. You wear those high pants with pride. If anything, you hike them up so high that not only does he see your ankles, but he sees a camel toe too.”
I grimace at the thought. “Uh, no, thank you. That’s not necessary, but the ankle thing…”
“Yeah, and wear low socks so when he sees the smooth, pasty lumps of your ankles, he gets all flustered.”
“This isn’t the eighteen hundreds, Everly. Trust me when I say he has no desire to catch a glimpse of my ankles.”
“What? No way. I bet he took one look at you and those high-water pants and was like…‘I wish she were wearing low socks because—bites fist—fuck, I want to marvel at her ankles.’”
I shake my head with a chuckle. “He definitely didn’t think that.” I let out a sigh, depleted from the day. “Feels like high school all over again. He’s the hot jock, and I’m the nerdy girl in the corner, reading books about birds.”
Everly blinks. “Umm…hot jock?”
I roll my eyes. “Please don’t even get any sort of inkling of a romantic connection in that mind of yours. The only reason I said ‘hot jock’ is because I’d be lying if I said he was anything but hot. It’s a no-brainer.”
“Let me see.” Everly pulls out her phone and starts typing away on it. “I can’t remember what the freaking football man looks like. He can’t be that—oh my God.” She brings the phone closer to her face, clicks on a picture, then turns it to face me.
Graydon stands in a gym, wiping his face with a towel, wearing only a pair of navy blue shorts that ride high on his thighs.
His chest glistens with sweat, the lights above him almost making it seem like glitter as droplet after droplet drips down each and every divot of muscle along his chest and stomach.
Mother.
Of.
God.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen such…such athleticism encompassed in one singular body.
Are those muscles real?
I mean, he’s a huge man, but look at his side, you can practically see the sinew wrapping around each individual rib. He’s bulging and expertly carved in every section of his body.
Is that sort of physical form obtained by strictly drinking protein drinks all the time? I doubt he knows what a milkshake even is—I think this as I sip harder on my churned ice cream drink.
I swallow, my mouth growing dry as I gesture to the phone. “See? Hot.”
“Yeah.” Everly stares at the picture longer. “God, why do I like the fauxhawk?”
“Ugh…I like it too.”
We both look at each other, then burst out in laughter. She sets her phone down and then picks her shake back up. “Sucks to be that hot but have the ugliest personality.”
“For real, what a waste.”
“Hey, at least when he’s at the zoo, being a grump of a man, you have something nice to look at other than analyzing the color of bird shit.”
“That’s true.” I pull my leg up and wrap my arm around it. “Ugh. What am I going to do, Everly? I’m so embarrassed. He clearly thinks I’m the king of dorks, and I have to see him three times a week and do events with him at night to gain support from possible donors.”
“Do what you’re supposed to do.” Everly shrugs. “Be yourself. Teach him about flamingos and show him that you won’t take his shit. If he’s rude, you snap back. If he’s kind, pat him on the head and tell him he’s a good boy.”
I chuckle. “I’d need a ladder to be able to pat him on the head.”
“That tall?” she asks.
“When I say he barely fit in the golf cart, I’m not kidding. He’s gigantic. Also, I think his hands are bigger than my face.”
“Wow…that’s…that’s nice,” she replies, staring off into space.
I snap my finger in front of her. “Um, hello, you’re married to my ex-boyfriend.”
“That I am,” she says dreamily and then snaps out of it.
Eyes focused on me, she continues, “You’re going to go into your next meeting with him, and you’re going to show him who’s boss and that he can’t treat you with disrespect.
And your pants, if they’re not at least five inches off the ground, showing off your ankles, I don’t want you stepping outside your apartment. ”
I smirk. “I think I can do that.” I sip my drink. “Give him hell.”
“But also…teach him the way of the birds, because at the end of the day, we are really here to use his celebrity to help save the flamingos.”
“Have you been reading JP’s emails again?”
Everly shrugs. “They’re catchy.”