CHAPTER 10 #2
He pushes a door open, and we enter a cafeteria where chefs wait behind the counter to serve whoever walks in.
“Two protein smoothies, please. A four-egg omelet with spinach, cheese, and bacon, and a bowl of fruit.” He glances at me and asks, “Do you have any allergies?”
“Uh…no.”
“Do you want anything else other than a smoothie?”
Any donuts lying around here? Because I know that would truly soothe my battered and beaten soul.
“Um, I think I’m good.”
“Want a bacon omelet?”
“I’m a vegetarian.”
He pauses for a moment, as if he’s recording that information before saying, “Then a cheese omelet? You should have some protein.”
“Isn’t that what the shake is for?”
“You should have more.”
“I’m good.” I hold my stomach. Could I actually hold anything down?
He turns back to the people behind the counter and says, “That’s it, then.”
They nod and get to work as he takes a seat at a nearby table. I follow right behind him and take a seat as well.
“You just have people making you food all the time? That must be nice.”
“It is,” he says as he leans back in his chair, studying me, those dark eyes penetrating any sort of protective shield I might have up. “Do you want to call this quits?”
“What?” I ask, my brow pulling together.
“You really think you can keep on doing this?”
“It was one day and my first time. I’m sure I can keep doing this.” If by “this” he means feeling like a sweaty, slightly ripe noodle, then I doubt I can keep doing this. But I’m not a quitter, and I can be quite stubborn when I want to be.
And this…this is a moment where I want “stubborn” to be my middle name.
“You can barely walk, and you have no idea the kind of pain you will be in tomorrow or even the day after that, when you’re back out here with me. Just call it like it is—you can’t keep up.”
“Oh, I can keep up,” I say as I lean forward, my body screaming at me for making any movement. “Just…just need to get used to it is all.”
Two smoothies are set down in front of us, and we both politely thank the human being who served us, only for me to have to turn my gaze back to the rotten tomato in front of me.
“No amount of torture that you put me through will end this contract between us. And I don’t even know why you’re trying to end things in the first place.”
“Because I don’t want to do this,” he hisses at me.
“You don’t have a freaking choice,” I hiss right back.
“The sooner you realize that, the better.” I get that he doesn’t want to help me out, but it’s not a lifelong commitment.
It’s a few weeks and then he can just go on with his football-loving life.
What’s his deal? “No matter how much you complain and whine and groan about helping out the freaking flamingos, nothing’s going to change.
This is it, this is what you have to do, so why don’t you just suck it up and be nice? ”
“Because that’s not who I am.”
“Clearly,” I say as I throw my hands up to the sky, lean back in my seat, and take a sip of my smoothie. “Oh wow, this is delicious. Is it strawberry banana?”
“Yeah.”
“Delightful.” I suck in some more and then turn my snarly gaze back on him.
“Can we come to some sort of truce? An agreement that doesn’t make us both want to keep badgering each other?
Because listen…man…I’m not the one who did this to you.
Your team did. And I’m just the one you have to deal with, and if you ask my friends, I’m a pretty nice person.
So if you could just drop the asshole persona to realize that, maybe we would get along better. ”
“This coming from the person who said I’m lacking in brain cells.”
“Okay, I can admit when I’m wrong, and that was not nice to say,” I reply in a calm voice as the rest of his food is delivered.
There’s a giant chunk of pineapple on the top of his fruit salad, and without even thinking about it, I snag it for myself, only for him to eye me and then pull his bowl closer to him.
“But maybe we can start over. Okay.” I clear my throat.
“Hi, I’m Maple Baker. I’m a flamingo zookeeper over at the San Francisco Zoo, I’m thirty years old, I have zero knowledge of the sport of football, and I really like music by Ed Sheeran. ” I gesture to him. “Okay, your turn.”
“Not participating,” he says as he sticks some omelet on his fork and takes a huge bite.
“Fine, I’ll answer for you.” I take a sip of my smoothie, swallow, and then say, “Hi, I’m Graydon St. John, and I play defensive tackle—”
“Defensive end,” he grumbles.
“Oh, right.” My cheeks flame. “Hi, I’m Graydon St. John, and I play defensive end for the Seattle Foghorns—”
“San Francisco.”
“What?” I ask.
“You said Seattle. Last time I checked, we’re in San Francisco.”
“Did I? Huh. Maybe all the sweating and exertion has gotten to my brain. Not used to such a taxing effect being placed on my body.”
“Shame,” he says. “Sweating and exertion is all I fucking crave…”
When my eyes connect with his, all I see is darkness and innuendo…
Sexual innuendo.
Visions of him sweating…
Exerting…
Sweating and exerting…
They both viciously flash through my mind like an erotic theater, causing a wave of sweat to break out on my lower back because I bet he knows how to sweat and exert properly.
Not that I’ve thought about it or anything.
But let’s be honest, one look at the man and you can gather he knows what he’s doing. No man with hands that large doesn’t know what he’s doing.
Flustered, I say, “Um, well, that’s…that’s information I didn’t know.
So…good thing we are doing this, right?” I clear my throat, then nervously laugh.
“So to sum it up, you like sweat and exertion, and you’re a defensive tackle, I mean end.
Defensive end. And you eat a lot of protein and, umm…
you like the combination of strawberries and bananas.
Oh, and you live in San Francisco, not Seattle. Did I miss anything?”
He lifts his fruit bowl up and starts chomping away on fruit. “Nope.”
“Anything you want to add?”
“Nope.”
I sigh and take a bite from my pineapple chunk.
What’s the use?
“Okay, so does everything look good there?” I ask Everly, showing her the caption I made for my first post on Flock and Tackle.
For the past hour, Everly has given me a crash course on social media.
I took notes like a lunatic, writing down all the things so I can make sure this social account does well.
She assured me that once I start posting more pictures of Graydon, it will pick up because people will love seeing him.
I hope she’s right, because if this idea works, maybe he’ll lighten up and trust that I’m not in his life to make it unbearable.
“I think it looks great.” She stares at the picture a touch longer. “God, he’s so hot.”
“Wouldn’t know,” I say, even though that’s a blatant lie. He’s hot. Incredibly hot. “So I should post?”
“Yes, post.”
I hit the post button and then hold my breath, as if I’ll get instant feedback.
“Okay, now that you made your first post, let’s go back to the whole ‘you wouldn’t know he’s hot’ thing.”
“Must we? I really don’t want to think about him in any capacity at the moment.”
I stretch out across my couch, thankful for the long Epsom salt bath I took after work because it helped ease some of the pain that’s already been building up.
I’m going to be in a world of hurt tomorrow, which is fantastic, because he’s coming to the zoo, so he can see the results of the torture he made me endure.
There’s a knock on the door, and I turn to look at Everly, who says, “It’s Hardy.” She hops up from the couch and lets him into the apartment. I hear him whisper something to her before the telltale sound of a kiss rings through the apartment.
Is it weird to hear my ex-boyfriend kissing someone else?
No, actually.
I’m really happy for him.
We weren’t meant to be together. He and Everly, though? That’s a completely different story.
They walk into the room, holding hands, and Hardy offers me that boyish grin of his. “Hey, Maple. How are you?”
“Great. I would stand and give you a hug, but my body is hanging together by a thread.”
He chuckles. “I heard. Graydon St. John’s giving you trouble in all aspects of your life?”
“What do you mean, ‘all aspects’?” I look over at Everly, who looks guilty.
“Work and love,” Hardy says nonchalantly as he takes a seat on my couch and pulls Everly onto his lap.
“Uh…not love. There is no love.”
“We were just talking about that,” Everly says. “She doesn’t want to mention him at all.”
“Sounds like something someone who is in love would say,” Hardy taunts jokingly.
“There is absolutely not one shred of any sort of affection for that man in my body. None. He’s rude and inconsiderate and mean and selfish, and I can’t wait for the moment that I can take the money he helped me raise and run without looking back.”
“So things are going well, then,” Hardy jokes.
“He stretched her,” Everly says.
Hardy’s eyes light up. “In what way?”
Deadpan, I answer, “In a ‘her legs are seizing, I better stretch them out before I have to take her to the hospital’ kind of way.”
“Sounds hot.” Hardy smiles.
“It wasn’t.”
“He was between her legs,” Everly continues.
Why on earth did I say anything to her in the first place?
“Ooh, really?”
I press my fingers into my brow. “Listen, as much fun as this is, I’m getting a headache because my muscles don’t know what to do with themselves. I think I should take some pain relievers and call it a night.”
Not to mention, I’d rather not talk about how Graydon was between my legs today. Or how my leg twitched when his hand pressed into my thigh. Or how there were moments, although fleeting, when I caught his eye in the mirror while we were lifting before we both looked away.
But that’s neither here nor there.
“Okay, fine, we’ll leave you alone, but just remember, hate sex is so much fun if you get a chance.”
“Dear God, there will be no sex with that man. He’s enormous.”
“All the more reason to do it,” Everly says with a wiggle of her brow.
“Okay, this is getting too close to crossing my boundaries,” Hardy says, lifting himself off the couch alongside Everly. “Do you need anything before we leave?”
“Yes, can you please follow my new social media account, Flock and Tackle?”
Hardy smirks, pulls out his phone, and taps away. “Hey, you have fifty followers.”
“Really?” I ask, sitting up. “That quickly?”
“Yup.” He taps. “Just liked your picture.” He stares at it for a second. “I don’t know, Everly, I think they make a cute couple…and so does everyone else.”
“What?” I shout as I pull up the account and go straight to the comments.
Ten.
There are ten comments.
My eyes travel over them.
Graydon has a girlfriend? Since when?
OMG he’s so hot. Who is he with?
I’d let him tackle me.
Ahh, that smirk.
I think I just got pregnant, but don’t tell my husband.
Who’s the girl?
Are they dating? They’re so cute together.
New couple alert!
What a way to hard launch a relationship.
Um, this is my new obsession.
I look up at Everly, fear prickling the back of my neck. “Oh God, we did not think this through.”