Chapter Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Eight
Michelle
The text comes in from Lauren as soon as I’m set up at Tristan’s house the next day.
Lauren
wtf why did you tell West?
Michelle
I didn’t!
I told Tristan, and Coach walked in and heard
Lauren
You didn’t tell him to take care of me?
Michelle
No
He was pissed off that you didn’t call him
Which is weird, considering I thought you guys were only hooking up
Lauren
Well now he’s over here, making a huge vat of soup
Michelle
That sounds nice of him, actually
Lauren
He stuck a freaking humidifier in my face
and he has a timer set up for all my medicines
A FREAKING TIMER THAT SAYS LAUREN’S MEDS
Michelle
Should I tell the authorities that he’s taking care of you?
Lauren
He bought all my favorite movies on streaming
HE BOUGHT ME A KINDLE
AND A HEATING PAD
ALL I DO IS SWEAT AND brEATHE IN HUMIDIFIER
Michelle
It sounds like he wants to be more than just a hookup
Lauren
you THINK?
Ugh
Michelle
Tell him to leave if you don’t want him there
I lift an eyebrow at the screen, but Lauren doesn’t respond.
“Who’re you talking to?”
“Lauren. She’s mad because Coach is acting like a nurse, apparently.”
“Coach is acting like a nurse?” He starts to laugh, the sound cutting off abruptly as he must remember laughing hurts. “I’m surprised he’s not forcing her to do burpees or walk it off.”
“Yeah, or teaching her how to cough more dramatically to get sympathy from the refs.”
“Low blow, Oxford.” He grins at me, though, clearly amused.
“She says he has a timer on his phone for her meds.”
His eyebrows shoot up, his lips pursing, and I bite back a laugh of my own. “What should we wear to their wedding?”
I can’t hold it in anymore, and I burst out laughing. “Right? He hasn’t said anything to you about her, has he?”
Tristan shakes his head. “He wouldn’t, though. He’s always business with us. Kind of like how you used to be.”
I clear my throat, weighing my options. I need to rip off this Band-Aid and just tell him, but…
“What?” he asks, immediately picking up on my internal indecision.
“You’re cute.”
He throws a pillow at me.
“Mmm, cute and spicy.”
“Talk, Oxford, or I’m going to punch my own rib.” He fists his hand, holding it out above his chest.
I roll my eyes, because we both know he’s all talk.
A long sigh punctuates the eye roll, and I collapse into one of the fluffy chairs in his living room.
“I’m taking a new job,” I tell him, wincing. “I didn’t want to tell you until it was for sure, and it’s not yet, not all the way, but I’m like seventy percent sure it’s happening.”
“Seventy percent is more than fifteen percent,” he says seriously.
“I always knew you were great at math,” I deadpan.
“I’m proud of you,” he says, and when I look up from wringing my hands, he’s smiling softly at me. “I know how stressed out you’ve been, and how overworked you are. This is great. I want you to tell me everything…but—” His lips turn down in an exaggerated pout.
“But what?”
“I want you to sit next to me and snuggle while you tell me,” he says, patting the couch cushion next to him.
Laughing, I shake my head and do as he says. He wraps his arm around me and pulls my legs into his lap.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he says when I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m not that hurt, Oxford.”
“I don’t want to make it worse,” I protest, grinning in spite of myself.
“No, you’re making it better.” He inhales against my head. “See? Your smell is healing. You’re better than Icy Hot.”
“Well, if you think sniffing Icy Hot is how it works, then we have a lot more to talk about than my potential career change.”
He pokes me in the stomach, and I huff out a laugh. “Stop distracting me and tell me about the new job.”
“I’m nervous.”
“About telling me?”
I nod, knowing it’s silly, but he doesn’t laugh.
“Why would that make you nervous?”
“I don’t want you to think I’m stupid,” I say in a small voice. “I know most people would say I’m an idiot for taking a job that doesn’t pay as well and isn’t as prestigious.”
“Sweet Cheeks, if this new job makes you happy and means I get to spend more time with you than you spend sleeping on your couch at work, then I’m all for it. Hell, even if you had to spend more time working there, if it made you happy, I would still be all for it.”
“Has it been that obvious?”
He stares at me. “That you’re unhappy at the Aces? Yeah, Michelle, you’ve been wilting for months. I don’t know if anyone else noticed it, but…” He trails off.
But he noticed, because he’s wanted me to notice him for a long time.
“Okay.” I take a deep breath, and it’s shaky. “So, you know I used to play soccer, right?”
I expect him to make a snarky remark, because obviously he knows that. But he just continues to listen intently, his thumb gently sweeping back and forth across my ankle.
“Anyway, I had this big…epiphany—”
He raises his eyebrows at my word choice but stays quiet. I squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back.
“Lauren said something when she and I were first hanging out about how she wanted to make more friends, and it made me think, you know, that I hadn’t been a good friend to my old team when I got injured.
” The words rush out of me, tumbling over one another, but still he doesn’t tell me to slow down, just lets me get it out.
“And so I thought I should reach out to them. I’m in their group chat, but you know, I never felt like I belonged after I left and wasn’t on the team anymore.
I went to dinner with them a couple times after we reconnected, and I told them how miserable I’ve been working in the front office, and how much I miss being on the field and around other players. ”
I swipe angrily at a rogue tear on my cheek, annoyed that I’m crying over all of this again.
Tristan just smiles at me, holding my hand, waiting for me to keep going.
“One of the women, our former center…anyway, she helps run this foundation. For girls in sports—soccer, yes, but all kinds of sports. She was looking for someone to head up their soccer division, and basically, I’m perfect for it.
I have all the experience, plus I get to run this program that will have me on the field again, coaching sometimes, but also just mentoring these amazing kids and helping them navigate college careers and beyond.
It’s really cool, and I think…” I blow out a huge breath.
“I think I’m going to be really happy doing it. ”
“I love this,” Tristan says, and he looks thrilled, his smile turned up bright, dimples deep in his cheeks. He squeezes my ankle, like he can’t bear to let me go. “I think this is awesome.”
“I mean, it’s a pay cut, but I have savings, and I just, I can’t do it anymore. It’s not even the pressure, you know? It’s everything else. It’s the owners, and the press, and…honestly, I’m going to be relieved that we can date and be together and it won’t be a thing.”
He squeezes my hand again, kissing my forehead as best he can without moving his upper body. He gets a fair bit of hair, and we both laugh as he pulls away, blowing the pieces off his lips.
“I’m really happy for you,” he repeats. “Besides, you’re moving in with me here, so you’ll save money on rent. Who cares if it pays less, right?”
“Yeah, but only for six weeks.”
He gives me a long, meaningful look.
“What?” I ask, tucking my bare feet under his thigh.
“Well, besides the fact that your feet are like fucking ice cubes, why only six weeks?”
“Because that’s when you’ll be cleared to play again and do things.” Obviously. My forehead scrunches in confusion. “Six weeks is all you’ll need help with.”
“Michelle Oxford. Be serious. You think I won’t want you here longer than six weeks?”
“I…are you asking me to move in with you?”
“Why not?” he asks, with the air of someone asking if I want a glass of water. Completely nonchalant, like asking someone to move in is no big deal.
“I’ve never lived with a boyfriend. And we’ve only been official for a few weeks!”
“So? I love you, you love me, we’re K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”
I snort as he sings out the letters, and he kisses my head again.
“My offer for that Vegas wedding still stands, if that’s why you’re nervous. If you need to make it official.”
I can’t tell if he’s serious or not, but the way he’s running his hand up and down my calf is short-circuiting my brain.
“What if you hate having me live with you?”
“I won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”
I stare at him.
“All right, how about this: We just stay excited about your job, because it is going to be wonderful, and we enjoy the next six weeks and see how everything goes. Take our time.”
I nod, because that makes sense.
“And then we see how you feel. If you decide you don’t want to move in with me, no problem. No hard feelings. I’ll just kidnap you, and we’ll get married by Elvis in Vegas.”
“Or if you decide you hate living with me…” I add.
He makes a noncommittal noise.
“You could!” I insist.
“Do you leave the toilet seat up?”
“What?” I yelp. “Why would I do that?”
“Uh-huh.” He pretends to open a notebook and write down that answer. “And do you drink straight out of the orange juice carton?”
“Gross.”
He nods again, setting imaginary pen to paper.
“And do you mind having someone come clean the house?”
“Oh my god, no, why would I?”
“Right. How do you feel about a roommate who makes you come every morning, noon, and night?”
“Tristan.” I wriggle my toes underneath his thigh, and he grins at me. “Be serious.”
“I am being serious. Is there some deep, dark, weird fetish I should know about that’s going to suddenly flip a switch on whether or not I want to be with you? Are you a cannibal? A serial killer?”
“I honestly don’t even know what to say to that.” I stare at him, at a total loss for words.
“Well, hopefully it’s a no.”
“It’s a no!” I exclaim. “Why in the world would you even ask that?”
“I’ve had roommates.”
“That were cannibals?” Truly, I can’t get over this. “I’m not even touching the last part of that question.”
“I had one my sophomore year in college who hunted. He was big into hunting. One morning I woke up and there was a straight-up deer carcass hanging from the kitchen ceiling so he could drain its blood. Do you plan on doing any animal sacrifice or dismemberment at home?”
“You had a roommate do what?” The last word takes on a nearly hysterical pitch, and he finally laughs.
“I am not going to lie, the moment I had the opportunity to move out of that house and play pro, no way was I not going to take it.” He makes a face like he wants to laugh, but nothing comes out besides a huff of air.
“You’re hurting,” I say sharply. “Did you take the naproxen on time?”
“I did.”
“Let me get you some ice.”
His arm immediately goes around my waist, locking me down next to him. “Not until we finish talking about this.”
“I don’t eat humans, I don’t hunt, I love animals, and frankly I can’t imagine hurting one without wanting to cry. If I have trouble sleeping I like to take a bubble bath, so your hot water consumption will probably quadruple.”
“You could exponentially increase the hot water usage and it would be worth it.” He mimes licking the tip of a pen and makes a flourishing gesture. “You’ve met all of my requirements for a decent roommate, and your application has been approved.”
“You have incredibly low standards.”
“Not when it comes to who I date,” Tristan says seriously, his gold-green eyes holding mine with an intense stare.
“And not when it comes to the woman I want to live with me.” He runs a fingertip across my thigh, drawing a heart.
“You see, I’ve never had a female roommate.
I was holding out for the one who would steal my whole heart. ”
“Shut up,” I tell him before I plant a kiss on his mouth, then his nose, and then his lips again.
“I mean it, Sweet Cheeks. I’ll wait as long as you need. Longer, even. But when it comes to you? I don’t have any doubts.”
“Unless I start skinning deer in the kitchen.”
“Honestly, I lived through it once. Maybe not a deal-breaker if it’s you.” He shrugs one shoulder, then stiffens.
I hop up immediately. “I’m getting you ice.”
“I won’t fight you on that,” he says easily, leaning back against the couch.
The trainers sent us home with a kit that includes a reusable ice pouch, and my cheeks start to hurt as I fill it up.
I touch them, and I realize it’s because I can’t stop smiling.