Chapter Twelve
I reach for my phone on the nightstand as the alarm jolts me awake. I had stayed up last night, unable to sleep, and the last time I looked at the clock, it was after three in the morning.
It’s six-thirty, and I feel so tired.
But that’s what staying up late thinking about Aiden did to my brain.
I couldn’t shut the thoughts of him off.
We texted briefly as he was getting on the plane after the game, but then he said he would talk to me tomorrow.
Today, I mean. Meanwhile, I stayed awake, listening to Matcha and Mochi run around in their condo, thinking of how Aiden might respond to the fact that I told Jamie about us.
Will he be pissed?
Worried?
Both?
Neither?
It’s probably not good that I’ve compiled a list of responses for Aiden.
I bite my lip. I just hope he can forgive me for not keeping our relationship a secret.
I shove that thought aside and force myself to throw back the duvet.
Otherwise, I might fall back asleep. Granted, I don’t have to be at Real Miami until later because of the offseason, but I still like to get to work at a decent hour.
I’m still considered new there, and I want to show them I have a good work ethic, even in the offseason.
I use the bathroom, brush my teeth, and put on some workout clothing. My apartment building has a great gym, with treadmills that overlook the luxurious swimming pool, and I have no excuse to skip my workout this morning.
Hopefully, it will help me run off some of this anxiety in my system.
I open my drawer in the bathroom and retrieve an elastic band.
I work my hair into a high ponytail on my head, yawn one more time for good measure, and then grab my key card and slip it into the pocket on my workout pants.
After I fill my water bottle, pop in my earbuds, and grab my phone, I’m ready to hit the gym.
I make my way to the spacious, well-equipped facility—the sun is coming in through the windows, and quite a few people are working out already. I look around. There’s a girl my age on a treadmill, her brunette ponytail swishing back and forth as she runs.
I bite my lower lip. It’s November. I’ve been in Miami for months, and outside of Aiden, I have yet to make any friends.
Do I have work friends at Real Miami who I can go to lunch or grab a happy-hour drink with?
Sure. But do I have friends where I can spend hours talking to them, lingering over long-empty glasses?
Friends who I can get a manicure with or go shopping with?
Friends who can make me laugh until my sides hurt, friends who I can bounce complicated situations off of, friends who I can cry with?
No.
I was brave with Aiden. That resulted in me finding not only a friend, but an incredible boyfriend. Maybe it’s time to be brave with women, too. Put out into the universe what I want. Or whatever that saying is.
There are available treadmills on each side of the girl running. I’ll take one of those, smile, and say hello. We at least have running and working out in common. Maybe when she’s finished, I can ask her some questions to initiate a conversation.
Nervousness begins to grow in the pit of my stomach. Why is this harder than talking to Aiden? What is it about trying to make female friendships that is so hard for me?
Because it’s not college, I remind myself. There aren’t many people in the same boat, wanting to make new friends.
Regardless, I have to put myself out there. I gather up my courage and get on the treadmill next to her. I put my water bottle in the holder and glance over at her. She’s still running, but must feel my gaze. She turns her head toward me, her brown brows furrowed.
“What?” she snaps. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
DAMN IT, UNIVERSE, YOU MESSED UP MY ORDER.
“Nothing. I … just like your workout top,” I lie.
She scowls. “Alo.”
“Um … well, it looks great.”
She shifts her gaze back to the screen on her treadmill and rolls her eyes.
Well, that went well. I can’t wait to try again. Sigh.
I pull up Spotify on my phone and put on one of my workout playlists, then begin my workout.
I’m so tired, and I feel as if I’m struggling to pick up my pace after my warm-up.
The oh-so-not-cheerful brunette next to me ends her run, shuts off her treadmill, and leaves without even looking in my direction.
I can’t help it. I begin to laugh. It figures that my first attempt to find female friendship ended in a big fail.
Okay, universe, I’m telling you now, I would like to make one nice girlfriend here in Miami. Just one. Go and do your magic, please.
I feel more awake by the end of my run, but my legs are heavy.
I go over to the mat area and take some time to stretch, then head back upstairs to get ready for the day.
I shower, slip into an outfit for work, do the whole hair-and-makeup routine, and feed Mochi and Matcha.
I’ve practically forgotten about Ms. Workout Top from this morning.
Almost.
My apartment is only one building over from my favorite café, so I always take a walk to get a matcha latte.
It’s in the seventies outside, with clear blue skies, and my mood is already elevated as I stare up at the palm trees overhead.
I reach the café, pull open the door, and find the end of a massive line of people waiting to get their morning drink before heading off to work.
The music—I’d label it “coffeehouse folk”—fills the air, nice and mellow, but of course, the hissing of the espresso machines is the dominant sound I hear.
And you can’t escape the scent of coffee.
I always get the same thing—and the baristas know me, so they always get it ready before I even come up to pay—but today I study the overhead menu board, looking for one thing.
Cuban coffee.
Funny, I never paid much attention to other drink offerings since I have a usual order
Sure enough, they have everything from café Cubanos and café con leche to Miami sweet coffee. Interesting. It’s a whole new language I’ll have to learn for Aiden.
I take a picture of the offerings and save it to send to Aiden later. I’m sure he’s still asleep after coming home late last night. I would hate to wake him up with a stupid coffee text, so I’ll text him once I get to the office.
And the next time Aiden comes over, or I go over to see him, I’ll offer to grab him a coffee from here.
Which will hopefully be very soon.
“Scarlett,” Javier says as I reach the front of the line. “I’ve got you covered.”
His tattooed hand reaches for a ready-made large matcha latte, sliding it across the counter to me.
Javier has dark purple hair, the color of eggplant, and is rail-thin, with multiple piercings.
He started working here shortly after I moved into my apartment, so we know each other well enough to be friendly.
“I swear I love you,” I tease him.
He laughs. “Please tell me your requirements for a partner are higher than knowing your matcha order.”
I think of Aiden, and warmth spreads across my chest. “I promise you, they are. They have to know my pastry order, too.”
He playfully rolls his eyes, and I laugh as I move on to Tania, who is running the cash register today. “Anything else?” she asks.
“Nope. Just the matcha,” I say.
She rings me up. I pay, leave a generous tip, and make my way back outside. I’d love to work from a patio today. Or at least this morning. I think we’re supposed to get some rain in the afternoon.
But I promised myself I wouldn’t do that. In the offseason, if we aren’t making content that requires us to be on-site, the team allows us to work from home. Or a café, or wherever you feel comfortable working.
Yet no matter how much I would like to do that, I feel like I should be in the office. Being present and reminding people I’m still here, working.
And even if there are only a handful of people there, it is social interaction.
I get in my car and head to the office, and before long, I’m walking inside the Real Miami FC Headquarters, ready to start my day.
I know it will be even slower than normal today.
Combine the offseason with it being the week before Thanksgiving—well, there won’t be many people here except for tomorrow, when we have our Thanksgiving feast event.
My brain drifts to photography for a moment.
If I were a photographer for a hockey team, I’d be off today, but tomorrow I’d be hitting the rink to take pictures of practice.
Or work with the social media team or marketing to get whatever pictures they need for content.
I’d be bundled up, breathing in the cold air, exhilarated at capturing the speed of the players and the puck.
I bite my lip. I haven’t thought about this for a long time, because I knew working in the NHL wasn’t an option. My dad is a head coach in the league. What other team would employ me?
And the Manatees wouldn’t simply because of the optics.
I don’t know why this longing has come up, but I put it aside. I have a great job working in sports, a job a lot of other people would take in a second. I need to focus on that instead of things that can never happen.
I reach my desk and set my things down. I boot up my computer, and then check my phone.
Happiness fills me when I see I have a text from Aiden.
Morning, beautiful.
I feel warmth spread through my body. There is something so wonderful about knowing Aiden thinks I’m beautiful.
I reply:
Morning yourself, gorgeous. I’m surprised you’re up so early on a day off.
Brooks is typing …
I put my phone aside and bring up my email, and as I predicted, it’s rather sparse. I sigh. Between now and Christmas, I have a feeling work is going to be slooooooooooooooooow. Which will drive me crazy, because the days will be so long.
Buzz!
I’ve been up. I’m going to pick up Milo this morning from the dog sitter. What are you up to?
Do I tell Aiden via text what happened with Jamie? I know I should probably do it in person, but I don’t know if I can spend all day with this rolling around in my head. Especially with so little to do. I’ll probably fixate on it for that very reason alone.
Maybe it’s best that I start the conversation now, I muse.
I begin typing:
There’s something I need to tell you. I was talking with my brother Jamie on Connectivity Video Connect last night, and he figured out that I was seeing someone on the team.
It was all over my face. I’m so sorry! I tried to deflect it, not answer it, but then he zeroed in on you, and he figured it out based on my expression.
Please don’t worry—Jamie promised me this is my business, not his, and he’s definitely not going to tell Ethan or Mom and Dad.
Do I send this? I read it, bite my lip, wince, and then hit send.
There’s no immediate response.
I force myself to look at my computer. Take a sip of my latte. Examine my manicure.
I check my phone. There’s still no reply.
My heart sinks. Is Aiden pissed off? Is that why he’s not replying? I don’t even see that he’s typing anything. But then …
Brooks is typing …
My heart freezes in anxiety. I have no idea how he’s going to respond. I’m practically holding my breath as his reply drops in:
I trust you.
I exhale in relief. He trusts me. Implicitly trusts me.
And having his absolute trust about something like this?
I just fell a bit more in love with him.
Another message drops in from him:
Claire, you don’t have a poker face. I can tell what you’re feeling when I look at you, and I LOVE that.
I wouldn’t want to change that about you, either.
Your face is open and honest, and it makes you even more beautiful to me.
I know you wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize my position with the team, so if you trust Jamie, I’ll trust him, too.
I stare down at his message, stunned by Aiden’s perception of me. And he’s made something I’ve always considered a negative a good thing.
If I weren’t at work, I might get teary over this. But since I’m sitting here at Real Miami, I blink back the tears and text him back:
You’re an amazing man. Thank you for understanding this.
Brooks is typing …
I trust my girl, that’s all.
HOW DID HIS PREVIOUS GIRLFRIEND LET THIS MAN GO?
I will never take for granted how lucky I am to have Aiden. That I get to date this man, continue to get to know him, to call him my boyfriend.
Thank you. I know this isn’t what we planned, but we’re safe.
Aiden immediately messages me back:
I know. Hey, I miss your face. Do you want to come over for dinner after work?
Do I? I can’t reply yes fast enough.
Nor can I wait to see my new boyfriend tonight.