Chapter 10 Maddox
MADDOX
Maddox
Hello.
Too boring. Let’s try again.
What’s up?
Who am I, a fuck boy? I mean I am. I was. I might be. Am I reformed?
Hey, Gabi, this is Maddox.
The only way I’m sending this is if my next message is going to ask about her car’s extended warranty.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you…
Well that’s creepy. True. But creepy.
I throw my phone down on the couch, pinching the bridge of my nose because for the life of me I can’t figure out what to text Gabi.
Because it has to be perfect.
When Linc sent me the text with her contact, I thought he was playing some sort of fucked-up joke on me. Which would’ve been cruel. I asked him twenty times if it was for real or not—and texted Ainsley because the woman would never lie. I only believed him after I confirmed with her.
But that has only led me to staring at my phone for the past hour trying to figure out what to say to the woman who’s been keeping me up at night.
Which is very much not like me. I’ve been with women.
Plenty of them. I’ve had hot nights. I’ve had crazy ones where the location of the exploits might not have been the most private.
I’ve been with women that some men would give an appendage to be with.
Yet, one night with Gabi has put me under some sort of a spell.
It’s like I’ve been reverse dickmatized.
Yes, that has to be why I’m picking my phone back up, but staring at it like it’s a foreign object.
Never in my twenty-four years have I ever been nervous to approach a woman.
I asked out my first girlfriend when I was six years old.
She was in third grade and road my bus. She always had the prettiest bows in her hair, so I told her that.
Next thing I knew we were holding hands every day and I was carrying her books to class.
Wait! Is that where my love for older women started? I should talk to the team therapist about that…
Needless to say from that first relationship with Bella Summers until this very moment, I’ve always been the guy to step up and ask a woman out. Or for her number or socials. Send the first message without that bullshit three-day rule. Rejection? Rejection is scared of me.
Until now.
“What is wrong with me?” I say out loud as I grip my phone tight in my hand.
“At the end of the day, she’s just a woman.
But she’s not. She’s… fuck! I’ve never not had words.
Am I in a trance? Is this a pussy trance?
No. It can’t be because I was hypnotized when she walked on stage. Why am I a bumbling idiot right now?”
I let out a deep breath, doing my best to collect myself. “I’m just a guy. She’s just a girl. I’m going to send her a message to see if she’d maybe want to go to get coffee. Or marry me.”
Am I being overdramatic? Possibly. Because yes, I know it’s one text message.
It’s not the actual make or break for whatever we’re going to be, but it’s important.
This moment right here is chapter two in our story.
And considering I didn’t think there was going to be a second, I’m not going to take the chance of sending some dumbass text with a dumbass opening line.
No. When she opens my text from an unknown number, I want her belly to flip.
I want her heart to flutter. I want her to instantly be transported back to that night in Vegas.
“That’s it!” I scream, sitting up on my couch ready to type out what came to my mind. Except that when I look at my screen, things are not what they should be.
There should be no messages sent. And yet, there is one.
And it’s not a text.
It’s a voice memo.
And it says delivered.
“Fuck fuck fuck…” I murmur, jumping up from the couch and starting to pace around my living room. “What the fuck did I say?”
Except I know what I said. I was talking to myself about how I’m already basically in love and would marry a woman I’ve spent one night with. I used the words “pussy trance” which I don’t even think is a real phrase.
“Fuck!” I yell again, my fingers flying over the phone, wondering if I can unsend a voice memo.
Can you? I honestly have no fucking clue, but that doesn’t stop me from quickly trying to Google “I’m a dumbass and sent a voice memo to a woman. Help me undo it.” Unfortunately, that’s not giving me the best search results.
Just when I think I’ve found a helpful article, my stomach drops when I see a return message.
One from a contact labeled “Future Wife.”
Because yes, I’m already down bad for this woman.
Future Wife
Pussy trance? I didn’t even know that was a thing, let alone that I was capable of it. Wait, is this one of those things you youngins say these days?
My first thought is to be absolutely mortified. She heard it. She heard it all. My entire rant about wanting to marry her after one night—which I’m only really half serious about—and being in a pussy trance.
My second is that out of everything I said, that’s what she came back with. Slightly busting my balls about my words and poking a little fun out of the awkward situation.
Yup. I’m pretty much in love with her.
Not all youngins. Just me.
You should send the word to the dictionary people. Or get a trademark. You don’t want anyone stealing your intellectual property.
Or we could keep it between us and also maybe forget that I sent you that voice memo?
Not a chance in the world
I lay back down on my couch, smiling at my phone like a goof as I read Gabi’s words.
Okay, but can you at least give me a do over? Send you the text that I wanted to send?
Sure. But just so you know I downloaded that and am saving it forever.
Forever? A woman after my own heart.
I take in a breath, and I don’t know why I was stressing too hard about it. Because as I type this, it’s the easiest two words I’ve ever strung together.
Hey Gabrielle.
Hey, Maddox. How have you been? I’m so surprised you texted me! I didn’t know if you even remembered my name or not!
Smart ass.
Had to throw in one crack. But seriously, how are you?
Better now that the mortification has slightly worn off.
Okay, well then I’m going to get this out of the way now. While I’m flattered that you proposed marriage, I’m going to have to say no at this time. Being that the ink isn’t dry on my divorce, there’s probably a waiting period in the state of Tennessee. So at this time, I’m going to have to say no.
Does that mean at another time you’d say yes?
You really are something else, aren’t you?
So I’ve been told.
For the next fifteen minutes we fall into easy conversation.
She asks me about the parade and the media blitz since I’ve been home.
Which makes me smile because that means she’s been paying attention.
I ask her about the bakery and what she’s been up to since getting back from Vegas.
While the conversation is effortless, I probably need to address the mini elephant in the room.
I hope you don’t mind that I texted you. Or I should say voice messaged you badly.
I don’t at all. The voice memo, which will forever be saved, brightened my day.
Glad to help.
I was actually wondering if you were going to text me or not…
I wasn’t going to contact you after Vegas. But when Linc said he ran into you…
I trail off the text, not quite sure what to say. Luckily, Gabi does.
Well I’m glad you did. I’ve been wondering what was the best way to get your clothes back to you.
My clothes. I almost forgot she took a T-shirt and sweatpants from my luggage. I smile, thinking about what she had to look like leaving my room that morning. Hair a mess. Makeup for sure ruined. Clothes too big for her, but better than a tattered dress.
What I would’ve given to see her. Or better, what I’d give to see her in them now.
I shut my eyes for a second, easily envisioning what Gabi would look like in my T-shirt, and nothing else.
Her walking around my apartment in just that—maybe nothing on underneath—after having her in my bed.
Or maybe we’re fresh from the shower and those are the clothes she put on with her wet hair and no makeup.
The white T-shirt clinging to her chest. God what I’d give to have that.
What I’d give to have any of her.
You’re not returning them. You’re keeping them.
Maddox, I’m not keeping them.
Yes you are. They are now the property of Gabi… shit… I still don’t know your last name.
They’re your clothes. I feel bad that I took them without permission.
And I have plenty. Plus, if you want more just ask. I will send you as much team apparel as you want. I happen to be very good friends with the head of our apparel and equipment departments.
But I stole them. They’re your clothes.
You confessed at the scene of the crime. To me that’s informed borrowing.
Are you sure? Because now I feel bad.
Don’t. I’m glad I had something for you to wear.
You’re one-thousand-percent sure you’re not mad?
Gabi, the only thing I’m mad about is that I didn’t get to see you in the morning and kiss you when I woke up.
Shit. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I’m not mad. I understand why she did it. It’s just… fuck I need to make this right.
Gabi, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that I was mad. I… just wish I had seen you.
No, you’re right. I should’ve woken you. And, I’m really sorry I left. I just… I had an early flight and I needed to get back to Shelby’s.
I know. You don’t need to explain anything.
I feel like I do.
You don’t. I wasn’t really mad. Sad is a better word.
I’m sorry I made you sad.
Don’t be. But what would make me even sadder is if you returned my clothes.
You don’t play fair.
I never said I did. Now, tell me about what kind of bake goods you offer. I feel like I need a sweet treat soon.
What’s your favorite color?
Why would you need to know that?
Humor me.
Blue. I lean more toward baby blue, but really, any blue. Why?
No reason.
Maddox…
Gabrielle…
Are you just making conversation? Or are you asking for a specific reason?
It’s a surprise.
See that’s the problem. I’m not a fan of surprises. Surprises in my history have never been good.
Surprises can be fun!
No, they’re horrible.
Not my surprises. Trust me.
Famous last words…
Maddox Gallagher…
Gabrielle I-Still-Don’t-Know-Your-Last-Name…
Why am I receiving a gift with a various amount of things that are all blue.
Yay! You got my Blue Basket!
The what?
Blue Basket! The name was easy to come up with once you told me your favorite color. It’s like a Boo Basket, only blue.
What’s a Boo Basket?
It’s a Halloween basket I saw some of the guys get their girlfriends this year.
You know I’m not your girlfriend, right?
Minor details…
Maddox…
Gabrielle…
What am I going to do with you?
I have some ideas
I left myself open for that one…
Can I ask a silly question?
You can ask me any question you want at whatever time about whatever topic. Also, the sillier the better.
Bold statement.
But true.
Okay, I’m going to come out and say it.
I like a woman who takes charge.
Okay. That!
That what?
You’re flirting with me.
Phew. I’m glad you realized it. Between the voice memo, the clothing conversation, my present, and that I admitted in the first message that I have plans to one day marry you, I was wondering if you were picking up the vibes that I do in fact like you and that I am, in fact, flirting with you.
But why?
Why what?
Why are you flirting with me? And buying me presents? And telling me to keep your clothes?
And don’t forget professing my want to give you my last name in the first message I sent to you.
Was that serious?
If you want it to be.
Maddox. What are you doing?
Is this the silly question?
It’s a prelude to the question.
Okay, well then the answer is yes I’m flirting with you. And it’s because I like you and I want to see you again.
You can’t say things like that.
I can’t say the truth?
Maddox…
Gabrielle…
I’m not ready to date. Or anything for that matter.
I understand.
I do feel bad though. Because you’re sweet. And I did have… that night was everything to me. And I’ve loved talking to you these past few days.
Ditto to everything.
It’s just… I don’t have the capacity right now for anything serious. Or semi-serious. Or even casual.
I understand. I’m a child of divorce. I remember my mom those first few years. It was starting your life over again.
Exactly. Which is why I have to be honest and up front with you. I don’t want you to think that there could be anything more in our future when I don’t even know what tomorrow holds.
I knew a conversation like this could happen, and that this would be the outcome, but that doesn’t lessen the blow any. Yet, I can’t let this be the last time that I talk to her. There’s something between us. She was meant to come into my life. Our story doesn’t end here. I know it.
So, I’m going to take what I can get. Even if that means the one “f” word I hate most in life.
I appreciate your honesty. But can I ask you a question now?
Sure.
I know you aren’t interested in anything, but can we be friends?
Friends? You want to be friends with me?
I want to be in your life any way I can. And if it’s only friends, then get prepared to call me your bestie.
One, you typing bestie feels very odd. Second, Shelby and Hannah might not take too well when they find out you’re invading their turf.
Tell them to bring it on. Because I’m about to be the best fucking friend you’ve ever had.