Nobody said no to me
“Willy Wanker!!!”
I shoulder open Will’s bedroom door because knocking is an administrative burden and we are beyond bureaucracy. He has let me eat two of his dinners this week, which is practically a friendship contract.
Okay. He did not technically make me dinner.
I found seven carefully measured containers in the refrigerator and ate half of one before asking whether it belonged to anyone. Will looked at the fork in my hand, looked at the missing chicken and said with a shrug, “You’re already eating it.”
The following night, there were eight containers. He claimed he had changed his meal plan.
Liar. We are friends.
A muffled groan comes from beneath the blankets. “Shut up.”
“Willy!!! Do you want to walk to the store and get freshly squeezed orange juice with me?” I deliver the question in my most cheerful voice.
“Gremlin.” Will drags a pillow over his face. “It’s my off day. Go away.”
That is not a yes. His morning voice, however, is low and rough and sounds like something that should be spoken directly against a woman’s neck. What an excellent start to the day.
“Come on, Willy.” I cross the room and pull at the hand holding the pillow. “Morning walks are good for circulation.”
“It’s good to leave people alone when they’re sleeping.”
I pull harder. “You’ve done enough of that.”
“It’s eight in the morning.” He groans again.
Ugh. I can listen to this deeply male voice all day.
“Exactly. The day is almost over, Wonka.”
He tightens his grip on the pillow.
When he hears me cry “Please.” Will finally tears the pillow away and glares at me through half-open eyes. His dark hair is crushed on one side, and there is a crease across his cheek. Disturbingly attractive.
“Why can’t you go alone?”
“I can.” I tilt my head, a grin breaks on my face.
“Then go.” He squints his eyes.
“I really don’t want to.” I pout a little. It’s true. I really really don’t want to.
He only stares at me, which makes me want to walk with him even more.
DJ is in New York with Lizzie for some complicated Fairfax family business event involving formal clothes and rich people pretending not to look at one another’s watches.
Nate did not come home last night. I think he is at a girl’s house, although I cannot determine whether she is a fling or if they have crossed into the territory where she is allowed to keep skincare products in his bathroom.
Which leaves Will. My new morning-orange-juice partner. He simply has not been informed yet.
He sits up with another growl. The blanket falls to his waist, exposing a bare chest built from discipline, protein and an unreasonable commitment to making the rest of the male population look uncommitted.
There are certain anatomical consequences to waking a man at eight in the morning. I glance because I have eyes. Will’s grey sleep shorts are doing very little to conceal the fact that morning has been extremely generous to him. And now, me.
His gaze follows mine. “Enjoying the tour?”
I slowly lift my eyes to his face. “Very impressive.”
“Get out.”
“You’re welcome.” I press my lips together.
“For what?”
“The confidence boost.” I giggle and leave before he can throw the pillow at me.
The hottest thing a man can do is be mildly afraid of me. Not genuinely afraid. Of course, not. I do not want him installing locks or contacting authorities.
And I’ll lie if I say I don’t enjoy bullying the basketball captain a little in our house. Nate is no fun to bully because he responds to harassment with snacks and emotional support. There is no victory in tormenting a man who might thank you for expressing yourself.
Will, on the other hand, becomes visibly irritated, which makes it so much more satisfying. I never claim to be the nice one in the house.
Seven minutes later, Will appears in loose grey track pants and a black T-shirt, his hair still disordered from sleep. Delicious.
“Let’s go.” I hook both hands around his big arm and pull him towards the front door.
The sun is offensively bright outside, which means my mood is excellent. Will steps onto the pavement and immediately squints at the sky as though it has personally betrayed him.
“This is too early for orange juice,” he immediately complains. “The shop might not even be open.”
“It opens at seven.” I announce, then glance at his tight jaw as he walks next to me. “It’s OJ on Saturday, Willy. Stop doing that thing with the jaw like it’s gonna eat itself.”
“How do you know that?” His gaze drops to the phone vibrating continuously in my free hand. “Who is texting you this early?”
“Jenny.”
“The hair-puller?”
“She prefers Jenny.”
I open the photos she sent and swipe between two dresses.
“What does she want?” Will asks.
“She has a date today, and I’m helping with outfits. She doesn’t actually need help. She has excellent legs and a functional mirror, but friendship requires participation.”
“With the guy from the party?”
I stop walking and look at him in horror. “No.” The answer comes out loudly enough to wake anyone the sun failed to reach. “Jake is out of the picture.”
“Good.” His hair bounces a little with the nod.
“She did cry for three days, though.”
“Not good.”
“Then she threatened to slash his tyres.”
Will turns towards me.
“I talked her down.” A beat. “To one tyre.”
“Maddy.”
“I’m kidding. We returned his clothes in garbage bags and made him collect them from outside her dorm.”
He looks so serious I can’t do anything but bark out another laugh. It’s a rare thing, really, for someone to remain this entirely serious when I start pulling out signs of mental insanity from my pocket.
I send Jenny my final verdict.
Me: Black dress. Hair up. Gold earrings. If he doesn’t immediately lose basic language skills, leave.
Then I return my attention to Will. “I also want beetroot juice. They make it with ginger and pear.”
“That tastes like fertilised grass.”
“It’s good for you. Excellent for digestion. Probably good for your abs.”
This is based on no scientific evidence, but I can get away with most things by saying them confidently enough.
My eyes, however, drop briefly to his stomach. Will notices. Of course he does. The guy has spent years being looked at. He could detect female attention during a power outage.
“How did you sleep?” I ask brightly. “Also, I decided something.”
“Sleep was great until you broke into my room. What did you decide?” He does not even hesitate.
Good. Will is becoming fluent in Maddy.
I grin brightly beside him, skipping once. “I’m gonna be serious about this promotion thing I’m doing. I already have two businesses interested.”
“What promotion thing? Interested in what?” His expression changes. Just enough that I can see him stop humouring me and start listening.
“Paying athletes to pretend they naturally drink green powder beside windows. Half the athletes on campus already advertise things for free. Shoes, cafés, recovery studios. They just don’t call it advertising because nobody pays them. You’re an athlete. You’ll know.”
“I went to sleep as one.” He looks down at himself. “Pretty sure I woke up as one.”
“Surprise. Small businesses want athletes because people care what you eat, wear and rub on your muscles.”
“Nobody needs to know what I rub on my muscles.”
“I disagree.” I smile innocently. “You’re doing that thing again where you don’t believe me but you want to hear the rest anyways.”
He glances at me then looks forward again. “You’ve talked to businesses?”
“Fourteen of them.”
“And?"
"Eleven noes. Two maybes and one called me cute,” I tell him without breaking a stride. "Which is fine, because it's a five percent business, so I need about eighty-nine more.”
"You've been here three weeks.”
“Then, I'm behind.” I continue. “I match athletes with local businesses. I help with the pitch, campaign and content. The business gets someone recognisable. The athlete gets paid. Jenny handles the polished communication because she looks extremely trustworthy when speaking to adults. We take a percentage.”
“You already brought Jenny into this?”
“On our second coffee chat. And definitely after I saw that she had colour-coded email folders.”
Will gives me a low chuckle. “And you?”
“I have a spreadsheet.” I glance up at him before continuing. “Forty-three potential businesses. Divided by industry, athlete type and estimated budget.”
Will is quiet for a second. I like the way his face changes when he’s thinking. The humour does not disappear completely, but everything behind his eyes becomes more deliberate. Captain face.
“It’s a good idea,” he says finally.
“I know.” I beam. “Athletes already work out, look excellent in photographs and have the confidence of the entire European continent. Most of you have social followings. Just need to monetise it.”
“Nobody’s doing it?”
I flip my hair, because why not. “I am. The difficult part is getting men to understand that a message from me can contain a business opportunity and not an invitation to take their dicks out for a blow job. I wouldn’t say no, but I’d like the options.”
Will stops dead on his tracks, so abruptly that my hand slips from his arm as I take another step without him. I quickly turn around to find him staring at me, eyes darkened. All the sleepiness has vanished from his face.
“Who asked you that?” The question comes too fast.
I blink. “Several members of your species.”
“Anyone from my team?” His voice has dropped.
“I don’t collect everyone’s attention before rejecting them.”
“Maddy, don’t make that joke around the team.” His voice drops even lower, sending a chill down my spine.
I study him. “Why? Are basketball players frightened by women with business plans?”
We are standing outside the juice shop at eight in the morning while Amanda arranges muffins behind the glass. This is not the correct setting for Will to become dark and mysterious.
I smile to break whatever has happened to his face. “I was joking.”
“Don’t joke about that around the team.” His jaw shifts.