Chapter 18
When am I allowed to wave my white flag? Does it need to be a tangible flag, or can I wave a metaphorical one? At what point do I cry uncle, or admit defeat, or whatever?
Seriously, universe, can you pick on someone else now?
Walking into my apartment was surreal. Like a movie scene.
A nightmare I can’t wake up from. Whoever did it destroyed as much as possible, even going as far as breaking my dishes.
I’m not sure what message he was trying to send with that move.
Maybe that I shouldn’t cook? Eat fewer vegetables?
I don’t know why this happened, but if the message was solely to scare the daylights out of me, the message was received loud and clear.
I don’t like feeling inept or that I need to depend on a man to get me through something.
I’ve always been a strong and independent woman.
I’m sure it has a lot to do with watching my dad wither away, because we had to take care of him, but I also think it’s just part of my personality.
You won’t find me pining for a man or unable to make decisions without the male point of view.
And honestly, the fact that just holding Max’s hand is making me feel better really pisses me off. Quite the juxtaposition in my emotions right now.
As Max pulls into the underground parking at a high-rise apartment building only a few blocks from the ball field, I take in all the expensive cars.
While I’ve never been in this building, I know quite a few players live here.
It’s so convenient, and as Max said, it has great security.
I’ve heard some other athletes for the Denver teams live here too.
After the fifth Porsche, I stopped counting, but did notice a handful of Mercedes, a couple of Aston Martins, and a Bentley.
When we pass a weird-looking sports car, I can’t help but ask about it. “What was that, and who owns it?”
Max snorts. “It’s a Bugatti. A guy on the NBA team owns it. He had to special order it from France. Cost a couple of million bucks.”
“Holy shit,” I whisper. Millions for a car? “I’m very much out of my league here. I can’t even imagine having one million in my bank account, much less spending more than that on a car.”
“And it’s a car that sits here. I’ve only seen him drive it once. That’s a waste. Plus, I don’t think I’d trust it being in a parking garage. We’ve got good security, but nothing is guaranteed. I’d want that car in a private garage,” Max says as he pulls into a spot.
I suddenly realize I’m sitting in an SUV with a professional athlete, and I take note of the all-leather, sleek interior. “What kind of car is this?”
Max smirks. “It’s a Mercedes-AMG G 63.”
“This looks kind of normal for an athlete,” I comment. “Almost like a family car.”
Max shakes his head. “No family. I have a couple of sportier cars, but I left them in California. I wanted something that would handle snow better. You ready to head up to my apartment?”
Sighing, I nod. I guess it’s now or never. “Are you sure this is okay? I can try to find a hotel to stay in that’ll allow pets.”
Max turns to me. “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t sure. You’re welcome here, Peaches. And the girls are too.”
As if they know he’s talking about them, Muriel and Marilyn erupt in a cacophony of squeaks. “Better get them upstairs. I didn’t give them any fresh food yet tonight.”
As we get out of Max’s SUV, he asks, “Do you have a pet service that looks after them when you’re on road trips?”
“No, I had a teenage neighbor who would do it. She really likes animals, and I’d give her a little cash each road trip. It was cheaper than hiring a service.”
“Here, you’ll need to use this for me since I’ll have my hands full,” Max says as he grabs the cage, while I wheel the suitcases. We walk to a small lobby, and he shows me how to use a keycard to gain access to the area. “I’ve got a second keycard upstairs you can have.”
“That’s not necessary,” I say hastily. “I won’t be here long.”
Max chuckles. “How do you think you’ll come and go, Lay?”
“I don’t know. I assume since we’re basically on the same schedule, I’d wait for you,” I answer defiantly. Tipping my chin up, I stare at him, pursing my lips. A wide grin spreads across his face as he laughs.
“We are not on the same schedule, Layla. You start earlier than I do, and I’m there later than you. It’s just a key. Not like it ties you to me forever or anything.”
“Ha!” I shout awkwardly. “Wouldn’t that just be the absolute worst? Can’t imagine anything worse than that.”
As the elevator dings with its arrival, Max’s smile disappears as he studies me. “Damn. Tell me how you really feel.”
“Well, I mean —” I stammer, but he shakes his head.
“Nah. I got it. No need to lay it on any thicker.” He keeps his face impassive as he watches the numbers above the elevator door.
When we arrive on the twentieth floor, I silently follow him out.
As we arrive at the door, he motions for me to wave the keycard over the lock.
When the lock disengages, I push the door open, stepping into quite possibly the most beautiful apartment I’ve ever seen.
I barely remember to hold the door for Max as I’m too busy fawning over the space with my jaw on the floor.
Floor-to-ceiling windows cover the far wall.
The ceiling heights have to be at least ten feet.
A gourmet kitchen sits off to the left, featuring a massive island and six stools.
The living room has a huge L-shaped white leather couch, and two plush chairs that look perfect for reading sit by the windows.
Everything is in shades of white and beige, giving it a clean and sophisticated look.
It’s all bland, which is not at all how I see Max.
I turn to him, my mouth still open, and wait for him to speak.
“What?” he says with a laugh.
Letting go of the luggage I dragged in, I motion across the entire space. “This … this isn’t you. This is weird. How many bedrooms are there?”
“Four.”
“Bathrooms?”
“Five.”
I scoff. “Why are there more bathrooms than bedrooms? And why do you need any of this? It’s so freaking beige and white in here.
It’s bland and boring. This isn’t you. Did you pick any of this out?
Why isn’t there any color? If I had to pick something for you based on color, I kinda assumed it would be black —”
“Like my soul?” he quips, making me smile.
“Something like that. Although I think this space could look super sleek and seductive with black accents. And you could get some honey-colored items, like the specks in your eyes.”
“Excuse me, my what?” he asks incredulously.
Well, shoot. Embarrassed, I feel shame flood my cheeks. “Nothing.”
“Uh-uh,” Max says, setting the cage down on the island.
“Max! Those counters are probably granite! Don’t put a guinea pig cage on them!” I shout.
“They’re quartz, but that’s beside the point,” Max answers, gesturing nonchalantly at the counters. “What did you say about my eyes?”
“I mean, nothing. Just that you have honey specks in your eyes,” I mumble.
“And you think I should match my interior decorating to that color.”
“It was just a suggestion.” I glance up to find Max staring at me. “What?”
He lets out a long exhale. “You need to pick a lane.”
“Huh?”
“You hold my hand in the car, then you comment that being with me would be the ‘worst,’” he says with air quotes, “and then you comment on matching a shade in my eyes. Pick a lane, Layla. Either you want me, or you don’t. Let me show you to your room.”
Gobsmacked, I follow Max down a hallway. He opens the last door on the left, where a large bed covered in a thick white comforter takes up the majority of the space. A dresser sits on the side of the bed, and two doors are on the opposite wall.
“Closet,” Max says, pointing to the first door. “And that door leads to the attached bathroom. There should be extra towels and anything you might need in there. They don’t come often, but my parents are out here occasionally. This is their bedroom when they visit.”
“Oh, okay,” I murmur. Looking up at him, I ask, “Where is your room?”
He jerks his head in the opposite direction. “Down at the end of the other hallway. Don’t worry, Layla. It’s the furthest spot from this room.”
“I wasn’t — I mean,” I stammer. “I was only wondering about the layout of the space. I need to feed the piggies. Do you have any fresh vegetables?”
Max gives me a look that tells me his answer before he speaks. “Have you met me? Why the hell would I have vegetables in my apartment? It’s bad enough you’re forcing me to eat them at work.”
“You’re supposed to follow the meal plan at home, you know.”
“That is up for debate. It isn’t written into my contract, and the deal with Coach was only that you had to watch me eat.
That means it only covered meals at the field or on road trips,” Max says confidently, grinning.
“What do the pigs eat? I’ll place an order.
Tell me what you want as well. I don’t know if they’ll be delivered tonight, but should definitely get here before breakfast time. ”
“I’ll go get them,” I say. “It’s easier that way.”
Max sighs. “You don’t have a car here yet, Lay. And getting groceries up from the garage is tedious. The delivery service brings them right to our door.”
“Your door.”
“What?”
I stare at him. “Your door. This is not our apartment. It’s yours.”
Max rolls his eyes. “While you’re staying here, it’s ours.”
I scoff. “This is temporary. I can’t see me being here longer than a week tops.”
“I’m gonna remember you said that, and bring it up when you’re reluctant to move out,” he says with a chuckle. “Once you’ve experienced a sunrise, not having to go to a laundromat, on-site gym, and coffee shop —”
“There’s a coffee shop in the building?” I exclaim. “God, this really is something. Never thought I’d see how the other half live. Well, that’s not accurate. How the top five percent live.”
“I’m not top five. That’s just billionaires up there.
I’m just a lowly multi-millionaire,” he says, giving me a dramatic pouting face.
Before I can respond, he motions for me to follow him.
“Come on. Let’s get the pigs settled and figure out what they can eat.
It’s too late for grocery delivery, but I’ll have some delivered first thing in the morning. ”
I follow Max into his gorgeous kitchen, and I’m awestruck at how clean and sleek it is. All these top-of-the-line stainless appliances that he probably never uses. “Do you even know how to use your oven?”
He laughs. “Does frozen pizza count?”
I peer over at the controls, then stare at Max. “This is an induction oven. It has every bell and whistle imaginable, and you only use it to heat up pizza?”
Max shrugs. “It came with the place. I didn’t pick it out. I couldn’t care less about appliances. I don’t even know if I’ll still be here after this season anyway.”
I study him, noting how he doesn’t sound angry or sad about that. He sounds … indifferent. Apathetic. “Do you want to be here another year? When is your contract up?”
“It’s up this year. I could see getting traded again. They won’t want to be the bad guys to tell the senior citizen that his time in the majors has run its course.” Now the bitterness seeps through, and I find I’m relieved to hear it. Max doesn’t want to be done with baseball.
“You’ve made it clear you don’t care for Denver very much.
If they offer you an extension, will you take it?
” I ask uncertainly. My heart rate rises, much to my chagrin.
I think I might actually want him to stay, even if nothing can happen between us.
Knowing I’ll give away my thoughts if Max looks at my face too long, I begin unloading a grocery sack full of guinea pig items. I may not have fresh veg, but I do have a variety of pellets and treats they can eat until morning.
Max takes a moment before speaking. “I don’t know. If you’d asked me three or four months ago, I’d have said I would accept any and all trade offers to get the hell out of here. But now … I don’t know.”
We lapse into silence as I busy myself with Marilyn and Muriel. My mind is whirling. What’s changed for him? Is it because he’s getting along with the team better, or perhaps it’s due to how well he’s playing right now?
But the tiniest portion of my heart can’t help but wonder: what if it’s me he’d want to stay for?