Chapter 20
I had no intention of going back to Max’s apartment, but I couldn’t resist. I wanted to check on my girls, see if the fresh groceries Max ordered ever got delivered, and I really want to take a bath in the massive soaking tub in the guest bathroom.
Honestly, if the guest bathroom is this nice, what does his bathroom look like? It must be sheer heaven.
While I didn’t necessarily expect Max to be home, my heart skipped a beat when I saw him as soon as I opened the door. And then I saw Jake.
“Oh, shit,” I blurt out, panic clawing at my throat. “Uh, so yeah. Um, Max gave me a key to clean out his fridge, and —”
“He knows, Lay. You don’t have to lie.” Max’s gaze doesn’t leave mine, his eyes imploring me to hear him. “He saw you leave this morning. Asked if I knew what was going on, and I’ve already told you I’m a really crappy liar.”
Jake sidles next to Max, slinging an arm over Max’s shoulder.
Even with the tall ceilings, these guys are so insanely tall.
And, like every athlete I’ve ever met, they exude a confident energy.
The air around them almost pulsates with power.
“I’m sorry if I overstepped, Layla. I honestly assumed it was something else between the two of you, but Max set me straight about someone breaking into your apartment. How are you doing?”
My eyes bounce between the two men. What does he mean about Max setting him straight? And why am I sad about that? “I’m okay, I guess. Not really anything I can do about it now. I’m just glad Max had a spare room for me to crash in until I can figure out my plans.”
“You can stay as long as you want,” Max says calmly.
Jake nods. “And if he gets on your nerves too much, you can come to my apartment. It’s probably only half the size, but I’ve got a spare bedroom. Honestly, a handful of guys live in this building. We can pass you around.”
My eyes widen as he finishes, and as I inhale rapidly, I accidentally choke on some saliva, coughing harshly. “Uh, no, thank you, I don’t want to be passed around by the team.”
Jake gasps, and Max throws his head back in laughter. “Fuck! That’s not what I meant! Just in the bedroom!”
Max bends down, pressing his hands into his knees. “Dude, you’re making it worse.”
Jake’s face reddens as he stutters, trying to backpedal. “N — no, I mean you can use us for our bedrooms. Shit, that sounded just as b — bad. Dammit! Do you have any idea what I’m trying to say here?”
“I really hope you’re saying I can stay in guest bedrooms if I have to leave Max’s apartment before I’m ready to move back to my own place,” I say hurriedly.
“Can we move on and act like this conversation never happened? I’m only here to check on the piggies and give them some food. Did the groceries get here?”
Max clears his throat, wiping his eyes after laughing so hard. “Yeah. I put everything away and gave the girls a treat. They really like carrots.”
“They’re nuts for any veggies. One of their favorite things is when I take a toilet paper roll and stuff it with hay and herbs. They really like cilantro.”
“I wonder if animals get that cilantro gene where it tastes like soap,” Jake muses. He peers into the cage. “Is this cage kinda small? I’m only asking. I literally know nothing about piglets.”
“They aren’t piglets,” Max and I say simultaneously.
He looks over to smile at me, and butterflies erupt in my stomach.
I sure do hope that, one of these days, I won’t have this insane reaction to his proximity.
If I’m going to live here for longer than a day or two, I need to force myself to stop viewing him as a hot man and only see him as a co-worker.
“Well, whatever they are, they’re cute,” Jake answers. “That’s why I’m here. I wanted to see them. Max said their names are Marilyn and Manson?”
I erupt into a fit of giggles. “No! Marilyn and Muriel. Although naming a duo Marilyn Manson would be pretty comical. And yeah, they could have a bigger cage. I really hope to double their space sometime this year. My apartment is small, and cages are expensive, so we’re making the best of it.
I take them out of the cage as often as I can. ”
“So like free-range piggies?” Max asks, chuckling.
“Yeah, but I also have two of those balls that they can run around in. That way I can keep track of where they poop.”
Jake shakes his head. “This is why I don’t have pets. I don’t want to track any poop except for my own.”
Max rolls his eyes, slapping his hands on Jake’s shoulders. “On that note, we’re going to go. We’re meeting some of the guys in a few minutes. Do you want me — I mean, us — to wait until you’re ready to walk back to the field? If you don’t want to walk alone.”
I’m tempted. I’ve got half a mind to tell Jake I need Max for something right now.
If I knew it couldn’t come back to haunt me, I’d be telling Max to show me his bedroom right now.
Sighing, I shake my head. “That’s very kind, but I’ll be fine.
It’s a couple of blocks, and it’s not like anything can happen in broad daylight. Right?”
“Alright, if you’re absolutely sure,” Max murmurs, waiting for me to reply.
“It’s fine. I’ll only be here for an hour, then I’m heading back to get everything ready for tonight’s game.
I’ll see you guys later,” I tell them, then walk into the kitchen to busy myself with getting a small lunch plate together for me and the girls.
Keeping one ear tuned toward the door, I listen as Max and Jake whisper to each other before they finally open the door to leave.
Once the door closes and locks, my posture relaxes.
Breathing a sigh of relief, I turn toward the cage, where both of my little girls are waiting impatiently.
“I know he gave you food, ladies. You aren’t wasting away with starvation. ”
Muriel stomps her hind paws, much the same way a rabbit does during a temper tantrum, making me laugh. These two little fluffy butts have brought me so much joy, and I happily sit next to the cage to eat my lunch as I slowly feed vegetables through the cage slats.
After deciding to forgo a bath due to time constraints, I flop onto the guest bed to relax for a few minutes before I have to make my way back to the ballpark. Opening my phone, I find an unexpected message from Ground Man.
Ground Man: I was forced to eat a kale salad recently, and it made me think of you. How are you, Kale?
Me: I’m doing well. Very busy. How did you like the salad?
Ground Man: I’m not a big salad supporter. I prefer red meat and things that can give me a lot of energy.
Me: Kale should do that.
Ground Man: All it made me do was think of how I’d rather be eating you.
Me: If given the choice of eating kale or having you eat me, I’d choose the latter as well.
Ground Man: It’s a pity I’m not traveling right now. Where did you say you’re from?
Me: I didn’t.
Me: No details, remember?
Ground Man: Even if I said I’d come to you? I must admit, Kale, I haven’t stopped thinking about you.
Ground Man: It’s rare that I feel this kind of connection. It may have only been one night, but you really made an impact.
Me: We agreed to one night. I don’t have time to handle a relationship right now, much less a long-distance one. And for all I know, you might be married. Or engaged. Or living in sin with your girlfriend of ten years.
Ground Man: None of the above.
Ground Man: You’re assuming it would be long distance. What if we actually live near one another?
Ground Man: Stranger things have happened, Kale.
An odd pit settles in my stomach. This is out of left field. I haven’t heard from this man in quite some time, and he suddenly messages today to discuss a potential relationship.
With everything that has happened with Max and Javier, I’m a bundle of paranoia and nerves. I don’t know what to trust, and when to assume things are more than face value.
Ground Man: I’ve stunned you into silence.
Me: I don’t know what to say. It’s coming out of left field, honestly.
Ground Man: I prefer right field.
Me: What?
Ground Man: I never liked the saying “coming out of left field.” I prefer saying things are coming out of right field.
Me: That’s … odd.
Ground Man: Never claimed to be normal or average, Kale.
Me: Regardless, I’m not in a place in my life where I can think about a relationship.
Ground Man: It’s probably a long shot anyway. We could be three thousand miles apart. Maybe I live on a different continent than you. Maybe you’re the one who is secretly married.
Me: If I can’t handle a long-distance relationship, I think it’s safe to assume I can’t handle one with someone living in my own house.
Ground Man: Noted.
Ground Man: How about handling a friend? Can you do that?
Me: Maybe? Life is pretty hectic right now.
Ground Man: I get it. I could use a friend, too.
Me: Alright. We can start there.
Ground Man: Would it be too much if we exchange first names? I’d like to refer to you as something other than Kale.
Me: At least that’s a name! Calling you Ground Man in my head seems oddly dirty.
Ground Man: If only you knew, Kale …
Ground Man: First names, no last names, no cities, no job info. There’s no way we can track the other down with only a first name.
Me: That’s true.
Ground Man: You can call me Everett.
Me: You can call me Grace.
Ground Man: Hello, Grace. That suits you.
It’s my middle name, but I know Everett isn’t his first name either. Nevertheless, I change his contact info in the app.
Me: I have to admit, I don’t think Everett suits you.
Everett: I agree. I never liked it.
Me: Ever thought of changing it?
Everett: Yes, but it isn’t super easy to change a name. I haven’t wanted to change it that badly to deal with all the bureaucratic hoops I’d have to jump through.
Me: It’s probably the same as when a woman changes her name when she gets married. Which is an antiquated and archaic tradition, by the way.
Everett: Oh? You don’t think about taking your husband’s name whenever you get married?
Me: I doubt I’ll ever be legally married. I don’t know if I believe in the institution. Why does it have to be legal? What are we proving? Married people still lie and cheat. At least if I’m not married, it’ll be easier to leave when the asshole cheats.
Everett: You’re pretty upset over a hypothetical man hypothetically cheating on you in your hypothetical marriage.
Me: Eh. It is what it is.
Me: What are your views on marriage?
Everett: Until recently, I had similar views to yours. I guess as I get older, I’m seeing the concept differently. Growing old with someone does have benefits.
Me: I can grow old without changing my name, filing joint taxes, and letting the government know I fuck someone regularly.
Everett: Pretty sure you can still file jointly if you aren’t married.
Me: Really?
Everett: I don’t know. I don’t do my taxes. You’d have to ask my accountant. I prefer to ignore the fact that I have to pay back money to the government every year.
Me: Ahh. I’m poor enough that I still get money back.
Me: One of the rare times it’s good to be poor.
Everett: Are you really poor, or you wish you made more? Are you having difficulty making ends meet?
Me: Honestly? Yes. The cost of living in Denver is so high. It’s incredibly frustrating. I’ve been living in an area I don’t feel safe in because it’s all I can afford, and on a good traffic day, it still takes me at least thirty minutes to get to work.
Everett: Should I ignore that message?
Everett: I thought you didn’t want to share details?
Everett: I still think it will be difficult to find a Grace in Denver, and courtesy of Google, I see there are three million residents in Denver. But I’m not opposed to a boots-on-the-ground search.
Me: Shit.
Me: Can you forget I said that?
Me: I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, where you think you have to share your location or something now.
Everett: I won’t.
Everett: But Grace …
Everett: You should know I visit Denver fairly often.
Everett: And I really want to see you again.
What the fuck?
It was supposed to be a one-time thing. A moment to get the edge off.
I never anticipated how life would continue.
I don’t know how to handle this. Max made it clear he didn’t want to share me.
Even talking on social media feels wrong.
I don’t have a definition for whatever is going on with Max, but even one message to Everett feels like I’m cheating. Even if … it doesn’t matter.
God, this is so messed up. I don’t know how I got here.