9. 9 Mae
9: Mae
“ W ell, aren’t these cute?” teases Flo as she turns her phone in her hand, showing me the screen.
I roll my eyes at the photo of Poppy, Bennett, Nathan, and me at the animal shelter. Nathan’s arm is around my shoulder in a friendly manner, his teeth blinding white as he smiles at the camera. His presence commanded the room without even trying, and it seems to happen wherever he goes. People look no matter what he does, and that pressure must be crushing.
Flo skips to the next photograph on a sports social media account that Peter sent the photos to. It shows Poppy cradling a snow-white cat to her chest, her head tilted back with laughter as Bennett crouches down behind her, his face contorted with displeasure as he scrapes a crusty pile of cat shit off the tiled flooring.
Poppy and I have been exchanging messages, and she’s been sending me videos of our routines to help me when she notices me struggling a little during practice. I find her easy to speak to, possibly a little overbearing, but I like it. She’s a ball of energy, and it’s contagious. I can’t help but feel in a good mood when around her.
Flo swipes again, revealing a photo of Nathan and I. The adorable beagle mix dog with the stitched-up leg—or Mr No Name as we now call him—is on my lap, his tongue lolling out as he licks my exposed collarbone. Nathan is beside me, his head slightly tilted, the smallest of smiles gracing his lips.
It was for the camera, though. As soon as the volunteer handed back the phone and disappeared, he went straight back to his favourite place—Grumpy Town.
“You should frame this one,” Flo says, arching her eyebrows at me, and I turn away from her and shake my head. I don’t want to think about anything other than the turkey-club sandwich she made for me.
“I don’t want Nathan Slater on my wall,” I tell her, my mouth full.
“Very ladylike.” She pauses. “And why not? He’s gorgeous. I wouldn’t mind seeing that every day.”
“He’s an ass. He looks at me like he wants me to drop dead.”
Okay, maybe that’s slightly dramatic.
He’s grinding my gears, though. We’re both stuck in the same position. We don’t want to be doing this—although I don’t mind volunteering at the animal shelter—so the best we can do is try and make it work for the time being.
He’s making it damn difficult, though.
Especially because he walks around with that body of his, which makes me literally drool.
“You should fuck him.”
I almost choke, attempting to wash my sandwich down with Flo's hefty glass of wine. She doesn’t have a filter, and although I’ve come to expect it, she sometimes takes me off guard. “Flo, that is not happening.”
Her eyes narrow, and she flips her ashy hair behind her shoulder. “Not with that attitude.”
“There’s a no-fraternisation contract I’ve signed, and did you also miss the part where I said he looks at me like he wants me to drop dead?”
Flo sips her wine, but I can see her smiling against the glass.
“Can we please just change the subject?”
My best friend shoots me a look that says We’ll talk about this another time before agreeing. “How’s the vet program search going?”
I shrug. “I haven’t found any openings.”
“You’ll get there. Keep your head up.” Flo pats the top of my head. “Looking down too much will give you a permanent double chin.”
“You’re so weird.” I burst out into laughter.
She smirks at me. “But you wouldn’t have me any other way.”
“Hmm, honestly, I’d prefer you a little easier on the eye.”
She slaps my arm. She knows I’m kidding. Flo’s absolutely gorgeous with her long, ashy brown hair, ocean-blue eyes and tall and slender figure.
“Fuck you and your lame ass for not having sex with a hot football player when you have the chance.”
“Trust me, Flo. There’s no chance there. Not that I’d want to even if there were.”
She drags her bottom lip into her mouth, stifling a laugh. “Sure, I’ll be a good friend and pretend I believe you, Mae.”
We’ve got two days left volunteering at the animal shelter, and to say I’m disappointed is an understatement. I’ve loved spending my spare time here.
The camera flashes as we pose for another photo, and Nathan immediately steps away from me, almost as if touching me has burned him.
“Okay, we’re a little short today,” explains Sheila, her grey hair tied back into a neat bun. “Our vets are both busy on a course, and two more staff members are off sick, so you’ll see less of us wandering around. So far, though, you’ve all been amazing, and it’s an honour to have you.”
My heart blossoms with admiration. Sheila comes here almost every day. Sure, she gets paid, but the government doesn’t give her much. To her, that doesn't matter, though.
I can see the want in her eyes. The need to be here doing this. It’s the same thing I imagine sparks in me when thinking about working in an environment similar to this.
The same thing I imagined I’d see in Nathan’s eyes when out on the field, but he often looks dead behind them. Like he needs a fucking break.
I see the pain behind Bennett’s fake smile as Sheila suggests he and Poppy attend to the cats again, having no doubt he really executed all of the cleaning while Poppy spent the entire time cuddling the kittens.
He doesn’t sell her out, though.
“We’re happy to work with the dogs again,” I say.
The tension flows from Nathan beside me, his gaze lingering on me briefly as we walk down the corridor towards the dog kennels. Mr No name wiggles his butt from side to side, and he leaps into my lap after I open the door.
I glance up at Nathan, who is standing on the other side of the kennel, arms crossed, leaning back against the wall. He offers the dog a treat from his pocket before stepping back again.
“So… how are people responding to the photos?” I question, trying to fill the silence.
But also because I’m genuinely curious.
I’ve decided I’m not going to subject him to questioning today.
“The media seem to be happy with them.”
I’m not going to be part of the team forever, so it doesn’t affect me much. But that doesn’t mean I’m not glad the media seem to be laying off the Missarali Storks. I don’t like the idea of anyone being subjected to unnecessary scrutiny. I know how it feels.
“What are they saying?”
Nathan shrugs. “I don’t follow social media, but Bennett says they’re pleased with what we’re doing.”
“Well, I’m glad they no longer see you guys as dreaded soul-crushers.” A chuckle escapes me at the media’s dramatics. “I don’t get why they care that you guys mess around with women, anyway. You have money, looks and fame. Sleeping around is inevitable. There’s no issue with it.”
People have always been sensitive when it comes to sex.
A knot forms in my stomach as Nathan’s eyebrows knit together, his lips pressing into a thin line as his eyes slim. “I don’t mess around with women.”
I internally groan. I hadn’t meant it as an insult.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Not everything the media say about us is accurate, you know?”
I didn’t mean to offend him by stating he sleeps around. Nathan’s talented, rich, and gorgeous, and I have no doubt he has women snapping at his heels.
But then again, he always has his head so deep in the game. Perhaps he really does stay away from women.
“Nathan, I—” I stop talking as soon as I notice the blood on my hands, and Nathan’s eyes go wide as he takes a step forward, concern clear on his face.
Mr No Name is still ecstatic at our arrival, and he shows no sign of being in pain, but when I glance down at his leg and see the blood dribbling from it, I curse. “His stitches have come loose.”
I swear I see relief spread across Nathan’s features once he realises it’s not me that’s bleeding, but I shove those thoughts away.
He quickly steps away to inform one of the workers about the dog’s condition, and after noticing their concern about being short-staffed when they come to check on the dog, I suggest we take him to the vet to save them the trouble.
Mr No Name has no objections to clambering into my old, rusty rental car—I’d offered to drive so as not to get blood on Nathan’s expensive Audi’s seats—and he waits patiently in the car's footwell as we make our way to the vet.
The drive is silent, and although awkward, I’m thankful for it.
I sit with my body hunched over as we wait for the vet to stitch Mr No Name up. The surgery is quiet, with only a lady holding a pet chinchilla on her lap—the rodent giving us the stink eye and definitely freaking Nathan out, judging by his perplexed eyebrows.
The silence is stretched thick and heavy, surrounding us like fog. My gaze flickers to the side of Nathan’s face for a second, and his jaw flexes, keeping his eyes straight ahead, boring into the back of the ripped, leather waiting room chair in front of him.
The air feels charged, filled with nervous energy.
I don’t understand how he’s sitting here and not choking. Instead, he’s as still as a statue.
I’m picking my lip nervously, and I realise I can taste blood. I pull my fingers away from my mouth, sucking on my bleeding bottom lip.
“I’m sorry,” I say after a heavy sigh, and Nathan turns to me. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I thought I was being… supportive, but it came out wrong.”
The lack of response I receive is suffocating, and I gaze into Nathan’s olive-green eyes, guilt hitting me hard in the chest. The last thing I want to do is make this more difficult for both of us.
He swallows. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down, and my eyes trail down the thick muscle of his neck. He looks defeated as he leans forward and rests his linked hands on his knees. “Don’t worry about it. I was being touchy.”
“I just want you to know I didn’t mean it in the way you think I did. I don’t think you’re a man-slut or anything like that.”
The corner of his lip twitches at the word man-slut , but he holds it down. “Mae, just don’t worry about it. Okay?”
My chest fills with oxygen at the way he says my name. It rolls off his tongue so easily. So seductively.
I have to remind myself that we’re aiming to be civil here. And these aren’t the sorts of things you think about when trying to be civil with someone.
I offer him a curt nod. “Okay.”
Nathan’s eyes drop to my lips, and my stomach twists, my heart thumping inside my chest at how he’s looking at me.
A few seconds later, he’s still staring at my mouth.
Fuck me.
But a wave of reality drenches me when he says, “Your lip is bleeding.”
“What?”
“Your lip. It’s bleeding.”
“Oh.”
I rise from my seat and grab a tissue from the front desk, pausing there as I gently dab at my lip, needing the moment to myself. I can’t believe I thought—even for a brief second—he was looking at me in any other way than friendly.
Am I really that horny?
God, I need to get laid.
I haven’t celebrated Thanksgiving properly in years. Sure, Flo invites me over to her place on the city outskirts if Cam’s busy, and she’ll do an awful job carving a turkey. But it’s not the same as celebrating with your own family.
Although, Flo is as close to family as I can get—besides my brother.
Sometimes, her mom will join, too, and she’ll spend the entire meal talking about why she thinks aliens will come down to Earth one day and take over. It’s her favourite topic once she’s had a few glasses of wine.
But it always cheers me up.
However, this Thanksgiving, I’m spending it at Coach Darrell’s house. Poppy wouldn’t let me bail.
The room is bustling—full of football players and cheerleaders—and Sophia hands me a glass of wine as she smiles at my perplexed expression. “Peter’s idea. Wants to get some nice photos of the team being thankful and all.”
Is everything Peter does just for show?
I’ve only just stepped into the room, and I already feel the sudden urge to down my drink to feel more comfortable. Comfortable family settings have always been strange for me. I’ve never really experienced it.
Hazel—Darrell’s wife—rushes up to me, engulfing me in a warm hug. “It’s so lovely to meet you, Mae. I hope you’re keeping the guys on their toes.”
My gaze flits to Nathan, whose jaw is set as he leans back on a stool. His dark jeans wrap around his thick thighs—not too tight, but not too loose—and his T-shirt clings to his muscles in the most natural way. I can tell he’s just thrown the outfit on. He doesn’t need to try to look good because he does anyway.
His hair’s a little messy, looking like his fingers have run through the dark strands a few times. I wonder how soft it is. What it would feel like to tug on while—
Hazel clears her throat in front of me, releasing a giggle. “Has the drink got to you already, dear? You’re staring into space.”
“Oh, yeah.” I offer her a smile, and we tap our glasses together.
“Hazel, honey, do we have any more wine?” Darrell asks from the stove, his sleeves rolled up as he stirs the contents of a pot with a spoon.
“Oh, yes, in the back shed. Let me just—”
She looks flustered, glancing down at the canapes she was in the middle of preparing before she came to introduce herself to me.
I place a hand on her wrist. “Let me get the wine, Hazel. You have enough to do.”
Her eyes twinkle with gratitude. “Thank you, Mae. The shed’s just at the end of the backyard. If you could grab a few bottles, that would be really helpful.”
I dip my chin to my chest in a nod, placing my glass of wine on the counter. “Of course.”
Hazel snaps her fingers, head peering over to look at the nearest football player.
Nathan .
“Go with her,” she instructs. “We’re near the mountains. Rattlesnakes sometimes like to pay a visit.”
His lips flatten as his eyes meet mine, but he doesn’t argue as he stands from the stool he’s sitting on. His fresh, lemony scent hits me, and I try to keep my face neutral before turning and exiting through the back door.
Our footsteps crunch lightly on the gravel path, and the scent of damp earth and smoke from nearby bonfires mixes with the crisp winter air. I can feel him behind me, moving with a confident stride like he always does, and I peer down the backyard, which is scattered with lights. They’re not bright enough that I’m able to see, though.
I quickly lose my footing—thanks to Poppy’s suggestion I wear my wedged heels—and my ankle twists, sending me stumbling. My heart races for all the wrong reasons, and I close my eyes as the ground rushes up to meet me.
But it doesn’t quite get there.
“Are you okay?” Nathan’s concerned voice cuts through the air. But it’s not his words I’m focused on. It’s the thick, corded arm wrapped around my waist.
I’m suddenly acutely aware of how warm he is—my back against his stone-like chest—and as I fight the urge to lean into his touch, I step away from him, brushing my clammy hands on my pant legs.
“Yeah, thanks,” is all I can muster before I turn my back on him and continue walking down the yard.
I swear I hear him sigh, but I’m not so sure.
Do I talk to him? I don’t know what I’m supposed to say, especially after that.
“Do you like turkey?” is what I settle on.
“What?”
“It’s Thanksgiving. Turkey. You know… the bird that gobbles, do you like it?” I run a hand through my hair. This is so fucking stupid.
“Yes, I like Turkey,” is his confused response, but it’s paired with a humorous exhale.
I don’t want to turn around to see his face right now. I just know he’s looking at the back of my head like I’m crazy.
Because I feel crazy.
We reach the small shed. It was only a good few yards away, but it might as well have been miles away with how constricting that walk felt.
Pushing the door open, I flick on the light, but it does little to illuminate the space around us. My eyes squint as I try to take in my surroundings. There’s an old motorcycle in here collecting dust, and I side-step it, afraid that if I get too close, a cockroach will launch itself onto me. Toolboxes cover the floor—more than anyone would need—with hammers and spanners poking out of each one, meaning the lids can’t close.
It’s creepy, to say the least.
“Are we just going to stand here, or are we going to get the wine?” Nathan asks me, and his husky voice kickstarts my limbs, encouraging me to take another step forward.
I reach down once my eyes begin to adjust, meaning I can see the small cluster of bottles in the corner. But as I bend, Nathan takes a quick breath.
“What?”
“Mae, don’t freak out, but there’s a giant spider on your back.”
My spine goes rigid, and I shoot back up into a standing position. “No, there’s not!” My heart stutters in my chest. Small spiders I can deal with, but hearing there’s a ‘giant’ one on me turns my blood to ice.
I know it can’t hurt me, and I do love all animals, but that doesn’t mean I want them on my back.
“Please tell me you’re joking.” My hands are frozen at my sides.
He shakes his head slowly, his eyebrows pulled taut. His eyes flicker to my lower back, where I assume the spider is sitting.
“When you say big…?”
He doesn’t respond, and that tells me all I need to know. I have the equivalent of Shelob on my back.
I take note of the sly smile on his face, and I clench my fists. “It’s not funny, Nathan! Don’t laugh!”
He wipes his hand across his mouth as if to cleanse the laugh from it.
“Nathan, please get it off.” I’m making an effort not to shout, but my patience is wearing thin. I’m on the verge of tearing my shirt off right in front of him just to rid myself of this itchy skin feeling. Tears prick my eyes. The uncertainty of not knowing what the spider looks like makes it so much worse. I’d feel more at ease if I could see it, but since I can’t, my imagination is spiralling with thoughts of what it might look like.
Is it poisonous?
Black and hairy?
Is it a jumping one? Some can jump.
“Okay, okay, turn around. Calm down for me, princess.” I almost jolt at the nickname, but I can’t find it within myself to demand he cut it out right now.
I can tell he’s on the verge of laughing again, but he stifles it as he twirls his index finger, releasing a quiet whistle once he catches sight of the creature again.
If it looks that big in the dark, how big would it look in the light? I don’t even want to think about it. Clamping my eyes shut, I brace my hands against the shed wall, shuffling closer to Nathan and bending so he has easy access.
This is a suggestive position, but I don’t give a fuck right now.
He doesn’t say anything, and I clear my throat. “Nathan?”
“Hold still.” He sounds like he’s breathing heavily through his nose.
“Holding,” I respond with gritted teeth.
Nathan’s hands are on my back after a few seconds, fingers delicate. The sensation is oddly calming, soothing my racing heart, but I don’t let my mind go there.
He’s getting a creepy crawly off my back. There’s nothing sexy about this at all.
On instinct, I lean back again, trying to get this spider as close to Nathan as possible so he can quickly swipe at it.
He gulps from behind me.
“Please…” I take a deep breath. “Have you got it?”
No reply.
Only silence.
“Nathan,” I say firmly.
Then, his fingers are gone from my spine, and I’m straightening myself and turning around to see him cupping his hands together.
“I assume you don’t want to see it?” he says, already turning around, body standing tall.
“No, thank you. Please just take it outside, but don’t kill it.”
“I’m not that heartless,” he tells me as he turns left towards the bushes beside the shed.
I don’t like spiders. Don’t want them on me. So why the hell am I hoping for another one to crawl onto my back so I can bend over for Nathan again?