Chapter 23 Margeaux
MARGEAUX
I join Jon on my couch. After my bed, it’s my second favorite piece of furniture.
I remember getting my first real paycheck from the PEW and all I could think about was getting a bed and a couch that I can sprawl on.
I paid a pretty penny for a king size bed; I like to sleep like a starfish.
Couches—I can never lay on a couch without my feet dangling off the edge.
Growing up, Jacky and I would always wrestle each other for our dad’s recliner.
Then, Dad would come into the living room and evict us from the space.
I got this couch thinking it’s the perfect size for me and Jacky to both be comfortable.
He’s only an inch taller than I am, and we’re both so leggy.
It’s a sectional and takes up my entire living area.
Both ends of the couch extend out into a chaise so you can really stretch and relax.
Jazz helped me move it in here and I sent Jacky photos once we had it all set up.
He already claimed his side for when he visits.
If Zoey lets him visit. I still don’t sit on that side knowing he called dibs from a distance.
Jon is sitting in the middle of the couch.
He has his undershirt back on and his boxer briefs.
There are two tall glasses of water resting on coasters on my second-hand coffee table.
I plop on my side of the couch, extend my legs, showing off my body in the light blue pair of sleep shorts, and an oversized t-shirt with my college’s letters on the front.
Jon eyes my legs, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip.
Bruises are starting to color in on his cheeks and chin from when I jumped him earlier. I hope he’s not too banged up.
I guzzle down my entire glass of water, not realizing how thirsty I was until the cool liquid hits my lips.
“I broke up with Nicolette yesterday morning,” he says as I put my glass down.
“Uhh…Okay.” What am I supposed to say? Good. She seemed like a heinous bitch.
“I went to your hotel to tell you and talk to you about us. You were gone.”
I swallow over a lump in my throat, replaying what happened the night before. Finding that letter. Being scared out of my mind. I’ve only felt that scared one other time in my life, and I hated it. I hate feeling defenseless.
“I found this in your room.”
Jon shows me the black paper with the white lettering. I beg my body not to react, not to show any weakness. It’s just a piece of paper; it can’t hurt me. That doesn’t stop my heart from racing and my palms from getting sweaty.
“What the fuck, Margeaux?” Jon says angrily. “Who the fuck is this person?”
I shrug a shoulder and then remember that I’m Margeaux fucking Wilds.
I can handle this shit. “It’s nothing. We all have creepy fans.
Sometimes we get fan mail that’s on the extreme side.
The men get naked pictures of their female fans,” I say, trying to brush this off.
I don’t need Jon acting like a knight on a horse trying to protect me.
The dude has never even punched anyone before.
I don’t think being a protective lover is really in his wheelhouse.
“Oh. So because it’s the norm, it’s supposed to be accepted?
That’s so dumb, Margeaux. Nothing about this is okay, or remotely acceptable.
This person knew what hotel you were staying at.
Do you know how easily I found where you live?
Have you notified the cops? Have you done anything to put a stop to this? ”
I grit my teeth, feeling my molars grind together. If there’s one thing I dislike more than people being fake and disingenuous, it’s people telling me what to do and acting like they know better than I do.
Any reprieve and feelings of content I was enjoying have effectively been washed away by Jon and his superiority complex.
“You can see yourself out. Now,” I say through clenched teeth as I march my way back to my bedroom. So much a fun night of sex and bad decisions.
I don’t know if I leave my bedroom door open as a test or if I’m just too tired to slam it shut.
A couple of long, silent minutes go by, and Jon gently knocks on my door frame.
His brown eyes are filled with so much kindness.
Like, he’s trying to tell me that he has no bad intentions, that I can trust him.
I’m safe with him. I don’t remember the last time I truly felt safe with a guy.
The twisted, itching feeling in my gut doesn’t know what to do next.
“I think this is the part where I apologize for coming off like I think I’m the boss of you,” Jon says, and it’s not sarcastic.
His cheeks are a little red, like he’s ashamed of himself.
“I didn’t mean to snap like that, Margeaux.
” He stays in the doorway, respecting my need for space, and slides down to his butt, resting his back against the door frame.
“I. Uh. I care about you. I know. It’s too soon.
Too quick. But I care about you, Margeaux.
When I found that letter…” His jaw tenses and his eyes narrow.
If he were an animal, I swear, he’d be growling right now.
I don’t hate that visual. My growling doctor.
I giggle at the idea of this sweet guy being anything close to aggressive.
“It’s fine,” I say, shrugging the situation off.
“No. It’s not fine, Margeaux,” he says quickly.
“Jon. I appreciate the concern, really, I do. I’m not the only athlete getting creepy fan mail. Like I said. This is just par for the course.”
“Then quit.”
“What?” I ask, sitting up and grabbing a pillow to squeeze, otherwise I’d be throwing punches at his adorable face again.
“Quit. If this is the way things are in this sport, then it doesn’t seem worth it to me.”
“You’re telling me your job doesn’t come with risks?” I’m doing my best to stay calm, but I’m so close to losing my shit, and punching him in the face again.
“Other than long, sleepless nights and a lot of student loans, no. Being a doctor doesn’t come with creepy stalkers, or other doctors trying to ram my head into the floor.”
I throw the pillow right at his stupid face, disappointed that it’s too soft to break his nose.
“Fuck you, Jon! Not all of us have dreams to become doctors. And being a wrestler isn’t just some stupid hobby I stumbled into.
It’s my fucking passion!” Hot tears well up in my eyes.
I’ve had this argument so many times with my mom.
She’s questioned every decision I’ve made for the last six years. I can’t help but be defensive.
“Whoa. I get that it’s your passion, Margeaux.
Fuck. You’re the most beautiful and impressive woman I’ve ever met.
I’ve watched all your matches since meeting you.
You own the ring when you’re in it. The crowd loves you.
I can’t take my eyes off you. And it makes me want to claw out the eyes of every other person watching you. Watching your body. Admiring you.”
Whoa. Heart, meet stomach.
“Jon.”
“I know I have no right to say any of these things. We hardly know each other. We’re so different.
But I can’t help that I want you. I can’t help that your face is all I think about, when I should be tending to my patients.
I can’t help that I want to protect you, when it’s abundantly clear that you don’t need me.
I know this all too well, Margeaux. But, I think… I know that I need you.”
What. The. Fuck?
Mouth dry. Palms sweaty. I need to say something. This amazing guy just poured his heart out to me. Say something!
“I just need you to know this. I’ll never make you give up your passion. I’ll support you every step of the way. But you’re crazy if you think I’m not appointing myself as your personal bodyguard from here on out.”
I snort. FUCKING SNORT!
“I think you’re overreacting just a tad, Doc,” I keep giggling, feeling so relieved and overwhelmed at the same time. This guy. Is he real? “I’ll talk to my manager about this. It is creepy and I have been on edge about those letters. It brings up a lot of old feelings I don’t enjoy.”
He doesn’t say anything, and I debate if this is the right time to talk about more serious shit.
“Do you wanna know how I got into wrestling?” I ask.