Page 32 of Biggest Player (Not Yours #2)
Dex
Dang.
Women’s bathrooms are sure different than men’s.
I pick up a tiny pink soap shaped like a seashell and give it a sniff. Then I pick up the blue one, decide I like the smell of that one better, and use it to wash my hands.
It’s dinky.
When I’m done, I glance at the decorative towels hanging on the rack. They’re embroidered with delicate patterns, clearly meant for show and not for actual use. I dry my hands with one anyway ’cause I have no idea how the hell else to dry them, then give the tiny lotions and perfumes a once-over.
On the wall next to me is a sign: Empowered women empower women.
I chuckle to myself. Of course Margot would have a sign like that in her bathroom, the goof.
In the back pocket of my jeans, my phone buzzes, and when I check the screen, I see that it’s Trent. Perfect timing because I have a bit of privacy.
“What’s up?”
“Where are you?” He gets straight to the point, no chitchat.
“Margot’s house. I’m here to pick her up for a—”
He cuts me off. “Have you seen the headline online?”
I shake my head, staring at my handsome self in the mirror. “No.”
“You’re on the front page.”
“Front page of what?” I scrunch up my face. “I thought the internet was digital.”
He sighs—loudly. “ Please follow along, Dex. Please. ”
I thought that’s what I was doing, but whatever. He doesn’t have to sound so goddamn frustrated.
“You and your new girlfriend. It’s a nice article about how you’re dating a single mom. It’s fucking brilliant! Makes you look like a Boy Scout.”
“It does?” This is great news. Really great fucking news.
I lean against the counter, holding the phone to my ear. “What did they say about her?”
Trent’s tone is brisk, as usual. “Just the basics. They mention she’s a single mom, a teacher, and that she’s got a good head on her shoulders, blah blah blah. They even included a picture of you two from the other night, but obviously they blurred out the kid.”
I don’t love how he refers to Wyatt as the kid but don’t make an issue of it. The less he knows, the better, even though Trent goes digging on his own. In fact, he probably hired the guy outside my house to take pictures of Margot coming and going.
“You look happy. Nice work.”
I smile at my reflection, feeling a surge of pride. “That’s because I am happy. It’s not an act.”
“Sure.” Trent chuckles. “Sure it’s not.” He pauses. “Just be ready for more attention—this kind of coverage is going to put you in the spotlight even more, which is exactly what we want. But keep it positive, and don’t dump her until we have a plan in place.”
Don’t dump her until we have a plan in place ...
My stomach drops to the floor.
“Yeah, yeah. I hear you.” I run a hand through my hair, not sure what else to say because suddenly this conversation is making me ill. It’s a reminder about how I was prompted to contact Margot again—not because I was dying to see her, but because I need to make myself look good. Better.
In the media.
Not because I want to be good or be better.
Then.
I’m saved by the bell—literally.
The doorbell rings, and I pause. “I should go. There’s someone at her door.”
“So? It’s her door. Let her take care of it.”
Sometimes Trent is such an asshole.
“I’ll call you back,” I say before ending the call and shoving my phone back into my pocket. “Dickhead.”
But Trent’s words echo through my mind as I pull open the bathroom door and head back toward the front of Margot’s house, curiosity piqued by the unexpected visitor. As I reach the living room, I hear voices and pause.
Stand still in my spot around the corner, listening.
“What are you doing here?” Margot is saying.
“Mind if I come in?” asks a man’s voice. It’s deep and low and raises the hair on the back of my neck.
“I’m kind of in the middle of something,” she says, and if I had to guess, I’d say her arms were crossed right now. “Where’s Wyatt?”
“At Target with Gretchen.”
“Ahh. Gotcha.”
The tension in Margot’s voice is palpable, and I feel my muscles tighten as I lean, trying to stay out of sight but within earshot.
“I won’t be long,” the man continues. “I just need to talk to you about something important.”
“Is everything all right? Is this about you and Gretchen? Because if it is, I’m sure that—”
“No, this is about you being plastered all over the fucking news.”
There is a pause long enough to fill a room.
“I have no idea what you’re referring to. I’m not plastered all over the news.”
Of course she wouldn’t have a clue; she seriously has better things to do than sit online and read about herself or the latest celebrity gossip. Since I’ve known her, she hasn’t brought up things like that. She’d rather read and talk about books, or be outside, or—
“Tell me this is a joke.”
“I’d have to know what you were talking about first.” It sounds like her hackles are raised.
“There is no way you’re dating someone famous.” A sarcastic laugh follows.
Margot sniffs. “Why would you say that?”
“Because. You’re ... you .” He laughs again. “You’re a teacher, and you hate going out in public.”
“Okay, if you say so,” she returns, not taking his bait. “Not that you would know what I like and don’t like.”
“So are you? Seeing someone?” He clearly cannot stand not knowing.
“Yes, I’m seeing someone.”
Her ex hesitates. “Is he actually a football player?”
“Yes.”
“You know.” His voice goes up a few octaves. “Even though I’m seeing Gretchen, you know it’s not really serious, don’t you?” The guy pauses before continuing his butt-hurt bitch fest. “I really thought there was a chance we would get back together someday, but I guess not.”
What’s this now? This bag of shit did not go there with her. I don’t know shit about emotional blackmail, but even I know emotional blackmail when I hear it, and this dude just went there.
“Are you being serious right now? What is wrong with you?” Margot gasps. “Why the hell would you say that?”
“I thought we were friends,” her ex goes on to say, sounding like a complete gaslighting toolbox.
“You’re making my head spin right now, Colton. You should stop talking.”
Her blunt comment almost causes me to laugh from my hiding spot and give myself away.
I watch and wait, warring with myself between giving her privacy and giving this blowhard a piece of my mind.
The tension in the room is tangible—I can feel it from here, and I can certainly hear Margot shifting uncomfortably on the living room carpet. It’s crazy how well I’ve come to know her in a short amount of time, so much so that I can predict her movements even when I’m not in the room.
That is some wild shit.
“So you’re dating a celebrity now?” the man accuses, voice rising. “What kind of mother are you?”
“Excuse me? First of all—he’s not a celebrity.” Margot’s tone sharpens at his judgment of her. “And secondly, I’m a damn good mother and you know it. What does my personal life have to do with you? Or Wyatt?”
“It has everything to do with her!” he snaps back. “Do you know what the press is going to do when they find out about her? About us ?”
“You? Of course you’re going to make this about you .” Margot’s response is calm but firm. “There is no us. There almost never was and hasn’t been for a long time. And secondly, I won’t let anyone exploit Wyatt.”
I take a deep breath, deciding it’s time to make my presence known. Stepping out from my hiding spot, I clear my throat.
“Oh hey.” I pretend as if I’m hearing and seeing him for the first time, my eyes doing a quick scan of a man I’ve only heard about in passing.
Tall. Blond.
The cocky arrogance of a guy who knows he’s good looking, who looks as if he plays golf four days a week and probably gets hit on by his girlfriend’s married girlfriends—and is regularly tempted to cheat.
Polo shirt, jeans.
Yup. I was right: Colton is a total toolbox.
He looks as shocked to see me as I was to see my mother that time I was eating out Shelby Sullivan in our basement in high school.
“You must be Wyatt’s dad.” I try to smile, but even I know it doesn’t reach my eyes. This guy is a complete grade A douchebag, and I have no desire to be friendly. Not after the shit I just overheard him say to Margot.
Not today, Colton.
He finds his voice box. “Who the hell are you ?”
His tone is rude, which I don’t deserve.
I raise a brow, a laugh escaping my mouth. “Dude, you totally know who I am. You said so yourself, it’s all over the internet. Isn’t that why you’re here? To make sure what you read was bullshit?”
He doesn’t respond, but the blush spreading across his cheeks is enough of an answer for me.
I put my hands up. “Surprise! Margot has company!”
Colton has zero idea what to do with himself or how to react now that he’s face to face with me and Margot isn’t alone to defend herself against his onslaught of negativity.
Sucks to be him.
“I’m Dex.” I do not offer him my hand. “And she’s not wrong—I’m not a celebrity. I’m more like an athlete.” I hesitate, then add, “And not to brag, but you may have seen me in the Super Bowl a few times.”
Salt, meet wound.
This dude is so obviously butt hurt.
He nods. “I’m Colton. Wyatt’s dad.”
“I gathered.”
The room is silent as everyone racks their brain for something new to say.
Then,
“Clearly you’ve met my daughter.” He sounds unhappy about it.
I nod. No denying it. I’ve met his kid, and “She’s awesome.”
“I know my daughter is awesome,” he sarcastically replies, not remotely impressed with meeting me, a legend.
Whoa, calm down, dude. I was giving her a compliment, which is basically a compliment to both you and Margot since you raised her .
“It’s not necessary for you to be so defensive,” Margot points out, biting on her bottom lip. She looks nervous, like she wants to get the hell out of here and out of the situation.
It’s awkward and uncomfortable, no doubt about that.
His eyes turn to me, sizing me up. Which is laughable because, well—I’m me, and he’s him, and if this were a dick-swinging contest, I would win because like I said: I’m me.
Like how can you compete with me?