Page 37 of Biggest Player (Not Yours #2)

Margot

Dex:

Hey.

Me:

Hey.

Dex:

Oh thank God—I thought for sure there was a chance you’d blocked me.

Me:

That would have been the smart thing to do, wouldn’t it? But it seems I’ve made some really bad decisions since meeting you.

Dex:

Ouch. Guess I deserved that.

Me:

Guess you did.

Dex:

K, you don’t have to keep agreeing with me, I already feel like shit.

Me:

Oh ! I’m so sorry! I keep forgetting this is about You and your Career and what’s going to make You look like a rockstar.

Dex:

If you heard me sing, you wouldn’t compare me to a rockstar.

Me:

I’m not even remotely amused by you right now.

Dex:

Sorry, I’m just trying to lighten the mood.

Me:

Yes, well. Don’t bother.

Dex:

Margot, I know I fucked up—it’s not the first time, but you’re the last person I want to hurt. Can we get together and talk, please?

Me:

What’s there to talk about, Dex? You made it pretty clear where your priorities lie.

Dex:

I know I messed up. I really do. But I want to explain. Face to face.

Me:

As much as I Love it when you beg, I don’t think there’s anything you can say that will change how I feel right now. The entire situation is so fucked up, pardon my French.

Dex:

You are owed an explanation. I did a shitty job last night—I was caught off-guard and an idiot. Please. One chance to explain myself. If you still feel the same way after, I’ll leave you alone.

Me:

Why should I believe anything you say? How do I know Trent didn’t put you up to this too?

Dex:

My knee-jerk reaction is to say, “Trust me,” but I know you don’t. And that makes me feel like a bag of shit. I wish you’d believe me when I say Trent has nothing to do with me wanting to ... make this right.

Me:

Make this right. Ahh. Well. If all you’re going to do is apologize, I can save you the trouble and the drive over. I can forget this happened and we can go on with our lives and Pretend this never happened.

Dex:

I see what you did there.

Me:

Thanks, I was laying it on pretty thick. And I love a pun.

Dex:

So you’re teasing me now, does that mean your ice is thawing and you’re willing to hear me out????

Me:

My Ice ???

Dex:

You know I don’t have a way with words! Cut me some slack, I’m a football player not a poet. Jeez. I say stupid shit—A LOT of stupid shit

Me:

Okay, you’re right. You don’t have a way with words. I can’t fault you for that.

Dex:

Thanks.

Me:

I’m just not sure seeing you is a good idea.

Dex:

Because I’m your kryptonite and you might accidentally want to make out despite yourself???

Me:

Something like that.

Me:

And stop saying things like that . I’m mad at you.

Dex:

Margot . . .

Me:

And stop saying my name like that.

Dex:

Please talk to me.

Me:

I am talking to you.

Dex:

I need to see you.

Dex:

Pretty please.

“What guy says pretty please anymore?” Cora’s lips are pursed as she sets my phone on the table in the teachers’ lounge, head shaking. “I still cannot believe he’s begging to see you. The audacity of this guy.”

“I know.” I pluck at my ham-and-cheese sandwich, not hungry anymore, picking the crust off. “What should I do?”

Her eyes are wide. “I wish I had better advice for you, but you’re dealing with an entirely different kind of man than I’m used to. I mean, last night Mark and I put an IKEA dresser together while eating a frozen pizza.”

So relatable—unlike Dex and his signing events and huge house and personal chef.

“Okay, pretend he’s normal, though. What would you do if you were in my position?” I can’t tell my mother about this; she would die. She would also tell me to do whatever I had to do to keep him because of all the money he has.

Money, in her eyes, equals stability.

“I don’t know—I run right toward red flags.” She laughs.

“What do you mean?”

Cora shrugs, digging a Cheez-It out of a lunch-size bag of them.

“One, when Mark and I started dating, he almost never made plans in advance—and never on the weekends. Two, I didn’t meet his parents until six months in.

Three, he called me his ‘friend’ when I met his grandmother, after we’d already been living together for eight months. ”

Oh shit. I did not know that about their relationship.

I gulp. “Uh. Okay, wow.”

“You should see your face.” Cora pauses.

“My point is, I’m the wrong person to ask.

” She eats a cracker and chews, thinking.

“You know what you should do, though? Trust your gut. If something feels off, it probably is. And if it feels right—” She shrugs.

“You’re the one who has to live with the consequences, and I won’t judge you, whatever you decide. ”

My stomach turns. “I just don’t know what my gut is saying.”

Cora continues to snack. “Maybe you need to give it some time? It’s okay not to have all the answers—you don’t have to respond to him right away. You could take a step back, focus on other things, and see how you feel in a week or two.”

I don’t actually want to wait a week or two to see Dex, if I’m being honest. I want to see him now.

He’s fun.

Sexy.

I consider her words, though. “That’s probably a good idea. But ... what if he thinks I’m not interested anymore?”

“If he’s worth it, he’ll understand. Communication is key, right?” She crushes the now-empty cracker bag in her hand. “Just be honest with him. Tell him you need some space and want to think things through.”

Do I want space?

“Or,” she goes on, “you could text him back and tell him you want to see him?”

My friend wiggles her eyebrows up and down.

“Should I?”

“Yeah, fuck it. You only live once. But if he pulls something like this again, he can kiss your ass goodbye.”

I pick my phone up and go back to our chat, worrying my bottom lip. Type out a reply.

Delete it.

Me:

Begging will only get you so far.

Me:

Just because you’re hot, doesn’t mean I’m going to fall for your bullshit.

I delete those too.

Me:

Fine. I’ll let you give your side of the story—but if you’re going to tell me more lies or gaslight me, I’ll go to the press myself and tell them what a Player you are. Agreed?

Dex:

Deal.

I show my response to Cora, whose mouth falls open. “Damn, you’re way braver than I am. I would have invited him to have sex with me in my car in the parking lot.”

I stand and grab my garbage, glancing around to make sure the sixth-grade science teacher hasn’t overheard her.

“You’re a terrible influence.”

And that, my friends, is how I ended up in the park with Dex.

He’s here waiting when I arrive with Wyatt in tow.

It’s a park—she loves parks and can play while he and I talk.

She insisted on accompanying me, and normally I’d never allow it, but she’s obviously not old enough to stay home alone and no freaking way was I taking her to Colton’s so he could keep an eye on her.

No. Freaking. Way.

He’d use it against me. I realize he’s capable of that now.

“Thanks for seeing me,” Dex says. “I know I don’t deserve it.”

“You’re right, you don’t deserve it.” I can’t resist snarkily pointing out that he’s lucky I agreed to meet him in the first place.

My lips are pursed, and I’m doing my best not to look directly at him.

He’s too damn good looking; it’s like staring at the sun—hot and bright and makes me want to melt.

Dex shifts uncomfortably on the bench, his usual confidence dampened by the heavy weight of this moment. “I know I messed up. But I’m here because you deserve an explanation.”

Obviously I do.

I raise an eyebrow, daring to glance at him. “An explanation? Or another excuse?”

“Shots fired.” He winces at my words, and for a brief second, I feel a pang of guilt. So briefly because I remember the sleepless night I had, the tossing and turning, how embarrassed I felt overhearing that phone call between him and his lame agent.

I steel myself, determined not to let him off the hook.

I am not here to make up with him; I’m here because he wants closure.

“I swear I’m not a piece of shit.” He leans forward, his eyes pleading with mine. “I swear I never meant to hurt you.”

I cross my arms, trying to keep my voice steady. Chin up. Strong and resilient. “Then why did you?”

He runs a hand through his tousled hair. “I’ve never dated anyone stable. When I heard you were a teacher, I didn’t know what to do with that information.”

Oh brother. “’Cause you’re so used to dating actresses and models? Boo-hoo, poor you.”

“Hey—I’m speaking my truth, could you dial down the sarcasm?”

Crap. He’s right. There’s no need for me to be a bitch. Not with my daughter on the swing set nearby, watching me like a hawk.

“Look, I know it sounds pathetic, but I’ve always been surrounded by people who thrive on chaos. Yes-men. People I pay, people who don’t care to get to know me. I went on Kissmet looking for something real but realized I couldn’t handle it.”

I raise an eyebrow. “That’s all fine and good, but how does that help me right now?”

He scrunches up his face, concentrating on his words.

“It doesn’t. But it helps me understand why I allowed Trent to fuck with my head.

I wasn’t prepared for something real, something stable.

And I messed up because of it. I know it sounds ridiculous to say that the teacher thing and the single-mom thing scared me, but it’s true.

I was intimidated by how grounded you are, how you have your life together. ”

Teacher thing.

Single-mom thing.

Give me a break. Grow up.

I roll my eyes, but something in his tone makes me pause. “I get the fact that dating a single parent is not for everyone, but being intimidated because I seemed grounded? That’s a new one. You didn’t even know me. I could have been a monster.”

He nods, chuckling. “Yeah, I guess you could have been a monster. But it’s not an excuse. It’s just the truth.” He holds his arms out. “I mean, look at me. Do I look like I know how to process emotions? No.”

No, but he looks mouthwateringly good and makes me want to laugh.

What a big lovable dope.

Still. I cannot cave—he really screwed up big time.

“That argument is not helping your case.”

From the corner of my eye, I watch Wyatt swinging higher and higher, her eyes darting between Dex and me. She knows he made me mad—doesn’t know why, only knows I got little sleep last night.

My daughter doesn’t miss a thing, so I owe it to her to handle this with a bit of grace and not lose my shit on this dude. Not here, anyway.

“Look, Dex,” I say, my voice softer now.

“You’re a nice guy—I really, really liked you.

I get that you have your issues. We all do.

You met my ex, you know what a roller coaster that can be.

None of us are perfect. But that’s not really a reason to use someone.

” I let out a heavy breath. “You used me. Do you have any idea how that feels?”

Good people do bad things.

“I did not see it that way.” His voice is quiet, mingling with the breeze and the rustling of the trees and Wyatt’s occasional laughter.

I sigh, leaning back against the wooden picnic table. “For a few weeks we had a good thing. I was living in Delulu Land.”

“I don’t love the fact that you’re using past tense.”

“Good intentions don’t erase the damage that was done.

” I feel the need to remind him, anger and sadness bubbling up.

“I understand that you’re here trying to make things right, but it’s going to take a lot more than words .

It’s about actions, about showing that you’re committed to changing. ” Surely he knows that.

“I get it,” Dex says earnestly. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

“Do you even know what that means?” I shrug, agitated.

“Because I do. Relationships are about trust and companionship. They’re not just about saying the right things—they’re about consistently doing the work.

Relationships are work, Dex. And small moments, not just the big gestures.

They’re not about the media and Super Bowl wins and fans blowing smoke up your butthole. ”

I exhale. That was a lot of talking at him, and I wince when the telltale sign of needing to use the bathroom tingles in my lower half.

Worst.

Timing.

Ever.

I spot a public restroom not too far from where Wyatt is swinging. She’s slowing now, feet dragging in the wood chips beneath her to busy herself.

“Ugh, can you hold that thought? I have to pee.”

Dex grins. “Amazing.”

I tilt my head. What a weird thing to say. “Be right back.”

“Take your time,” he calls after me as I beeline for the park bathroom.

As I quicken my pace, I can’t help but feel a bit self-conscious. My mind is racing through our conversation, replaying his words in my head, a weird mix of relief and anxiety that’s not helping my bladder situation. I’m a nervous pee-er!

The restroom is empty, thank goodness—and I rush in, locking the door behind me.

After taking care of business, I lean my forehead against the cool tile wall in an attempt to steady my breathing. The whole situation is overwhelming. The last thing I need to do is have a breakdown in a public restroom.

I finish up, wash my hands quickly, and take a deep breath before stepping out.

“You can do this.”