Page 9
Chapter 9
The Most Frustrating Woman I’ve Ever Met
Wade
Me and my big mouth.
Now, she knows too much about my extracurriculars. And that I think her freckles are cute. That’s too much insider information.
I gotta stop before it’s all out there. Some things are better left behind closed doors.
Not that she needed any more ammunition to tease me about. She already has a whole arsenal ready to go.
If I’m lucky, she’ll forget about it by morning.
I smoosh my chin to my neck and slide my eyes to the lower right corner to check.
Affirmative. Gabe Finch is dozing on my shoulder. She must’ve been pooched.
There’s a subtle warmth from her body where it touches mine, and she’s nothing short of stunning.
The cute slope of her nose, the curve of her strong chin, the way her pretty pink mouth isn’t scowling at me. Yeah, she’s stunning, alright. Like a napping lioness who could wake up any moment and rip my intestines out.
For a moment, I wonder how different it’d be if she liked me. I already know she doesn’t like the fake, superficial parts of me. Other than my mouth. Or cock, but that’s beside the point.
What would she think of the person beyond that? Would she think my Harvard degree is impressive? Or my rare book collection is cute? Would she agree that a grilled cheese is the cure to pretty much every problem? Or would she prefer to believe I don’t have a singular intellectual thought in my brain, like everyone else does?
How could she? No other woman has. Not even in a fake way. Skylar and Maman don’t count.
A text notification buzzes, and I mute it from outside my pocket before removing the phone.
It’s another sea otter video, compliments of Donovan. Its paws block sunlight from its eyes so it can nap during the day while floating along.
Me
Okay, that’s cute, but I have something cuter
Donovan
Doubt it
Me
Wanna bet
Donovan
Loser buys winner doughnuts from SuzyQ
Me
Done
I tuck a few hairs hiding her face behind an ear, unintentionally touching the faint freckles peeking through fading makeup.
She hums. My stomach flutters.
Putting the back camera on a wide angle gets a good frame of her against me, and a content half-smile bows her mouth when my lips meet her hairline to click a picture. She wouldn’t be smiling if she knew what I was doing. I immediately feel guilty for the stolen kiss.
But not enough to stop me from sending it.
Donovan
Ugh fine
Donovan
We get it, you adore her
Donovan
Makes me want to sleep on the highway
Donovan
I’m still coming over to watch Antiques Roadshow tomorrow
Donovan
They’re re-airing the episode we missed Monday
Me
K
Me
I don’t care about the others, but I require at least one Cinnamon Toast Crunch, one Salty Caramel, and one Dirty Chocolate
A dampness on my sleeve cools the skin underneath, and I hold back laughter at the trail of drool connecting the shirt to her mouth.
“Oh, Freckles . That’s gross.”
She responds with a hissing inhale.
“Classy.” I push out a sigh. “You’re lucky you smell nice.”
Like a slobbering mastiff smelling like a field of flowers. A true dichotomy.
“Okay, here we go.” One of my arms scoops under her knees while the other squeezes her torso so she doesn’t flop around like a fish. “Now, lift.”
You’re talking to yourself again. A bad habit from being an only child.
I had plans to go toward the guest room, but we end up in mine. She’s gonna be upset, but that’s too bad. My fake girlfriend will have to sleep in my bed tonight.
I tuck her in, folding back the covers so she’s comfortable. She thanks me by rolling away and huffing. Even in her sleep, the woman will do everything to get away from me.
She truly hates my guts.
After switching into a pair of pajama pants, I keep an eye on her from the washroom while brushing my teeth. Peter, my PA, sends over the next week’s schedule. It reminds me to ask for a favor.
Me
Sell the Lambo
Peter Peter Bo Beter
What? Why?
Me
My girlfriend hates it
Peter Peter Bo Beter
Can I have it?
Me
Can you afford it?
Peter Peter Bo Beter
If you up my salary, yes.
Me
We can talk about it later
Peter responds with a GIF of Will Ferrell from Old School captioned, “You’re crazy, man. I like you, but you’re crazy.”
I shake my head and go to the next bedroom over, but it’s not far enough. Knowing Gabe’s on the other side of this wall has me restless. I toss and turn. Switch the pillows. Flip them over. Kick the sheets off, then layer them on again.
“Get outta my head, Finch.”
Does she revisit that night last summer like I do? Nah, she’s probably plotting my demise, the hateful freckled thing.
How lucky is that, though? She dreams of me.
I smile at the thought, and sleep soon follows.
Fletch takes a whopper of a bite out of his purple glazed doughnut and points to the screen. It muffles his words.
“I’m telling you, that ring is something.”
“Bullshit, Donovan.” Landon swats the air. “Looks fake to me.”
I keep my hands clasped behind my head and let one knee sway. “It’s turquoise. How valuable could it be?”
“You know nothing, Wade Boehner.” Since he proposed to Indi, Radek thinks he’s some sort of precious gems connoisseur. “It depends on the source and quality of the stone.”
Smug asshole.
“Whatever, man. I bet it’s not more than five hundred.”
Fletcher sputters, spraying doughnut crumbs all over my rug. “Nope, I say ten grand at least.”
“You’re disgusting, Fletch. Better clean that up.”
“Or what?” He takes another purposefully messy bite, showering the rug with more crumbs.
My first finger and thumb hone in to twist his nipple. He yowls and accidentally kicks Landon, who jabs an elbow to both of our guts.
“Seven grand for me, now shut up. Geoffrey Munn is talking.”
“… There’s good news, and there’s bad news. We were talking at the table over there, and you were incorrectly told that this was created in 1960… ”
“See?” My hand motions to the TV.
Fletch pokes a sticky finger in my ear. I palm his face to push it away.
“Ay! Why are you so nasty?”
“ …But that’s not true. It’s actually from before the turn of the century, and the center gem is high-quality Persian turquoise. Paired with the twenty-two-carat gold band and three-diamond clusters on each side, this piece is worth twelve-thousand dollars… ”
Fletcher flies to his feet, whooping and clapping like an overstimulated cymbal-banging monkey.
“Gah!” Landon slaps a loud thud into the couch cushions.
Another loud thud comes from my bedroom.
Uh oh.
The door bursts open, and a disheveled Gabe Finch appears. Like a newborn fawn, all wobbly knees and doe-eyed confusion about how she got thrown into this world. She hugs her sneakers to her chest.
The boys freeze.
“Uh…”
Landon’s mouth curves into a shit-eating grin as he picks his phone up from the coffee table. “Hey, Gabe.”
Fletcher says nothing. His beet-red face says enough.
I stand and meet her at the door, hiding her from these dirtbags. “Morning, sweetheart .”
Don’t think I missed where her eyes fall on my gray sweats. I will my dick to stay down.
Don’t you fucking move.
It twitches in rebellion.
Gabe peers up as I close in, mouth gaping.
“Take a picture, Freckles,” I whisper. “It’ll last longer.”
Her mouth snaps shut.
Lips pursing as my eyes motion to the top of her head, then torso, I silently ask for her permission. She understands and agrees with a subtle nod.
The dip of her waist slots against my hand as I drop a kiss on her forehead. The contact is short but addictive. Enough to bring my stomach to my heart and my heart to my throat.
Not good. Not good. Bad, very bad.
“Sleep well?”
Gabe squeaks in response.
Stifled snickering echoes behind me. I throw them a glare.
“Let’s talk inside.”
As I shut the door behind me, Gabe storms around, furiously wiping the spot where I kissed her away with the back of her hand.
“Was that necessary?”
“ Shhh !” I stiff-arm her and push, shuffling to the back of the room until we make it to the furthest corner. Can’t risk eavesdroppers.
I whisper-yell, “You’re my girlfriend, remember? I’d kiss my girlfriend good morning. You’re lucky it wasn’t on the mouth.”
Her voice lowers as a finger pokes into my pec. “Fake.” Poke. “Girlfriend.” Poke.
Fake. Every time she says that my chest burns.
My hand wraps around hers to remove it. “Your morning breath stinks.”
“Good!” She sends a sour puff of air right at me.
I kiai with stiff karate hands, but it’s ineffective.
“Oh, my God ,” she adds, tossing her head back. “I can’t believe I fell asleep here.”
“What was that?” I ask, hand cupping an ear in her direction. “I didn’t hear a ‘thank you.’”
She curls her lip and then mutters, “Thanks.”
“Wow! Now that’s what I call character development.”
Her eyes roll as her arms cross, drawing her attention to her watch.
“Shit.” She facepalms. “I’m supposed to meet with my producer in forty minutes. I can’t show up to work in-in…” Those honey-colored eyes dart about in panic. “…in the same clothes as yesterday!”
“Or you could and proudly do the walk of shame?—”
“ No way .”
“Alternatively, I have some things?—”
Disgust replaces her panic. “ Ew , I don’t wanna wear something some other girl left here!”
“Keep your voice down.” My tone rises to an exaggerated volume. “ Babe , don’t you remember? You left some stuff here last time .” It returns to an angry murmur. “They’re new, okay? Have a look.”
The light in the walk-in switches on when I enter and present a small section of clothing.
“Why would you buy?—”
“I told Skylar you sleep over here. You don’t know her. She’ll go into my closet and poke around. I couldn’t risk it.”
Her arms uncross to flip through the hangers. “How did you know my size?”
My shoulders rise and fall. “Lucky guess.”
“But the style?” Her hand moves between the fabric of a white sweater sleeve, testing its texture.
“Freckles, you’ve been covering the league for four years. Jeans, sweater, wool coat. It’s basically your uniform.”
“You notice what I wear?” The expression quickly morphs into surprise.
“Don’t get carried away. I happen to be very observant.”
Her lifted eyebrow suspects otherwise. And it’d be right, but she doesn’t need to know that.
She reluctantly returns to studying the clothing, rapidly turning the tags still attached to them with a lilting whistle. “Holy shit. These sweaters are three grand apiece. I don’t know if I…”
This is the most frustrating woman I’ve ever met. Who refuses free clothes?
I groan through clenched teeth, my fingers spreading and tensing in mid-air as if about to shake the stubborn out of her. “What do you care? It’s my money, and I have heaps of it. Just choose something!”
“Fine.” She wags a finger at me. “But I won’t like it!”
“Of course, you won’t. You don’t like anything other than driving me up the wall!”
“Me? You’re the annoying one. I was trying to sneak out of here, but nooooo . You had to invite an audience!”
Now I feel bad. My tone softens.
“That wasn’t on purpose, okay?” My hands tap their respective thighs in an alternating rhythm. “I forgot we had plans. I’ll give you a heads-up next time.”
“ Next time ?” Gabe’s brows jump.
“Be for real, Freckles. You think this is the last time you’ll be staying over here in the next few months?”
Eyes closing with frustration, she sighs through her nose. “But not in your bedroom.”
“I have seven others. Take your pick.”
“Show-off.”
“Hardhead.”
Gabe glares. “Don’t you have a morning skate or something?”
“We got rid of it this season. With how much we’re on the road, constantly crossing time zones, and sleeping on a different mattress every other night, rest is more beneficial. Olsen and Szeczin are probably still in bed.”
Outside of interviews, this might be the most civil conversation we’ve had.
Gabe selects a pair of dark jeans and a tan sweater. “Tell me you didn’t buy underwear.”
Never mind.
My hands reach for surrender. “You’re on your own.”
There’s a thudding in my chest and some mystery movement in my pants at the idea of her walking around wearing day-old panties. Snap out of it, you filthy fuck.
“Closet in the washroom has fresh towels.”
“Got it.”
I exit the bedroom, fully aware of the absolute crap awaiting me in the living room, and call through the door, “Enjoy your shower, sweetheart . I’ll make you some breakfast. You can take it to-go.”
Landon paces on the phone with Indi, the tattletale. “Right? I couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but she went to shower now.”
I get to work in the kitchen. The egg whites fold perfectly around a slice of Havarti, and I lift a fist in victory. For a level placement, I lower to counter height, sliding it off to the center of a lightly toasted English muffin, like a kitchen scientist. I wrap it up in foil and put it in a brown paper bag, rolling over the top for easy carrying.
Easy carrying? Since when have I wanted to make Gabe’s life easy?
I unravel it but can’t get myself to crumple it. That’d be rude. I neaten it just as she gets to the island.
Fletch has resumed the form of a seated couch statue, cheek bulging with more doughnut. Landon cups a hand over his phone and walks toward the outdoor area.
I shake the bag. “Your breakfast sandwich, mademoiselle.”
“ Er… ”
“A simple egg and cheese. Woulda been a Benny if I had more time.”
Shut it, you dolt. No one cares that you can cook. Least of all, Gabe Finch.
When she reaches to take it from me, I pull it back, and the proximity has the mahogany and teak scent of my soap wafting up from her skin. As if her usual flowery perfume wasn’t intoxicating enough, this is pushing me to the brink.
I must’ve inhaled too audibly because she smirks. “Did you just sniff me? Are you a hair sniffer, Pretty Boy?”
My smug smile matches hers. “What’s up with you using my soap, Freckles? You like smelling like mine?”
Her face blooms with a blush.
Mwahahahahahaha. Yes.
Gabe snatches the bag.
“Too easy,” I add.
“ You’re easy.”
“And?”
Someone clears their throat.
This time, we freeze, slow-motion, turning our faces to find Fletch and Landon staring at our exchange.
I crack a cheesy smile, ignoring the beads of sweat forming at my hairline, then tap my cheek and offer it to her. “Need my goodbye kiss.”
From my vision’s periphery, her gaze sparks with a vengeance, but she plays along.
Her lips— God, her lips— are pillowy soft against my morning stubble and leave me wanting more. I hate that I can never have enough of her.
“That’s it? You two are super lame.”
I glare at Landon. “We were trying to spare you. Maybe next time we won’t be so considerate.”
“Heh-heh.” Gabe nervously lifts her breakfast. “Gotta go.”
“Oh, yeah, sure. ‘ Next time ,’” he mocks me. “And when will that be?”
Look sharp, Boehner.
“Gabe’s birthday party, of course.”
Nice save.
“Does Indi know about this?”
“Not yet, but invites are on their way. I was gonna keep the plans under wraps, but since you’re all so nosy ?—”
“Looking forward to it!” Landon waves a politely smiling Gabe off as she escapes. “Bye, Gabe! Have a good day at work!” He re-focuses on his phone as a string of text notifications ring out. “ Ooohh . Husband duty calls.”
“Yuck. No need to rub it in how much sex you’re having.” Fletcher’s mouth turns down. “Guess I’m off to the bookstore.”
Poor guy needs to get laid so badly. Hell, I need to get laid. I don’t know how Fletcher lives without sex, but I am not strong enough to stay celibate with Gabe Finch around.
On my mind, in my house, at the games. Fuck, she’s everywhere. And it’s not at all where I want her to be. In my arms, against my mouth, on my cock.
It’s too bad she doesn’t want any of that from me. Or does she?
Freckles
Fuck off, you’re not throwing me a birthday party.
Me
It was supposed to be a surprise, but a certain Indira Davé-Radek ruined it, remember??
Freckles
You’re literally the worst.
Me
I’m the best at making you breakfast
Me
And making you come
Freckles
Have I mentioned I hate you?
The dopiest smile splits my face. The more she says she hates me, the less I believe it.
As soon as the penthouse empties, I call my chef.
“All?.”
“All?, Mathieu. Any chance you could cater a party for me two weekends from now? It’s my girlfriend’s birthday.”