Page 7

7

Maya

C hristian’s been coming over every day for the past week. And I have to admit, I didn’t expect him to keep such an enthusiastic interest in Finley for this long. I thought the playboy would get bored after a day or two playing with a four-year-old and use summer training as an excuse to get back to Greensboro.

But to my surprise, Christian has been showing up consistently, staying over a little longer each day. He has taken me and Finley out to eat, the park, and even skating at the Warhawks arena.

In fact, the past two nights he hasn’t left until the sun sets, only to return a little after sunrise the next morning.

Which means I’m having to get up earlier than ever to grab a quick shower and try to look halfway awake before he shows up on our doorstep.

The three of us have also been eating all three meals together; breakfast, lunch, and dinner, including tonight.

It’s nothing fancy, just spaghetti, garlic bread, and a salad. But the simple, routine activity feels strangely intimate. Christian’s sitting at the head of the table, cracking jokes, and making Finley laugh between bites of pasta. The man fits in so easily at our dinner table, as if he’s been here all along, like this is how it was always supposed to be.

“So, Finley,” Christian says, twirling his fork around his spaghetti. “How would you feel about coming to one of my and Uncle Preston’s games in Greensboro this season?”

Finley’s eyes light up, his excitement obvious. “Yeah, yeah! I wanna go to a game and wear my Bobcats jersey!”

“We’ll have to get you a new one with Uncle Preston’s number on it too,” Christian replies with a grin. “We can hang out before and after the game. It’ll be fun.”

I sit in my chair quietly watching their exchange. It’s sweet, and I know how much this means to Finley. But there’s a small part of me that aches.

Christian makes sliding into this fatherly role look so easy, which is great for Finley. But to me, this familiar version of Christian seems too good to be true. It’s the version who swept me off my feet and then ran away. I also know that off-season Christian has all the time in the world for us, for Finley. But during the season, we’ll be lucky if he calls even once a week.

“Are you sure you won’t be too busy to see us when we visit?” I ask, my voice more pointed than I intended. “With your busy game schedule and all during the season, I mean?”

Christian glances at me, his expression softening. “I’ll make time, Maya. I promise now that I know…I mean, now that we’re friends , I’ll always make time for you two.”

I nod, trying to take his words at face value, but my doubts linger. I think Christian means well. But I’ve seen this all play out before — the amazing, sweet Christian who makes me feel like the center of his world, who then ups and disappears without a word, without any explanation.

Yes, I ended things years ago, but he didn’t even take five minutes to say goodbye or ask me what I had decided to do about the pregnancy. He sent a few apologetic texts and voicemails right after I told him I was pregnant, then he disappeared.

And the reason I called it quits with Christian certainly wasn’t because I didn’t care about him. It was because of how quickly he disappeared after we finally slept together, leaving me hurt and confused.

At first, I thought that he left me in that fancy hotel room because he had finally got what he wanted all along and had no further use for me.

But over time, the more I’ve thought about it, the less that explanation makes sense.

Why go to all the trouble of booking the expensive suite, having a romantic dinner, only to bail ten minutes later, after we got into bed together?

Instead of staying and talking to me, explaining what he was thinking or how he felt, he just took off and left me to go to some party with his and Preston’s hockey teammates.

I broke up with him the next day because I was angry that he abandoned me when I needed him most. Regardless of the reason, he left me there alone in a hotel room, naked, vulnerable, and with no ride home after the most intimate experience of my entire life. I had to call Preston to come get me, and he was not happy. That’s when he kicked Christian out of his apartment, before I even found out I was pregnant.

The whole thing was such a humiliating experience that I told Christian that we were over. I felt so embarrassed that night that I haven’t had the nerve to try having sex again with any man.

“What are you thinking about so hard?” Christian asks.

I look up from my plate of untouched pasta I hadn’t realized I had been staring at and find Finley has already disappeared from the table.

“I’m just tired,” I lie.

Sighing, Christian pushes back his chair from the table, as if frustrated I won’t tell him the truth.

While I sit there lost in old memories, he grabs Finley’s plate with his own, then goes over and starts running the water in the sink, adding soap suds. A moment later, he’s scrubbing a plate with the sponge.

“You don’t have to do those by hand. I have a dishwasher,” I tell him as I snap myself out of my wretched thoughts and get to my feet.

“No, I’ve got it. You should finish eating. You’ve barely touched your plate.”

When I just stand there next to the sink and stare at him, watching the veins in his muscular biceps and forearms flexing as he works, he says, “Go eat, woman, since you refuse to tell me what’s eating you. Besides, washing dishes is the least I can do to try to make up for a mistake I made nearly six years ago.”

“Wh-how did you know that’s what I was thinking about?” I ask as I hurry to retake my seat and pick up my fork, determined to put distance between us. I even shovel in a few bites of pasta so my stomach won’t growl when I’m trying to sleep.

“I knew because you had the same sad look on your face as you did that night when I got dressed and walked out on you.”

“Oh.”

“Just so you know, that look has haunted me all these years,” Christian says while focusing on the dishes. “I’ve always regretted my decision to leave you in that hotel room.”

“Because Preston made you move out?”

“No. Of course, that sucked, but I didn’t blame him. I hate that I hurt you.”

“So? Why did you leave, Christian?” I ask him the question I’ve wondered for over five years.

“Uh, well, because my fragile male pride took a hit, and I think I just…panicked.”

What the hell is he talking about?

“You definitely left in a rush, but I don’t think I understand the ‘fragile male pride’ part.”

“I was, I am very good at… that usually. The night with you was a total fluke.”

“If you say so,” I reply while he scrubs another plate even harder, as if taking out his frustration on it.

“Oh, I do say so! It was a complete fluke that has never, ever happened again.”

“You couldn’t have explained that to me at the time rather than flee?”

“I should have told you. But…”

“But?” I prod when he pauses.

“You looked so confused.”

“I was confused!” Remembering to lower my voice so Finley won’t hear us, I go on to remind him, “You were acting like a jackass, and I didn’t know why. I thought I had done something wrong. We hadn’t even actually done it . I didn’t take a pregnancy test for weeks after I was late because I didn’t think it was actually possible that I could be pregnant…”

Christian groans and leans down, resting his forehead against his dry forearm while his hands drip water over the sink water. “You didn’t do a damn thing wrong. Just…please stop talking about it. I still have PTSD from that night.”

Giving up on my plate of spaghetti, I dump it into the trash bin, then slip it into the soapy water in front of him. “Tell me now and I’ll never bring it up again. I promise,” I assure him quietly.

Christian doesn’t lift his head, he just mumbles, “There’s not much to tell. Touching you, hell, just seeing you like that…so sexy and innocent and eager, I got too…excited.”

“What?” He lost me in an unexpected, ridiculous attempt at flattery.

Keeping his voice quiet, his head still resting on his forearm, he says, “I was planning on starting with significant foreplay to make it better for you. But then we got undressed and started kissing and you were so wet and warm. I was barely knocking on the door, but you felt so damn good. And when you wrapped your legs around my waist, pulling me closer, it was all over. I thought I pulled away in time, but…”

Oh. My. God.

“You didn’t. Obviously,” I finish for him.

Turning his head to look at me, his hazel eyes are distressed when he whispers, “You were technically still a virgin when I left that night.”

“Really? I thought so since there wasn’t any pain like I was expecting…”

Clearing his throat, Christian lifts his head and stands up straight again to continue scrubbing the silverware while I try to wrap my head around his explanation.

The superstar playboy came before he was barely inside of me, failing to pop my cherry, and then somehow managed to pull out too late, all at the same time.

Holy shit.

Leaning my back against the counter, I mutter, “I gave birth to my son…as a virgin. Wow. I didn’t know that was even possible.” Christian groans before I go on to add, “And technically, I guess I’m still a twenty-five-year-old virgin…”

There’s a loud plunk as if Christian abruptly dropped something into the water. “Maya…”

“My lack of experience has nothing to do with you,” I lie while running my fingers through my hair, feeling his sympathetic eyes on the side of my face. “I was pregnant and then I was a mother. I don’t have time for dating and have had no desire to put myself in that whole embarrassing situation again.”

“Oh, Maya,” Christian says softly, his voice full of pity. “I’m so damn sorry. I wish I could show you everything that you’ve been missing all these years.”

“You blew your chance. Literally,” I point out. “I don’t want you to show me anything that you’ve done with dozens of women you barely know,” I say before I walk out of the kitchen, leaving the jackass to at least finish what he started with the dirty dishes.