Or if he is being nice, then we don’t have to have the whole awkward conversation ofhow are you feeling? Good. How was your date? Good.
That might be even worse than his teasing.
I’ll walk back to Daisy’s and regroup. If I don’t have to talk to him about this day right now, I might be able to save some of my pride.
That’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to bail on him and put off the awkwardness for as long as possible. Heck, maybe I can pretend this never happened, and we can settle right back in to our coach and player relationship.
My stomach rumbles.
His chicken noodle soup smellsreallygood. The clock on Holland’s stove says it’s only ten after six. I have plenty of time for a quick bowl before he gets home. I’ll clean up after myself and be out of here before he returns.
I ladle myself a bowl, snag a cinnamon bun for good measure, and sit down on a barstool. I eat the soup like a lion devouring its prey.
It’s a good thing there’s no one here to witness me, because I’m slurping it everywhere. It’s delicious.
I put the bowl to my mouth to lap up the remaining broth, and I freeze when the door to the apartment creaks open behind me.
19
One-Bedroom Apartment
Mallory
Iturn slowly in my chair, bowl still at my lips.
Holland steps inside. His face is drawn, but his eyes light up when they land on me.
“You’re up! How’re you feeling?”
I swallow the soup and set the bowl down. It clatters on the granite countertop. I use the back of my hand to wipe at a dribble of broth that escaped my lips.Dang it.I am such a mess.
“Good. Fine.” I hop off the barstool. “Practically good as new. I, um…was going to get going.”
Holland closes the door behind him and drops his keys onto a hook that hangs on the nearby wall. “You can’t.”
I pause and cross my arms. “What do you mean, I can’t? I’ve got to get back to Daisy’s.”
He shakes his head. “I told production you were asleep in your room. That you’d come down with a nasty virus and no one should bother you until at least tomorrow morning. If you go back there tonight, your cover will be blown.”
My stomach sinks. “So what?”
“You can hang out here tonight. We’ll sneak you back in to Daisy’s early tomorrow morning, and it’ll be like you were there the whole time.”
I blow out a breath. This is kind of the worst, but what else can I do? If Vivian knew I was ensconced at Holland’s apartment this entire day, we’d both be in breach of our contract. All of our time together is supposed to be filmed. The only exceptionis our golf practices. I catch sight of my reflection in Holland’s microwave and cringe. There’s a line of dried drool from the corner of my lip down to my chin.
“I hate to impose on you,” I admit. “You’ve already gone out of your way enough. This is totally unprofessional of me.”
“You’re fine.” Holland toes off his shoes. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. You seemed pretty miserable.”
I nod, and then I gasp. “What if I get you sick? The Grand Masters are less than a week away. You can’t afford to—“
Holland steps toward me and puts his hands on my shoulders. They’re warm and firm, and I immediately shut up.
“Relax, Mal. There’s nothing we can do about it, and I’m not worried. I have a ridiculously good immune system.” He shoots me a grin before moving around me and into his kitchen.
I can’t help it. I roll my eyes. “Of course you do. Why am I not surprised?”
“What do you mean?”
