Dang. Why did I say that? I’m so used to offering it to my guests that it rolled off my tongue.
“Do I get a key to your house too?” she asks as she dangles the keychain in my face.
“Just knock. I’ll let you in. Or I can give you my number, and you can text, which is helpful if you know ahead of time that you need something.”
“Awesome. Just what I always wanted. Needing to head into a different house to cook.”
I’m guessing that’s sarcasm. “Look, your stepfather wasn’t honest with me either. Let’s just make the best of this. You can go your way, and I’ll go mine.”
“Is it going to be weird, though? Me staying here? You knowing that I’ve slept with Olly many, many times?” She twirls a glossy lock of blonde hair. “That’s gotta be strange, huh? And I mean, we’ve done it everywhere. My car. A shower. A cabin on vacation. My place. His place. A bathroom at a banquet. The man could not keep his hands off me. He once fucked me so hard, my neighbors knew his name by the time we were done.”
I open my mouth, only nothing comes out.
She pats my arm in faux sympathy. “I have some great diet tips if you need some. If your sex life isn’t as slamming as mine was with Olly”—she folds her lips briefly and then lowers her voice—“it might be because you’re carrying some extra junk in the trunk. Olly likes them skinny. Just look at that redhead he dated. What was her name? Vanessa? Now she’s really beautiful.”
By the time I stumble out of the casita, I’m wondering why I was dumb enough to think this could work. I’m clearly not Olly’s type. Add this pregnancy to the equation, all the weight that’s going to pack on, and the fact I’m so disoriented when I’m with him, and it spells disaster.
I somehow manage to not cry even though I feel like that woman slowly stripped me of my skin, Hannibal Lecter-style. When I enter my living room, Olly jumps up off the couch. “Maggie, I’m sorry about all of that. Thank you for—”
I hold up my hand. “I’m not feeling great. I’m going to bed. Maybe we can talk tomorrow.”
Or next week. Or possibly never.
Because right now, I want to crawl into my bed and never come out again.
31
OLLY
What the hell did Amelia say to Maggie? She looked like death warmed over when she returned to the house last night. And when I got home from my workout this morning, all of the weights in the living room were gone. I meant to ask her where she wanted them last night so I could move them for her, but she went straight to bed.
I didn’t nose around the house to check out the treadmill because I had a feeling Maggie might want to show me herself, but she’s been MIA all day. When curiosity finally gets the best of me and I creak open the door to one of the spare bedrooms, I feel like an utter ass for snapping at her yesterday.
The guys said she got me a treadmill. I figured it was something rinky-dink because how could Maggie afford a nice one? And yet there’s a beautiful gym-grade machine right in front of me. Dumbfounded, I turn in a slow circle. There’s a workout bench. Those weights. Several bars and dumbbells. She even set up a full-length mirror, the kind you find in a gym, and in the corner is a small sound system and speakers.
Damn, this is great. I don’t know where she is or if she’s still upset, but I need to see her. I decide to text her.
This workout room is the coolest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you so much!
Twenty minutes later, she responds. Glad you like it.
That’s it. That’s all she says.
Fuck this.
I dial her number. When she picks up, I start talking. “What time are you gonna be home?”
“I get off at five.”
That’s right. She has a part-time job. I forget sometimes. “I’m taking you out to dinner.”
“But—”
“No arguments, Magnolia. Please let me do this.”
She eventually relents, thank God. Whatever Amelia told her last night obviously put her guard up, and Maggie and I have to get on the same page if we want any hope of surviving the season, much less the NFL. If I make it that far.
I flex my knee and test for soreness. I’ve been religious about my workouts and icing my injury to help stave off any inflammation. Because I want the training staff to see that I’m recovering well, I’ve done most of my workouts at the team’s workout room instead of with the guys at the football house.
