“Roxy. Come here.”
She finally looks at me. “Don’t you have to study? It’s getting late.”
“Get your ass over here before I get up and toss you over my shoulder.” That makes her crack a smile, and she wanderscloser. Close enough for me to whip my arm out and pull her into my lap. “Stubborn woman.”
I sink back on the couch and wrap my arms around her. When she rests her head on my shoulder, I start to relax. Maybe this is all we need. Some time together to just fucking hang out without so much damn pressure.
It’s been so long since I’ve held her, I almost don’t know what to say. But I finally pull my head out of my ass. “I’m sorry about not coming home early after that game.” I booked it home last weekend once we got back from Wisconsin, but she was sound asleep, and although I had a stellar game, there were no enchiladas waiting for me in the fridge.
She shakes her head. “I’m sorry I overreacted. Of course you can hang out with your friends after a game. You don’t need my permission,” she says softly, playing with a button on my shirt. “Everything seems like a big deal to me right now. It’s like I’m watching TV, and everything is loud, and I can’t turn down the sound.”
“I know what you mean. This semester’s been intense.”
“I don’t know how to get through this. I feel like fun Roxy, the cheerleader, got buried in the backyard, and I’m thePet Semataryversion with demon eyes who wanders around her apartment in stained sweats and yells at everyone.”
“Aww, babe. You’re sleep-deprived and exhausted.”
She’s so small in my arms. Every protective instinct in me roars to life. Along with an uncomfortable erection. And since she hasn’t gotten the green light to have sex yet, I don’t want her to feel pressured.
I scoop her up and set her down next to me. She looks surprised. I feel like it’s an inappropriate time to bring up my dick, so I motion to the coffee table. “Better get back to studying.”
Her face falls. “Sure. Sorry.”
Damn. I’m not doing this right. “Rox, I’m sorry,but—”
“Of course you need to study.”
We’re both apologizing, but I don’t know that this fixes anything. I almost groan when I remember that call I got from my father this afternoon. “Babe, I hate to do this to you, but I need to go home this weekend.” Sucks, because it’s a bye weekend, and I’d love to spend it with Roxy. “My family is doing some dinner thing for my mom’s birthday, and I’d like to check in on my grandmother, seeing how no one else does.”
Grandma always has a list of shit she needs done, and if I get there early Saturday, I can probably bang it all out. Mow her lawn. Change her light bulbs. Bathe her mangy dog. Coach gave us Saturday off—which never happens—and said we can work out on our own as long as we check in with the trainers.
“You’re going home? Overnight?” There’s an odd note to her voice.
“Yeah. Sorry, I know it’s a bye weekend, and it would be great to hang out here. But I haven’t seen my mom or grandma in a while. I thought I’d go Friday night after practice and come back Sunday morning. Think you could get your parents to help you with the baby?” I hate leaving her alone, but no one ever looks in on my grandma, and she sounded lonely when I called her last week.
Roxy nibbles her bottom lip. “I don’t want to impose, but could Marley and I join you?”
Shit. She looks so hopeful, and I hate disappointing her. “I asked if I could bring you, but my father said it was just family.”
“Oh. Okay… I, uh, Marley and I can hang out with my parents.”
I’m about to ask if she wants to study with me when she wanders back to the bedroom and shuts the door.
Yeah, I’m fucking this up.
I just don’t know what to do to fix this.
47
ROXY
Rushing into our apartment,I book it to the kitchen. Billy and Marley watch me race by. “My boobs are about to explode. I have to pump before I… leak everywhere.” Too late. “Damn it.”
Of course Billy is here to witness this. I was hoping my mom had worked out her conflict and could stay this afternoon.
I’m still a little hurt I can’t go home with him to visit his parents this weekend. I feel like he knows my family well when I’ve never even met his. It just feels imbalanced, like we’re not on the same page.
With a fistful of paper towels pressed to my chest, I bite the bullet and trudge back into the living room. He’s already seen me in more embarrassing situations, I suppose, and I’m too raw to bottle this up. “How do women handle everything? How do they breastfeed and live their lives? I forgot my essay this morning, the one I stayed up half the night writing. Then I almost ran out of gas on the way home. When I turned on Main Street, I hit the curb because I took the corner too sharp. My brain is mush!”
