Page 13 of Touched Down
This turmoil is a vicious cycle I’d gladly jump out of if I didn’t know remaining private was the best way to keep our relationship secure from media and outside drama. I love Leslie. I’ve only loved Leslie since I asked her to be mine. I have no desire for another woman. And the fact that she doesn’t believe that is frustrating the hell out of me.
“Is it what?” I ask.
“You being spoken for. Is that all that really matters?”
“Yes.”
She slides from her stool, walks over to the counter, and picks up the shirt I wore last night.
I’m confused when she drops the shirt on top of my plate. “What the hell is wrong with you?” My woman knows how to go from zero to one hundred.And this time, I don’t even know why. I pick up the shirt, ready to toss it aside.
“Lipstick.”
“What?”
“Lipstick is what’s wrong with me.” She stomps out of the kitchen, leaving me with a plate filled with delicious food I’m nolonger in the mood to eat with a shirt sitting on it like a dirty cherry on top.
I pick up the shirt and examine it. There’s a red stain near the collar. “Fuck!” I whisper.How did that get there?
She thinks I was with another woman last night. I glance back at the doorway and see her heading downstairs with her purse and keys.
I march behind her as she walks toward the living room. “Where are you going?”
As she reaches the foyer, Leslie spins on her heels to face me. The death glare she gives me lets me know not to approach her. We have never had a physical confrontation, but the warning in her eyes makes me feel that she’ll smack me if I get any closer.
I don’t want our relationship to go there, so I begin to explain, “Listen to me, baby….”
“You want to know where I’m going?” she yells.
“Don’t go, Les. I leave in a few hours. I don’t want us to walk away from each other feeling like this.”
“I’m going to celebratemyanniversary alone since you spent last night with someone else’s lips on you before you made it home. Have a great isolation camp, and good luck at your first playoff game. Oh, and don’t worry. If I do decide to come, I’ll be disguised as a regular Washington Saint fan that you don’t associate with, just how you want it, Wayne!”
I yell after her, “Les, come back so we can talk! I didn’t do anything.” The woman named Ambrosia at the bar last night comes to mind. She hugged me after I waited for her Uber to arrive. “The stain had to be put on me when I hugged a fan at the bar,” I explain.
“Maybe it was, Wayne. Maybe it wasn’t. I wouldn’t know because I wasn’t invited to be there with you.” Leslie throws up apeace sign and slams the door, leaving me with a pounding head and racing heart.
I stand amid our blue and yellow rose-decorated foyer filled with angst.
We have always been able to overcome our misunderstandings. I have never left for training camp or gone on the road with unresolved disagreements. But I didn’t come home until after two a.m. I have lipstick on my collar, and I forgot our anniversary.
Now, I’ve done it.
Chapter Nine
LESLIEe
Picture This
My phone rings for the millionth time. I mute the ring and turn it facedown. Wayne’s been texting and calling nonstop. I wish he would calm down, as there’s nothing he can say to me right now. I type a quick message in response.
I’ll call you later.
Part of me is thankful he’s gone away to camp. The other part of me is angry because he literally did nothing. He didn’t follow me out of the house after our argument. He didn’t call after I left. What I needed at that moment was action. No more talking.
Now that a week has passed since he left for isolation camp, he’s ringing my phone off the hook. He wants to talk because his first playoff game will be tomorrow, and it’s out of town. He’ll just have to wait until I’m ready. Right now, I’m busy.
“Ahem. How long do you plan to stare at your phone?” Jasmine stands in front of me with a hand on her hip.
