“Listen, Penelope, I want to share something with you.” Davis gets serious. “You and I both know my history. I’ve had women date me when I was playing ball because I was playing ball. I want you to put it out of your head that you’re like those women because you are not. You literally dumped the guy when you knew he was going to the draft and would probably get signed. You’re the painful opposite of those women, so if you think for one second he’s got that in his head, you’re wrong.”
He’s saying all the things I’ve worried about, but this time, I know he’s right.
“Today begins a new chapter for you, and for Skipper—and for him. Remember that. His life changed the second he showed up on my doorstep, hitting him like a Mack truck. Imagine how that all feels and go easy on him, yeah?”
“I have gone easy on him. I’m beating myself up about it.”
“That’s not going to do any of you any good. It’s like being on the field, yeah? Looking back will only get you sacked. Run like hell toward the end zone.”
Juliet and I both stare at him as if he’s lost his mind. “Since when do you make football analogies?”
He shrugs. “It felt like a good time to start.”
“That was so cheesy,” his girlfriend tells him.
“Cheese!” he announces. “That’s what these eggs are missing!”
I survived the day.
My boss didn’t fire me for using a personal day.
My daughter is in bed.
I resist the urge to pour myself a glass of wine, instead deciding on a warm bath and a book. Hair wrapped in a towel, I submerge myself, carefully perching my phone on the edge of the tub, eyeballing it on the off chance it’ll slip off the ledge and sink into the water.
It’s happened before, trust me.
The bath bomb I added earlier fizzes and tickles the backside of my legs—legs that could use a good shave, but I’m far too lazy to take on the task. Plus, I’m sure my razors are dull.
As soon as I crack open my paperback, the phone begins to buzz—the last thing I’m expecting it to do. Not only is it ringing, and not only is it Jack, but he’s video chatting me.
Shit.
I’m in the bathtub!
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
My hands are dry, so I accept the call, holding the phone as high as I can so he can’t see my boobs, though they’re mostly submerged beneath some bubbles.
“This is a pleasant surprise.”
That’s the first thing he says.
The second? “You should move the phone so I can see your toes.”
I laugh. “Nice try. This isn’t a peep show.”
He looks disappointed and is clearly sitting on his living room couch, kitchen behind him. Leather sofa (typical), probably a giant television on the opposite wall taking up the whole space.
“Well, what are you expecting me to say when you answer the phone completely naked?”
Is he flirting with me? It’s such a foreign feeling! Makes me excited and nervous and pathetic at the same time. Pathetic because I have no idea when someone is flirting with me.
I’m so out of practice it’s not even funny.
Come to think of it, when was the last time I went on a date?
Last year? Nine months?
Two years?
Shit, when was it?
The guy was decent enough but didn’t make me laugh. He was way too serious and kept trying to impress me with all his “things.” He talked too loud, and bossed around the servers, and okay—so maybe he wasn’t all that decent.
“If I’d known you were calling, I wouldn’t have gotten into the tub.”
Ha!
“Touché.” He pauses. “I assume by your soak that you’ve had a long day?”
I wiggle my toes. “Eh, it was decent. I wasn’t in the mood for a shower and thought a bath would feel good. I have a book.” I wave the book around in front of the camera before dropping it onto the floor.
“What book is that? I haven’t read anything in a long time.”
“A romance novel.”
“What’s it called?”
That makes me laugh. “It’s nothing you’ve read.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you just said you haven’t read anything in a long time, and I’m going out on a limb to say it wasn’t romance.”
“Fine, you caught me. It was a sports autobiography.”
“Shocking.”
“But I have other interests, Miss Smarty Pants.”
“Oh, yeah? Like what?” I move my free arm below the water, swishing it around to kick up the bath bomb fizz.
“Like Rainbow Dash and trampolines.”
Cute.
Clever.
“Weird, those are some of my hobbies too.”
I study him then, his face like a reflection staring back at me. He hasn’t shaved and appears tired, hair smushed as if he’s had a ball cap on all day.
Or a helmet?
Sweaty, like he needs a shower or just took one.
“What have you been up to tonight?”
Jack yawns. “Not much. Took the red-eye last night and slept all morning. Didn’t have practice but had to work out, which sucked because I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck. Been looking at flights.” He yawns again, and so do I. “And I thought I’d check in to see where you were at.”