Real talk, I’m nervous as hell for Madden to get here. There are so many questions spinning around in my head. Did he think it was good? Does he regret it? Why haven’t I heard from him? How is he going to act when he gets here? Will he pretend like nothing ever happened? Was this a one-night stand? Did Belle drown his fucking phone in syrup and that is why he hasn’t contacted me today? Did he hammer his fingers by accident and now they don’t work? All friggin’ ten of them? Am I a total idiot for sexing with him? I could go on and on and on.
Bryn is coming from my office when I approach the door.
“Hey,” she greets, “I was looking for you.” She must notice my internal struggle because she stops, narrows her, and studies me. “Are you okay?”
I have to tell Bryn about what’s going on, eventually, because I sure as hell don’t want to talk to Laney about any of this. Putting my best happy face on, I assure her, “I’m good.” But she sees right through my tense smile and uneasy eyes. “Cardio kicked my ass today,” I lie … again.
“It’s good you can take the rest of the day off then.” She winks. “Madden called to cancel his session for today.”
“He what?” I ask, and I’m sure she can hear the alarm in my tone. I need to hear her say it again. Confirm that my ears heard correctly.
“Madden called the front desk and canceled his session for today.” She glances at her watch and realizes it’s almost time for her hot yoga session, so she doesn’t have time to study my completely deflated expression. “I gotta run, but let’s chat later, ‘kay?”
I nod once as she walks away. He fucking canceled. He didn’t just cancel; he took the pussy way out and called the friggin’ gym to cancel. My emotions have now skipped from sad to downright furious. My fingers punch at the keyboard on my phone like this object is at fault for this. Quickly I decide, unlike Madden, I am not a pussy. I may have one, but I don’t take the easy way out; that’s not how I roll. I scroll straight to his contact and press the call button—
texts are for pussies.
“Declining calls is for pussies too, asshole,” I mutter as Madden’s voicemail picks up, and I click the off button. I guess a text will have to do. I don’t want to mad text, though. I need to think this through. Ah fuck it, I can be polite but to the point in my text. Hell, I am a Southerner, I know how to cut you down at the knees with words without you even realizin’ I criticized you.
>>Hey, Madden. Bless your heart, you better have a damn good reason for canceling on me today.
Two hours have passed since I not only called but texted Madden, and he has yet to respond. As angry as I am, I’m getting a little concerned too. I hope he’s okay. Oh gosh, I hope Belle is okay. Madden has been so devoted to his training, it’s not like him to up and cancel.
Oh yeah, Jordan, you big hussy, you’re forgetting the fact that Madden sexed you up, every inch of you.
I should have kept the cobwebs. I should have kept the girly bits all webbed up, and this wouldn’t be happening. Sighing, I gather my bag and turn off the lights in my office. I have to get out of here. I need to be out of the gym. Normally this is my safe space, but definitely not today. Today this gym makes me think about nothing but Madden Davenport.
Pulling into the parking lot of Publix, I wait for the third song on my sad list to finish. Bradley Cooper and Lady GaGa croon out about being far from shallow, and the lyrics are so heartbreaking that I make myself listen until the final chord because I’m a demented bitch like that. I rest my head on the steering wheel, needing a damn minute. I debate if I really have to go in, do I really need food? But there is nothing at home for my weekly meal prep, and I have worked too hard to divert away from my routine. I will not let a damn boy because, yes—he’s acting like a boy, even begin to cause me to regress to my old habits.
Anyone who tells you they like grocery shopping is a damn liar. Normally I try to be very organized about it. Plan out my meals for the week, make a list, look at what is on sale and so on. Given this afternoon’s events and the mess that is my mind, I don’t realize that I’m aimlessly wandering up and down the aisles of Publix browsing. Okay, Jordan, focus.
I tick off the items in my cart to make sure I have everything: chicken, steak, broccoli, green beans, and sweet potatoes. Almond Milk and some yogurt and I should be good to go. Standing in the dairy section, patiently waiting for the little old lady in front of me to decide if she wants one or two strawberry yogurts, I see a familiar ball of energy fly by me.
Wait … was that Belle? I want to turn around and look, but I tell myself not to, especially after Madden ‘ghosted’ me this afternoon. That little girl has woven her way right into my heart. Maybe she’s here with her grammy. Maybe Madden had an issue at a site today and this is all a misunderstanding. Maybe, hopefully. I’m searching for any kind of excuse to make this situation not sit in my gut like a rock.
“Dis one, Daddy,” the little girl says, and those words alone kill any hope I have and add another boulder to the one already currently residing in my gut. It was Belle who ran past me, and she’s not here with Ms. Davenport. “JoJo told us to get dis one.” I can’t help but smile. I love that little girl. This is the first smile that has touched my lips all afternoon.
“Who is JoJo, Isabelle?” the snide voice interrupts and causes my whole body to go rigid, adding another boulder to the pile in my stomach. Madden couldn’t answer my calls or texts, hell, he couldn’t train today, but he can grocery shop with Gia? AND BELLE? Why in the world he would want to expose her to that pitiful excuse for a woman is beyond anything that I will ever understand.
My hands go tight around the green plastic grip covering the bar on the buggy. My knees suddenly feel weak, my chest feels tight, and breathing is becoming more difficult. Oh, hell to the no. I am not having a panic attack in the middle of Publix, with Madden Davenport and his ‘one who got away’ as an audience. Fuck, no. I would leave this buggy sitting or give it a good shove in their direction if I wasn’t relying on it solely to keep me upright.
My back is still to them, and as much as I want to hear the witty answer I’m sure Belle is getting ready to fire at Gia, I just can’t subject myself to the torment. I can’t be around them, I can’t see them, and I sure as shit can’t let them see me. Pressure builds behind my eyes, ah hell—fuckin’ tears, in freakin’ Publix. Not happening. Slowly I begin pushing my crutch, AKA my buggy, down the aisle, carefully avoiding the lady still agonizing over her yogurt choice. How long have I been standing here like an idiot?
&nb
sp; Shaking my head, I keep my lips pulled tight so I refrain from yelling out at her to just make up her damn mind. I pick up my pace as the exit gets closer, silently chanting, ‘please don’t see me, please don’t see me’. I’m almost home free as I make it to the end of the aisle. I’m apparently a glutton for punishment. I can’t keep myself from shooting a quick look behind me before I turn the corner.
My feet are glued, as in will not move from this spot on the floor. I’m staring like a creepy creeper. Madden walks down the aisle, Belle at his side, and Gia strolling alongside them. My heart literally breaks into pieces.
Suddenly I’m seventeen all over again, the pretty girl gets the guy, and I get overlooked. For the first time in years I feel not good enough. Before I can get my feet to move, I give myself a moment to stare at him. Madden Davenport. He doesn’t even look like the same guy who walked into Dumb Belles six months ago. Underneath, he’s the same guy, but outside he looks so different. He looks happy, he looks healthy; he looks content.
I feel her eyes on me before I even acknowledge her. My eyes connect with Gia’s, and I force myself not to storm over there and knock the bitch out. Luckily Madden is busy trying to talk Belle out of something on the shelf, and he doesn’t notice me. The smirk residing on that fake face of hers is more than I can take. I can’t hide the look of dejection on my face. The bitch fuckin’ smiles in my direction, and I can’t decide if I’m sad or pissed the fuck off. The only thing I do know is that I have to get out of this God-forsaken Publix—stat.
Buggy long forgotten, turning quickly, I move as fast as my Nike’s will take me. I have tunnel vision, and the only thing I’m focused on are those sliding glass doors that will release me from my own personal version of hell. I’m twenty feet from the door when I make a rash decision. Barely pausing at the cupcake display, I pick up the first three boxes I see as I strut through the checkout lane. I throw down a twenty on the conveyor belt, skip the bagging process, and truck it out of the store. I don’t stop; I’m operating on automatic.
I climb into my Jeep, then cue up my sad playlist. I take the time to buckle myself and the cupcakes that I could have possibly shoplifted, then I drive home to the sounds of Gabby Barrett pouring her heart out about a cheatin’ man and what she hopes happens to him. Me too, Gabby, me too.
*~*