“Both. It’s Piper’s mattress, and when she told me she spent four grand on it, I nearly had a heart attack.”
“It’s nice.” He elbows the pillows and tries to fluff them up. “But not as nice as mine.”
“How much did you spend on yours? Five grand?”
“Close. Six.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. Come to think of it, I remember the toilets in your apartment being made of gold.”
“Joke all you want, but my physical therapist tells me my back muscles are in great shape. The mattress was worth the investment.” He yawns and pulls me away from his body. His eyes bounce over my face and down to the front of the T-shirt he must have slipped me into. A line of wrinkles forms between his eyebrows, and I decide I don’t like it very much when he’s not smiling. “How are you feeling?”
“Better. I kept the food and water down, so I think I’m on the mend.”
“Good. I’m going to make you drink another glass of water before you go to sleep for the night. Your skin was clammy, and you were severely dehydrated.”
“I think hurling up every liquid and piece of food you’ve put in your body will do that to you.” I sigh. “Was Coach pissed I missed practice?”
“No. I told him you were violently ill, and he said you’re not allowed back until you can keep your dinner down.”
“That’ll be tomorrow.”
“Debatable. You’re going to have to get cleared by the team doctor first. The boys were happy to hear you’re okay too.”
“They were worried about me?” I ask.
“Yeah. Well, to be fair, they thought you were hacked up into a million pieces by a serial killer while getting shoved onto the Metro tracks, so to hear it was food poisoning was a huge relief,” Maverick says.
“You all are weird.”
“We are, but we’re your weirdos. The good news is you should be back to a hundred percent before the holiday gala in two weeks. It’s our biggest fundraiser event for charity, and the donors are going to be psyched you’re there.”
“Don’t remind me. An auction for a lunch date with me sounds like hell. I’m probably going to end up eating KFC with some creepy guy named Bartholomew.”
“Know a lot of Barthalomews?”
“No. But they’re probably lurking out there.”
“I won’t let that happen, Red. I’ll throw a couple thousand into the pot to keep you free from any finger-licking dudes.”
“Glad to know you’re a man of the people. Are you—” My phone rings, and I untangle my legs from his. I look under the pillows and on the bedside table. “Where the heck is my phone?”
“Here.” Maverick unplugs it from the charger next to his, handing it to me with a frown. “Grady? Who the hell is Grady?”
“Shit. You cannot say a word.” I snatch it out of his hands and answer, scooting to the edge of the bed so I can have some space. “Hey.”
“There you are. I called you four times yesterday, and you didn’t answer,” Grady says on the other end of the line. “Are you alive?”
“I’m alive, but barely. I was sick,” I tell him. “Vomit, everywhere.”
“Food poisoning?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s the worst.”
“It was miserable. Anyway, I’m sorry I’ve been missing your calls and texts. November was hectic with sixteen games, and I’ve been busy to start this month too.” Behind me, Maverick snorts, and I flip him off. “How are you? I miss you.”
“Miss you too. Are you feeling better?”
