Me
Good thing it isn’t for you.
Reese
Malaki.
Me
Dimples.
I can see her now, trying to hide her smile from me, which does nothing but deepen her dimples.
Reese
Take it back.
Me
Can’t, sorry. They said no returns.
Reese
Malaki, please.
My fingers hover over my screen as I reread her text.
It’s two words.
Yet, it delivers such a punch.
Reese is dependent on no one other than herself. That’s the way she’s been since the moment I met her–fighting me toothand nail every step of the way if I do something that’s out of the ordinary. I know she views it as charity, but even worse, she assumes I’ll use it against her later down the road, which bothers me more than it should.
Me
Do you want to know why I bought it?
I know I should put a pause on our texting as I head back out of my hotel room and into the elevator because minutes from now, I’ll be in the midst of a game plan and defensive strategies against the Coyotes, except I don’t want to end the conversation.
The thought of Reese thinking I’m going to take the crib back or somehow use it against her down the road, enrages me. The need to prove to her that not all men are like Benedict feels too important.
I watch as the floors on the elevator descend.
10, 9, 8, 7, 6…
I think about pushing the emergency stop button just so I can wait a little longer for her response, but I choose to send her another message before she can even type out hers.
Me
You and Charleigh deserve the best of the best. You are my fiancée, fake or not. I won’t let you have anything less.
I slip my phone into my pocket with a proud smile on my face and walk over to where my coaches are seated. Rhodes nods to the beer at the empty spot beside him, and I sit down.
Minutes pass, Coach Crawford speaking of the skill level of the Coyotes and a few players that I know will be difficult to keep up with–difficult, not impossible–and then the waitress comes to take our order.
I take the opportunity to check my phone beneath the table, eager to see if Reese has texted me back.
Reese
