“I don’t know anything right now. Please just let me be alone. Don’t tell him what room I’m in.”
“I won’t. That girl downstairs? Not his. It’s our coach’s niece. Coach was supposed to escort her tonight, but went out of town. He begged Jamie to bring her, mostly because he knows Jamie is the most stand-up guy on the team, and he wouldn’t mistreat her. But I think you should give him a chance. Jamie is … different. But not in a bad way. He’s unique, loyal, and genuine. You’d be missing out.”
“Considering he had a woman wrapped around him not even five minutes ago, I think we’ll have to disagree on that one,” I whisper. “Please leave.”
A piece of paper whooshes under the door. “She’s not his woman, but I don’t think you’re going to hear that right now. That’s my number. Just in case you ever need it. I’ll leave now. I’m sorry, Audrey. Think about it. He’s worth it. Give him a chance to explain.”
“Explain what? You just explained it all.”
“Explain … him. There’s a lot about Jamie you don’t know.”
I turned off my phone and took a very long soak in the massive tub in my suite. I almost ordered room service, but felt the best idea was for me to stay holed up in my room without opening the door again. Thankfully, I packed a couple of granola bars in my bag, and that was my dinner.
In the morning, I woke before sunrise, sneaking out to drive to Chelsea’s apartment, where Flash spent the night. I worried Jamie would be at my townhouse, and just couldn’t bear to see him. Yet. I know I’ll have to eventually, but my mind is too jumbled up to handle a coherent conversation right now.
One problem I have with autism is the fact that I need two to three business days to deal with confrontations. I don’t like them, and I struggle to prepare myself for the other person. Right now, my thoughts and emotions are all over the place. I need time.
Chelsea and I have keys to each other’s places, and I quietly let myself in. She’s not the best in the morning, and I figure I can butter her up with a fresh pot of coffee before I tell her everything.
I walk quietly into her kitchen, starting her coffee machine, then go to open Flash’s cage. Yes, my dog has a kennel at my best friend’s house. I trust her implicitly.
Flash yawns, then yips, as I unlock her kennel. “Hi, sweet girl. Did you miss Mommy?”
I know. I’m gross with animals. They’re all my babies, even the ones that are only in my care for an hour.
I carefully pick her up, then pull her wheelchair over to strap her in. We quietly head to the door so she can go potty. Flash is very fortunate that she still has control over her bladder and bowels, although she has accidents at times. She loves to feel the grass under her paws, and the wind across her fur. I often find her sniffing the breeze, eyes closed, enjoying the moment. This morning is no exception.
I sense Chelsea before I see her. “Did I wake you?”
“It’s weird when you do that,” she says, her voice raspy. I look over my shoulder to find her rubbing sleep from her eyes, a robe haphazardly hung on her thin frame, but a steaming cup of coffee gripped tightly in her left hand. The mug she chose is black, with the words ‘gay by birth, proud by choice’ in a rainbow ombre, and it’s one I gave her a few years ago. As soon as I saw it, I knew she had to have it. Chelsea’s parents didn’t accept her coming out, and it broke her for quite some time. I, however, wanted her to know I loved her exactly as she was. “I guess I shouldn’t say anything, because I didn’t hear you at all. Just knew you were here.”
“What did you call us once? Platonic life partners?”
She nods. “I sometimes wonder if I am the love of your life. You can only be so lucky as to get a piece of this amazing ass.”
“It’s your modesty,” I reply, deadpan. “It’s so attractive. I can’t fight the pull to you anymore.”
Chelsea yawns. “Give me a few more sips of caffeine, then you can give me the gossip.”
“Who says there is gossip?”
She gives me a look of disinterest. “You showed up here on a Sunday morning before sunrise. I know there’s gossip. I’m not alert enough to think of which sibling of yours started something at the event.”
“Neither of them did anything,” I say with a sigh.
“Your parents?”
“Nope. Well, kinda. But not on purpose.”
Chelsea studies me. “This can’t be good.”
“No, it’s not,” I reply, then watch as she takes a large gulp of the coffee. “I don’t think that was a good choice.”
“It’s fine,” she says hoarsely, pounding her breastbone a few times. “I’ll be fine. Get the dog and get inside. I’m awake.”
Thirty minutes later, Chelsea stares at me in disbelief. “Jamie. The quarterback? Who looked like he was ready to mount you in the exam room on Monday, had a girl wrapped around him on Saturday?”
I nod.
