“If you’re unhappy.”
“I just…” She sighs heavily. “It never felt like an option for me, but I don’t know how much longer I can hold on like this.”
“I’m right here, babe. For whatever you need. A week in Vegas? Consider it done. I know people who know nannies who can take care of the kids while we go hit the town and forget all about Brent Calloway.”
She offers a small chuckle despite the situation. “What would I do without you?”
“We’ll never have to find out.”
“Tell me about Mav’s cock.”
I burst out into laughter. She’s nothing if not direct. “I didn’t get a really good look at it since he had me on all fours.”
“Tell me he touched your ass. Let me at least live vicariously through you.”
“He threatened to, but he didn’t put it there. Yet.”
“Yet?” she repeats.
I sigh. “It can’t happen again, Pen. I think it has the potential to really mess up my head. He’s cleared for full practice, which means I need to be at the practice facility by seven tomorrow so I can spend the day with him and pretend like just looking at him isn’t enough to give me an electric shock.”
“Oh, babe. It’ll be okay.”
“Will it?” I ask.
We’re both quiet for a beat, and then she says, “I can’t guarantee it’ll be okay for either one of us, to be honest. But we have to believe it will be. What’s the alternative?”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Tell me how much Stuart is suffering with me gone,” I say, changing the subject from that depressing thought.
She giggles. “He hired a couple interns and divided your clients between the rest of your team. It sounds like everyoneis overwhelmed and wondering how you serviced thirty-two clients all on your own.”
“Twelve-hour workdays, usually seven days a week, for starters,” I say. Even as I say it, I realize how much easier it was than the job I’m doing now.
Of course, emotions weren’t involved in my previous role. They certainly are now, both positive and negative—but it doesn’t matter. A single ounce of emotion can be exhausting either way, and I have far more than an ounce around Maverick.
“What’s your schedule like out there?” she asks.
“It’s about to change since Maverick was just cleared to return to practice. We’ll go in early and meet up to chat about our action plan for the day, and I’ll try to coach him on how to interact with teammates and the media. I just left his place, so I imagine he’ll be cranky in the morning, but he’s pretty much always cranky and hates everyone and everything except football.”
“And you,” she chimes in.
“He’s the one who called it a hate fuck, though I will admit it felt less like hate and more like…” I trail off as I try to figure out the right word.
“Like he was worshiping your vagina?” she supplies.
I scoff, though the more I think about it, the more I think…yeah. Maybe exactly that.
If that’s how he hate fucks, how does he do it with someone helikes?
I crave the answer to that. Ineedthe answer to that.
But I don’t think it’s an answer I’ll ever actually get.
“Yeah,” I say sarcastically. “I don’t think I want to talk about him anymore.” I’m not sure why I say it. I called her to talk about him, after all. But what we did felt private, and I don’t particularly feel like I want to share any more details than I already have.
Even that feels like too much. Like what we did should have remained between us.
I don’t sleep.
