Every time I shift in this chair, I feel the skirt ride up on my thigh and I find myself practically keeping my left hand in place to make sure it doesn’t go to an unprofessional or uncomfortable height up my leg.
Mental note for next time—don’t wear the damn skirt.
“Thanks, Liam,” I say, glancing at him and then back to the camera in front of us, offering a smile into the lens.
He nods and smiles as well. The perfect media presence. Not that I’m surprised—he’s got a face made for television.
I stay seated and place my notebook on my lap, my fingers tugging at the fabric of my skirt when Liam stands from his chair and plants himself directly in front of me. Close enough to seethe beads of sweat near his temple, but with just enough space between us for me to stand.
He takes his hat, flipping it backward on his head as his tongue coats his lips.
“Stand up.” He stills, blocking the front of me from anyone’s view, including his own as his eyes stay focused on mine. “Go ahead, Dem. I’m here, you can stand.”
I swallow, tugging at my skirt one last time before I scoot myself off the chair to a standing position. All day, I’ve been getting creative with how I get down from this higher than normal chair. My go-to has been keeping my notebook over my legs. Not once today has someone noticed, let alone helped.
“Thank you,” I say as I stand before him.
He backpedals a few steps and smiles with a cocky shrug as he’s about to leave the tent. “Gentleman. Remember?”
I heard the sound of voices coming from the hallway early this morning. It makes me wonder who Demi may have recruited to help her move, but I guess it’d be pretty fucking stupid of me to assume she doesn’t have friends of her own she can call.
Birdie’s pouncing all over the end of my bed, chasing her own tail as I make my way into the closet. I reach for an easy outfit, something I can wear for a quick run down by the water—or help someone move, whichever presents itself first.
Nate
Charity golf tourney coming up, you still playing?
Yeah I planned on it. When is it again?
Nate
Next weekend.
I’ll be there baby
The charity golf events are always a good time and a place where we see a lot of other athletes too. In my younger years, it used to be one big party to me—a time to play golf, drink beer, and have a good time. I still enjoy doing all three of those things, but I don’t try to turn a day’s event into a whole weekend ordeal anymore.
After throwing on a pair of running shoes, I grab my keys, give Birdie a few behind the ear scratches, and head out the door. There are two men walking toward me in the hallway, and I hear music coming from Demi’s new apartment. It’s like a fucking siren song, I can’t resist it, and instead of heading to the elevator I take the handful of steps toward her open front door.
Demi’s facing away from me, a large moving box sits on the coffee table as she’s slightly bent over pulling things out. I watch as she pulls out a book, and then another book and…is that entire box just books? I look at the six boxes lined up behind that one.
There’s a clear bin on the floor near the kitchen island that looks to be filled with kitchen appliances. I scan what I can, noticing an air fryer and something that looks like a coffee maker or an espresso machine, except it looks like something that’s maybe used on the stovetop. On the floor next to the bin is her brown bag with the Dominican flag keychain dangling on the side. A piece of knowledge I committed to memory after seeing that keychain on her bag in the hall outside of Coach Aarons’s office. I’ve never googled something so fast in my life.
Her hair is up in a bun, but some of her curls are falling out from the sides. She’s probably been at this for hours, based on how early I heard things this morning. Her feet are bare, she shuffles between boxes, and I notice she’s just sorting books around within the boxes, not actually unpacking them.
“Excuse me.” A rough voice sounds behind me. It’s one of the guys from the hallway. His unruly brown hair spilling over his forehead. It isn’t until he walks past me that I see the back of his shirt says Heff and Son’s Moving. So these aren’t friends of hers.
“Hey, should I expect you to just be lurking in my doorway and stuff now that I live here?”
I move my attention from the mover to the sound of Demi’s voice walking toward me. She has a paper towel roll in her hands, and I slowly let my eyes roam over her. I smile at the black leggings and acid washed T-shirt she’s wearing, proving my point that she doesn’t wear color.
“We have a noise policy here,” I say, tipping my chin toward her Bluetooth speaker on the counter. “I was just, uh, checking on that volume.”
“Ah.” She grins, turning away from me. She unrolls a couple pieces of the paper towel and begins wiping down the counter. “I like my music at a reasonable volume, not to worry.” She clicks her tongue, and I follow her hands as they move in circles on the counter.
“That’s good to hear.” I cross my arms over my chest before taking my hat and flipping it backward on my head.
Demi’s chocolate-coated eyes give me a not-so-subtle roam as she crumples up the paper towel and tosses it into a garbage bag hanging on one of the cabinet knobs.
