“Teammates,” I interrupt with a smile as I slide my palm against his. “I know who you are,” I say softly. “Did you want to come in?” I ask, moving aside to give him space.
“I…uh…I don’t want to intrude.”
“It’s okay,” I say with a smile. “Everett isn’t due back for a bit. But you can hang out and wait for him.”
He nods, although hesitantly, as he steps inside and toes his sneakers off at the door.
“Can I get you a drink, Hayden?”
He stands at the end of the island, watching as I march toward the fridge.
“Oh shit, sorry. I’m Bea. Beatrice Walsh. I’m Everett’s…girlfriend.”
Hayden’s eyes go impossibly wide.
“G-girlfriend?”
“Yeah, we met the night of your final game of the season. I was with the girl with the crown on her head. Everett and I…well, you know,” I say, wiggling my brows. “We’ve been seeing each other since. Kept it on the downlow.”
“Yeah,” he says hesitantly, not looking entirely convinced.
“Message him,” I say. “I promise it’s legit and I’m not some obsessed bunny.”
I spin around and focus on getting drinks, allowing him some privacy to confirm what I’m saying.
Honestly, I know the whole thing sounds utterly unhinged, but it’s the truth. Kind of.
“A soda would be great,” he finally says. “Sorry for showing up like this, I just…I needed some company, and I hoped Rett would be here.”
“Well, lucky for you, you got me. And I can confirm that I’m way less grumpy and a hell of a lot more fun.”
51
EVERETT
Monroe: Do you have a girlfriend?
Rett: Yes, her name is Bea. Keep your hands off.
Monroe:
My very short exchange with Monroe continues to play on repeat as I ride the elevator toward my apartment a little while later.
There was no context; this is Monroe we’re talking about. It could be anything.
But the second I walk into my apartment and I’m met with laughter, understanding suddenly hits.
“Oh, you motherfucker. That was me you just shot,” Bea squeals.
“Sorry, sorry. Stay on your side of the warehouse,” Monroe counters.
“Or just remember what I look like,” Bea deadpans, making me snort as sounds of gunshots ring through the air.
I know what they’re doing, but I don’t allow myself to believe it until I walk deeper into my apartment and see it with my own eyes.
But there, in my living room, is our rookie and my girl battling it out on CoD.
They’re both so focused on their game that they’re completely unaware I’ve joined them.
