I didn’t have a vase, so I used a tall drinking glass, filled it with water, and crammed the stems in. The bouquet livened up the old table.
My cell buzzed. I glanced at the reminder text from my trainer for the morning session. I’d worked my body too hard last season, and I needed it in peak condition again when this season started, as my still throbbing shoulder showed me. I’d wrenched it in the finals. Physio was slowly putting it right—
Soft footsteps sounded. I turned, my gaze fixing on what Charli wore. A navy t-shirt with a slogan slashed across her chest:i do what i want, with a Minion replacing the ‘a’ inwant.
And because I knew she hated it, I couldn’t resist, “Are you trying to tell me something there, Blue?I do what I want?”
Her brow furrowed. She probably forgot what the t-shirt said, then she scowled. “Would you stop calling me that? I hate the darn name.”
I stifled a smile at her testiness and got two bottles of water from the fridge. “You do know Minions are a single cell microorganism, right? They live to serve. So, the way I see it…” I didn’t bother to complete what I wanted to say because those brown eyes glowered at me like the flames of Hell. Yup, she got my meaning and was undoubtedly roasting me in the devil’s pit.
“Sit.” I gestured to the table. She pivoted and stumbled to a halt, gaping at the flowers glistening with raindrops.
I set the bottles down, waited for her to be seated, but she continued staring at the flowers. “Something wrong?” I asked.
“No.” She shook her head. “I love daisies,” she said softly, then leaned over and sniffed them. “And the smell of rain on them.”
“My mother did, too.” The words were out before I could stop them.“I used to get them for her. I’m not sure about the rain, though.” It always leaked in my childhood trailer home…drip, drip, drip,the plinking sounds echoed in my head,water seeping through the roof, falling into sporadically placed pans…the sounds sometimes lost in the shouting—
“Really?” Charli asked softly, but her stare drilled holes in me as if unearthing for the truth.
“Yeah.” My past wasn’t something I liked talking or thinking about. I headed for the kitchen to collect the salad I’d tossed together earlier while she’d been secluded in my room, working.
My mother had loved the little things I did for her, not expecting much from life, from anyone.
“Sit,” I said, leaving the bowl on the table. Then I brought the lasagna I’d reheated and set it down. I took my seat opposite her, aware of her watching me.
“Go ahead.” I nodded at the food, still avoiding her probing gaze and the warm sympathy I knew I’d find there. All of it fisted me in a huge fucking, hurting knot that I hated.
“So, did you delete the snapshot from the other day?” I asked, changing the conversation, casting her a quick glance.
She rolled her eyes, and her smile crept back inside me, chasing away the pain and darkness.
“No. Since we’re pretending, it should stay right there on my Instagram,” she said in a sing-song voice as she dished a small portion of the pasta.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Having me by my balls?”
“Absolutely—”
Her eyes widened. “No! Not the balls part,” she hastily corrected, a delectable flush reddening her cheeks. “Oh, that reminds me…” She set her fork down, then casting me an evil grin, she picked up her cell from the table. Her fingers flew over her screen, and I had a damn good idea of what mischief she took such delight in.
“What are you up to?” I asked anyway, helping myself to the food.
“Because this fake relationship is real to everyone else…” she mumbled. “There—”
She held out her cell, showing the snapshot of me with the handprint on my shirt, my brows pulled down in a frown. And below it, she’d hashtagged:#manmarked #playerdown #19 #warwith an explosion of emoji hearts.
I snorted and handed her cell back, then offered her the salad.
She set her phone on the table. “Now, why would I want to ruin my food with greens? And you, you’re supposed to be watching what you eat, aren’t you?” She stared pointedly at my large portion of lasagna.
“I’m good. Tomorrow, I’ll work it out and up the er, greens and boiled fish,” I teased.
“Ew!” She scrunched her nose. “Why? Why would you torture yourself this way?”
“So I don’t get soft during off-season.”
“Not me.” She scooped more lasagna into her mouth, chewing with relish.
