“How are you, Hendrix Monroe?” Dexter Langley’s voice asks me from across my table. I just stare at him, not giving anything away. “You and I have been at many of the same group and team outings, but aside from the typical trainer athlete questions or pleasantries when we’re at the bar, we don’t speak much.”
“Is that a fact?” I ask him, leaning back in my chair. I pick up my latte and take a long sip. I have a feeling I haven’t drunk enough of this before Dex came to sit across from me. And I have a feeling that I might need it.
“It is. I’ve heard a lot about you from August,” he tells me, setting his own coffee cup down in front of me. It’s in a to-go cup and there is a second one on the table next to a small bag.
“Amelia’s coffee and breakfast is going to get cold,” I tell him, gesturing towards the bag and coffee cups.
He just nods. “I’ve heard a lot about you from him in college. A little here and there since I got here.”
I nod. I wonder how much he knows. “What’s up, Dex? What are you getting at?”
I’ve perfected the art of patience and holding in all my cards. I don’t plan on sharing anything about my night with August. The same way I’ve kept my feelings about him from my friends a secret.
“Just making some observations,” he tells me. I nod again and wait him out.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him if he’s seen or talked to August this morning. Although, if Dex is with Amelia, I doubt it.
“Are you okay, Hendrix? This isn’t the coffee shop local to you. It’s closer to where August and I live,” he tells me.
“Making another observation?” I ask him.
He nods. “I am.” He picks up his cup and takes a sip, sighing. “He misses you, you know?”
“He has a funny way of showing it.” I remark, picking a piece of cinnamon roll and popping it into my mouth. “You don’t hurt the people you love by taking a new woman home with you each night.”
Dex nods. “I know that part isn’t easy. But I’m pretty sure that he only does it to cope.” He shrugs before adding, “Not the best coping mechanism, I know. But it’s what he does. It’s what he knows becauseI thinkthat he thinks he doesn’t deserve you.” He taps the table like he did when he sat down. “And that may be true, but he’s loved you since college. Distance or time hasn’t changed that. I spent a lot of nights cleaning up sad, drunk August who rambles about you. I’ve done that few times since moving to Tampa.”
I try not to react. But my eyes widen a bit. He smiles when he sees it too.
“I just thought that you should know.” Dex stands. “Amelia is waiting for her breakfast. I’m going to head on back to her. It was good to see you, Hendrix. I hope you had a good night and enjoy your rest day.”
Dex turns and leaves. I watch his back as he heads out. Pushing the cinnamon roll away from me, I no longer want it. I wish I would have just gone to a coffee shop closer to my apartment or straight home to wash the night off of me.
I stand and grab my plate so that I can take it to the trash bin. It’s time to head home, shower and try to deal with what happened last night. I need to find the courage to figure out where exactly I should go from here. I step out into the sunlight and decide that life was easier when pretending to hate August felt like my only option.
Chapter Eight
~AUGUST~
It’s been almost two days since I had her in my bed. I knew I shouldn’t have let her fall asleep so quickly that night. She left before we really had a chance to talk. I had so much I wanted to say to her. Things like:
She’s different.
There’s only been her.
And please fucking please give me a second chance.
But I never got to say any of it. Hendrix woke up and bailed on me. Had she been any other girl, I would have celebrated quietly as she dressed and left me. But it washer. I needed her to stay so that I could run and get her breakfast, show her the view from my balcony. Talk with her about how this absolutely could work for us.
But she bailed.
And now, I’m here in my office trying to concentrate on the interview requests that were put in front of me. Apparently, the reporters just don’t want to talk to teams and coaches. I’m supposed to do some interviews as well. I try not to think that this is only because I’m Maxwell Cromwell’s son, but the thought keeps pricking up again and again.
I tried texting her yesterday and a bit today.
August: I know you said it didn’t happen. But I can’t stop thinking about it.
August: Not just the sex. The way you looked at me like you still knew me.
