“Feeling it out.”
Horrible choice of words, because his brows shoot up. “You can do that? Just feel shit out?”
I laugh. “No, you can’t just feel shit out; she’s giving you shit, you moron. We agreed that since the media was going to be up my asshole about this, we might as well ... give it a try.”
There. That sounds like a better choice of words.
No one wants Deshaun leaking my personal business ’cause of his loose lips, but her explanation seems to satisfy him—at least for the moment. But the guy’s curiosity is nowhere near done.
He wipes his hands on a napkin, eyes flicking between us. “So, Annabelle ... you got siblings? Where you from?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “Nope, I’m a lonely only and live in Washington—the town where Mav and I met.”
Deshaun grabs a crab rangoon and bites into it. “What’d you study in college?”
Annabelle blinks, then glances at me like “Should I tell him this?” I shrug—I’m learning all this stuff about her too.
“Went to college for half a minute,” she says finally. “Tried it for a semester but dropped out. I wanted to do something creative. Ended up freelancing graphic design and managing a bridal shop’s socials until I couldn’t stand the bridezillas, so obviously I started planning weddings.” She laughs.
Deshaun grins. “Bet you’ve got some good stories.”
“You have no idea.”
He cocks his head. “You ever play sports? You seem like the sporty type.”
Annabelle laughs. “Soccer. Played keeper through high school. Tried roller derby once. Didn’t end well.”
Roller derby? Damn, that’s intense.
Annabelle turns to Deshaun, eyes glittering with interest now that she’s shared a bit of her own background. She props her elbow on the arm of the couch, chin in her hand like she’s settling in for tea. “Okay, Deshaun, your turn. Tell me the most embarrassing story you’ve got about Maverick.”
Deshaun’s grin turns absolutely wicked. “Ohhh, you sure you wanna open that door?”
“Yes.” She doesn’t even blink. “Kick it off the hinges.”
I groan. “No one needs that door kicked. Leave the door alone.”
Deshaun doesn’t hesitate. “Oof. There’s a few. But my personal favorite? Gotta be the time his towel dropped. In the locker room. On media day.”
Annabelle perks up, fully invested now. “Tell me more.”
“These idiots are so juvenile.” Deshaun grins like he’s been waiting years to retell this to a woman I’m dating. “Full crowd—reporters, cameras, PR staff, even the rookies standing around, trying to act cool. Maverick’s talking to some sideline reporter about nutrition or recovery or whatever—then BAM. Somebody sneaks up and yanks his towel off, and it falls to his ankles.”
Annabelle is cackling now. “Noooo.”
“Oh yeah. Everything on display. Twig and berries dangling in the cool breeze. Reporter gasped. Maverick gasped.”
My wife is giggling. “I mean ... does that sort of thing happen often?”
I nod. “You’d be shocked. It’s like a room full of toddlers sometimes.”
Deshaun is absolutely in his element now, lounging back like he’s telling ghost stories around a campfire. “And the best part?” he says, chuckling. “Mav didn’t even realize it was gone at first. Stood there, talking about protein intake with his noodle swinging around, hand motions and all, like he wasn’t airing out the family jewels on national television.”
“I wasn’t on national television,” I grumble. “Stop overexaggerating.”
Annabelle is howling, half curled into herself from laughing.
“I played it cool and yanked the towel back up without drawing attention, like no big deal. Shit happens all the time.”
