Page 41 of Taking the Pitch
If it wasn’t for the interview being today, I would have called and told Gladys or Irene I wouldn’t be making it today. But here I am, later than normal, but here, running up the steps of the library with Bruno hot on my heels to avoid being completely drenched, making my migraine worse with every step.
Once I reach the landing, I wrench the door open and dart inside. Dropping my oversized bag to the floor, I grab the towel I tucked inside and throw it over Bruno before he can shake everywhere. Getting him dried off to the best of my ability and cleaning up the slight puddle we made in the entrance, I fold the towel over my arm and proceed to the children’s room.
Walking in, I see a couple of the dogs are already settled into their beds, the sounds of licking echoing throughout the space as they dry themselves off more. I unclip Bruno’s leash and stowmy stuff in the back room, laying the towel over the back of the chair to help it dry.
“Millie, there you are. I was just about to call you,” Gladys says from the office door.
Slowly turning around because I’ve moved way too fast for my body’s liking the past few minutes, I face Gladys. “Sorry I’m late. I have a terrible migraine and if it wasn’t for the interview, I wouldn’t be here at all.”
“Oh dear, well, as soon as the interview is over, don’t you worry about anything and just go on home. I know how bad these can get for you,” she says softly. “Why don’t you sit in here with the lights off until the reporter gets here?”
Mustering a small smile, I thank her and slump into the chair. Folding my arms across the desk, I lay my head down as Gladys flips the lights off and leaves the door cracked. My eyes immediately take solace in the darkness, and the pounding in my head eases slightly.
A few minutes later I hear Judd’s deep voice just outside the door, making my heart rate skyrocket and the pounding in my head increase. I haven’t seen him since the gym, and I don’t know how I’m going to face him today. It’s one of the reasons I have a migraine. I’ve been playing out different scenarios in my head about how today could go. I’m also incredibly behind on my next novel and I’m falling further behind every day. At this rate I won’t make my deadline, which will put me behind all next year. I had panic attacks all night about it.
Just another perk of my anxiety.
Yay me.
The door creaks open and light from the library leaks in. Squinting my eyes, I look up and see Judd’s tall silhouette in the doorway. He closes the door behind him until there’s just a sliver of light sneaking through. “Hey,” he whispers, coming over tocrouch next to me, resting a hand on my back. “Gladys said you had a migraine. How bad is it?”
My eyes glide over his barely visible face, but even in the dark I can still see how handsome he is…asshole.
Filling my lungs with Judd’s signature christmassy scent, I decide to downplay just how much pain I’m in. “I’m fine, just a little headache. Already feeling better.” The lie feels thick and sticky on my tongue, but to drive the point home, I roll the office chair back and stand. “See? Feeling…” The words die on my tongue as the dark room tips on its axis.
Judd grabs me by the shoulders and shoves me back down into the chair before I topple over. “That’s what I figured. Mills, there’s no way you can do this interview today,” he says, using the nickname I secretly love. The name only my dad used for me. Tears prick at my eyes, and I will them away, blinking rapidly. Thankful that we’re in the dark.
Judd takes his phone out of his back pocket. “I’ll be right back. Sit tight and whatever you do, don’t try to get up,” he tells me before stepping out of the room.
I’d roll my eyes, but honestly, that would even hurt too much at this point. Every movement is too much and I’m wondering how I’m going to drive home after this. A wave of nausea hits me, and I pull a slow breath through my nose. I’ve officially hit the point of no return. Nothing but an ice pack, a dark room, and a massive amount of Tylenol and ibuprofen can help me now. I’ve taken meds for my migraines off and on throughout the years, but they really don’t seem to work any better.
I’m reclining back in the chair, trying to breathe through the nausea when Judd comes back in and crouches back down in front of me. He places his hand on my knee, and I’m surprised at how quickly the spot warms under his touch. Looking down at him, I have to convince my hands not to reach forward and run my fingers through his thick, dark hair.
“I’m taking you home. I called Jules and rescheduled the interview. She said to tell you she hopes you feel better soon.”
I blink slowly at him while my brain processes the information he just told me. “Jules? Julie? The reporter? Wait, how? You know her?” Apparently, full sentences are no longer a thing for me today.
“Yes, Julie, the reporter. We go way back to my rookie year. I was one of her first athletes she interviewed after she graduated.” He shrugs and I know there’s more to the story than he’s letting on. An irrational streak of jealousy burns through my stomach, increasing my nausea.
No, I amnotjealous. I have nothing to be jealous about.
“Alright Sweetheart, grab your stuff and let’s head out.”
Hold up. “Uh, what?”
“I’m taking you home. Grab what you need and let’s get Bruno and get you home.”
I blink slowly at him, trying to ignore the flip my stomach does when he sayshome. “But I drove here,” I tell him.
He chuckles lightly and leans down, bracing himself on the arms of the chair, towering over me. “I know, but there is no way I’m letting you drive home like this.” Judd reaches up and cups my face, running his thumb over my cheek, eyes gazing into mine “I would never forgive myself if I let you drive home, and something happened to you.”
Oh.
“But, uh, what, what about my car?” I ask, trying to wade through the migraine induced fog.
Judd lifts a shoulder and removes his hand from my face to stand. “We can come back and get it tomorrow.”
Panic eats at the edge of my pain, making the thumping in my head worse. “No, I, I can’t leave my car. What if I need it? I’ll just drive, it’s fine. I’ll be fine.” I honestly don’t know if I’m trying to reassure him or myself at this point.
