Page 18 of Elite Player
On our way out, we say goodbye to the staff, then silently ride the elevator down to the parking garage level. At my Cadillac, I stop and poke out my hip. “Grab my keys for me.”
She digs in my pocket for the fob and unlocks the doors so I can unload everything into my trunk. I shove the bear into the back seat then make sure Josephine’s all buckled in before I trot around to the driver’s side.
When I turn the engine over, I glance her way. “You comfy?”
“Yes.”
“You sure? Too hot or cold? You have enough room?”
“I’m fine.”
That’s always her answer. She’s constantly fine. As if she’s afraid to say otherwise. Tell the truth and ask for what she wants.
I doubt she wants me to hop on a soapbox about speaking up for herself, so I ask her to put her address into my directions app and then promptly save it. Once we’re outside of the parking garage and stopped at a red light, I steal another moment to study her.
My fiancée.
She chews on her bottom lip, and that little mole next to her mouth is like a target. A taunt.
In profile, her nose is long and her cheeks round. Her complexion is clear, though she has some marks, old acne scars.She rubs at her forehead, toying with her hair, making sure it’s covering up as much of her face as possible, and it’s clear my bride-to-be has a confidence issue.
To make her more comfortable, I toss out some softball questions. Her birthday is October 15th, when she’ll turn 25, while I’m already there because of my June birthday. Her favorite color is black; mine is red. She has no pets, and I tell her all about Gus. It’s when I ask her what she’s most afraid of that she stumbles. She opens her mouth then closes it, her skin blushing a bright pink before she inhales a breath deep enough to raise her shoulders then answers, “Thunderstorms.”
I don’t believe her, but I let it go.
“What are you afraid of?” she asks, and I give her the genuine truth.
“Being alone.”
I feel her staring at the side of my face as silence settles between us, only Sabrina Carpenter quietly singing through my speakers.
Eventually, Jo clears her throat and asks, “Is that why you are the way you are? Because you’re afraid of being alone?”
“Why I am the way I am? I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You know…all of the sex…and stuff.”
I huff a laugh. “Maybe. But mostly, I just like sex. It feels too good not to enjoy it as much as we can, right?” I glance her way, but she’s sawing away on that lip, eyes not straying from where she’s white-knuckling the vase of sunflowers. I tug on her chin so she stops destroying her lip, because honestly, it’s a real shame, then settle both of my hands on the steering wheel to drive. “My parents divorced when I was five, and I spent a lot of time on my own. My dad worked twenty-four seven, and my mom was off doing whatever she wanted. I always had nannies or babysitters or camp counselors or whoever, but I never felt like I was ever really wanted. Like anyone ever really wanted to spend time with me. They were all being paid, and by the time someone did show interest in me…”
“What?”
I blink back into awareness, not realizing my mind had drifted so far back into the past, into the memories that I’d rather forget, and I glance over at her. “Hm?”
“It seemed like you had more to say.”
I tug the bill of my hat, facing it forward again, like I can hide myself. If she can do it, I can too.
“I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me,” she says, so repentantly, it makes me want to tell her all the more. I’ve basically flayed myself open for her, but maybe if I’m honest with her, she’ll be honest with me.
“I moved to Canada and lived with Alex Sheffield’s family. Being with them, that was the first time I ever felt like I wasn’t alone. They wanted me, accepted me, and…I think I’ve been chasing that feeling.”
I turn to Jo at the next red light, finding her eyes on me. “I didn’t mean to assume anything about…”
“It’s fine.” I shrug. “But also, you might be on to something. Maybe I do have a lot of sex because I don’t like feeling lonely. I don’t know. Never been to therapy, but if you’re willing…”
She burrows farther down in her seat. “I’m more messed up than you are, so I don’t think you want me being your therapist.”
“Look at us.” I elbow her side until she smiles my way, and I adore the tiny space between her front teeth. So cute. “Just two fucked-up kids getting married.”
