The Baby Blitz (Varsity Dads #3)(21)
Author: Lex Martin

 

The way he smiled and made me laugh. How he gave me shit, which made me want to serve it back. The push and pull of our banter.

 

Now that my anger has quelled, I think about our night together even more, if that’s possible. How he held me, the way he made my body fly apart, the sounds he made when he came.

 

How he looked at me.

 

Let me ask you this—how can a man look at a woman like he wants to gobble her down whole and then not call afterward?

 

Thinking back on our pillow talk sends me into another downward spiral.

 

How do you share your hopes and dreams and fears when you’re naked in a woman’s arms and then ghost her? He told me about his injury and rehab and how he wants to get drafted to help his family. Was it all meaningless?

 

“Maggie, would you like a different kind of wine?”

 

It takes me a second to realize the waiter is standing next to the table. Greg repeats his question.

 

“No, it’s fine. Thanks.” I take a tiny sip. It tastes so tart, I shiver. But I was raised not to complain about dinner if someone else is treating. As someone who came from a poor family, my mom taught me to try to appreciate what’s offered, even if it isn’t to my liking.

 

If I eat first, perhaps I’ll be in the mood for some wine.

 

The food smells delicious, but when I take a bite, it tastes off. I manage to finish half of my dinner. It keeps me from needing to talk. Greg seems content to carry on the conversation.

 

I nod and smile and try to pay attention, but truthfully, I’m not feeling it. Greg’s a nice guy. He’s one of Joe’s old roommates, so he’s a little older. Handsome. Settled. Has a house. A good job. All things I appreciate, but we seem to be missing that spark.

 

Either that, or I’m broken.

 

After dinner, Greg leans forward until we make eye contact. “Can I say something without you getting upset?”

 

With that opening, I brace myself for him to tell me I’m a terrible date. “Sure. Go for it.”

 

“Are you still hung up on Kayla’s brother?”

 

My eyes instantly water. What the hell? I’m not a big crier. There’s no good reason why I’ve suddenly turned into a watering pot.

 

Embarrassed, I use my napkin to dab at the corner of my eyes. “Maybe? But that seems pretty stupid since Michael never called me.” I sniffle and shake my head. “I know I gave him that message, to go to hell, but in my emotional state after the wedding, I figured that should’ve made him call me immediately. It sounds ridiculous now. I hear myself and think I sound like a nut job. We just have a long history of making each other crazy, of antagonizing each other.” Ashamed, I glance at my lap. “It’s childish.”

 

I don’t want to be this person anymore. The one who holds on to every single slight. Maybe if I hadn’t reacted like that the morning after the wedding, Michael would’ve called me, and I could at least have some closure.

 

I’ve never had a hookup before, but if this is what it feels like, I’m over it. I’m tired of games. If I ever meet another man who does it for me, I don’t want to be that crazy girl who goes off the rails over every little thing.

 

Not that what I suspect of Michael is insignificant. Only it would’ve helped to talk things through. If he’s really a cheating bastard, it would be nice if he said it to my face so I could find a way to move on.

 

Even though I saw him with Vanessa right after spring break, the truth hasn’t sunk in. Why I’m having trouble letting him go is a mystery. Shouldn’t I have more pride in myself?

 

Greg hands me another napkin. “Would it help if you knew for certain he was over you?”

 

I freeze even though everything in my body trembles. “What do you mean?”

 

“If I could prove to you that he’s moved on from whatever you two had, would that help you?”

 

With a knot in my throat, I nod, even though I’m pretty sure I’m going to hate what comes next. Do I want to know with certainty that Michael is, what, fucking other women? The thought turns my stomach, but now that Greg has thrown down the gauntlet, I can’t go back. This is what I was just telling myself I wanted, but now that it’s offered to me, I want to curl up in the corner and cry.

 

Standing, he motions for me to scoot over in the booth, and he sits next to me. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

 

Then he’s on his phone. Typing something in. Scrolling.

 

It’s a website. “The Lone Star Stud Report.” I’ve heard people talk about it. Everyone is so obsessed with football around here that anything those athletes do is fodder for gossip.

 

The blog lists all the team’s top players, their girlfriends, their hookups, and their legal problems. As the school was mired in a huge controversy with our last coach, I’m not surprised by some of those details.

 

He scrolls down until he gets to the O’s.

 

Michael’s ad-hoc bio notes his injury, surgery, and expected recovery time. It notes his scholarship might be in jeopardy since the team is getting a new coach.

 

I hadn’t thought about that. Even though I’m still upset with him, I’d hate for him to lose his scholarship. I know how hard he’s worked to get where he is now, and it would devastate him and his family if things don’t pan out.

 

There he is in all of his Heavenly Hunks billboard glory. I wince and wonder if he hates that sign.

 

But my sympathy shrivels up when I get to the rest of the photos. They start with a few of Michael’s ex, Amelia, who’s an elite model. She’s gorgeous. Blonde, tall, and rail-thin. I’m pretty sure I could jam her entire body into one of my pant legs. There’s a pic of her in her underwear in Times Square on a neon billboard, which makes me uncomfortably aware that my jeans are too tight.

 

Next up is Vanessa. There are three photos of her and Michael at different parties and one from the coffee house where I spotted them after spring break. This girl doesn’t have a bad angle. No wonder he went out with her.

 

Then there’s a photo from last night. I know because it’s dated. Whoever’s putting this blog together should get a job at TMZ.

 

Michael looks drunk. His eyes are bloodshot, and two blondes are in his lap with their arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Everyone has a huge grin.

 

I push the phone away. “I’ve seen enough.”

 

That pasta I had lurches. I swallow hard and try to breathe through it. Take a few sips of water.