I do my best to avoid the mirror as I strip out of my disgusting sweat- and vomit-stained clothes. Not only is Maxwell the nicest guy ever for coming to check on me, he’s a fucking saint for getting so close—the stench coming from my body is downright offensive.
I step under the warm stream of water, and all else is forgotten. I scrub my body, wash my hair, and brush my teeth, and by the time I get out, I feel human again. It’s amazing what a good shower can do for a person.
I step into my room, forgetting that Maxwell is there until I see his legs dangling off of my freshly made bed.
“You made my bed?” I don’t even make my bed.
“Oh, yeah.” He scissors up and off of it. “It felt weird just sitting here, I figured I could help out a little bit. I hope you don’t mind that I went through your stuff.”
“Uh . . . no. Not at all.” I grab on to my towel, afraid that despite being sick, I’ll toss it off and jump him. “I actually really appreciate it.”
The corners of his mouth tip up slightly and he opens his mouth to say something but is cut off by his phone’s ringtone cutting through the awkward tension. He grabs his phone off of my bed, glancing at the screen before swiping and putting it to his ear.
“Hello,” he says in the deep, professional voice I heard when he was signing autographs and doing interviews. “Yes, that’s the building. I’ll come down and get you.” He hangs up the phone and tucks it into his back pocket, making me aware for the first time of the jeans he’s wearing and how freaking well they fit him. “That was Dr. Bowen, I’m going to grab her from the parking lot and then we’ll be back up. Are you okay for me to leave?”
“I think I’ll be able to survive five minutes on my own.” Not even the stomach flu can beat back my sarcasm.
“Smart-ass.” He smiles and crosses the small space between us. “But I’m glad to hear you joking a bit, you had me worried.”
Then he leans in and drops a chaste kiss on my cheek and goes to let in the doctor.
I watch him until the front door shuts behind him, my hand absentmindedly moving to my face, the spot where his lips touched me still tingling.
Twenty-three
“So you guys are together now,” Vonnie says, cracking open one of the Gatorades Maxwell dropped off this morning for herself.
“No.” I tuck my feet beneath my butt, thankful that I’m finally able to hold food down, not thankful that the forty-eight hours of vomiting seems to have zapped away any extra cushion my ass had to offer. “We haven’t talked about that at all, he’s just been a really good friend.”
A good friend who still found every opportunity to hold my hand, rub my back, and give me quick kisses whenever he could.
“Girl.” Vonnie aims her renowned side-eye at me. “The man braved your nasty-ass apartment, chanced getting the stomach flu, and took care of you. He’s your man. No man does that for someone they don’t want to be with. Hell, I don’t even help Justin when he’s sick. I only risk my health for my kids.”
“What about Eloise?” I voice the question that’s been running on a loop through my head for the last four days.
“What about it?” she asks. “If you’re still not convinced that man is into you after he risked the ire of an entire sports fandom to take care of you, then ask him. Life is too damn short to let all of these hypothetical situations run rampant in your mind. Don’t twist a really good thing into something bad. I don’t think he’s the kind of person to drag you along when he’s not interested.”
When Maxwell and Dr. Bowen walked into my apartment, she took one look at me and deemed me severely dehydrated. She pulled out a banana bag, stuck a needle in my vein, and made me rest while pushing fluids back into my body. Maxwell turned on Parks and Rec and sat next to me, explaining the merits of the show to a very skeptical doctor. When the bag was empty and all was said and done, she prescribed me fluids, rest, and no actual drugs.
What’s the point of a doctor if they don’t give you medicine?
I figured Maxwell would head out with her, but instead he camped out on my couch for the rest of the night, making sure I drank enough and even holding my hair back when the second wave of nausea came over me in the middle of the night. Besides when he has to be at work, he hasn’t left me since. Even if that means watching film on the couch next to me on his computer as I binge on the latest season of Vanderpump Rules.
“Okay, I’m going to tell you something, but you have to promise not to make a big deal over it.” I brace myself, knowing this conversation could go in two very different directions.
“You know, after that opening, I can’t make that promise, but you’re going to tell me anyway.”
Crap. I knew that was going to happen.
“Fine, but remember that I’m in a fragile state right now and—”
“Girl!” she interrupts me. “Just talk!”
“Fine.” I take a deep breath, knowing I’m never going to hear the end of it after I fess up. “So remember that time I got a flat on the highway and Maxwell came to get me?”
“Yes . . .”
“Well, the next day when he dropped me off at the mechanic, he asked me to lunch.”
Vonnie jumps up, her Gatorade splashing out of the bottle and onto my couch. “I knew there was more to that story!”
“Yeah, well, when he picked me up for lunch, he had Slurpees and taquitos in his car.” I smile thinking of the supersweet details of the day, but when I look at Vonnie, her eyebrows are drawn in a deep V, not at all impressed with the 7-Eleven delicacies. “That morning I told him how much I loved Slurpees and taquitos, so he brought me tons of them and took me to the art museum.
“When you all had him ambush me at the beer tasting, I mentioned that picking the chairs for HERS was crazy difficult. He remembered that and took me to the new exhibit at the art museum about contemporary chairs.” Even knowing how the date ended, my heart still flutters at how thoughtful and attentive he can be.
“Oh, shoot. That’s cute as fuck.” Even Vonnie has hearts in her eyes now. “Justin has never taken me to the art museum for a surprise date.”
“Right? I thought so too!” I lean back into my couch, hating the next part of the story. “So we’re looking at the chairs and his phone keeps going off and he keeps sending them to voicemail. Finally, I told him to just answer so whoever it was would stop calling.”
“Uh-oh.” Vonnie bites her lip.
“Yup,” I agree. “So he excuses himself and answers the phone, and when I find him, I hear him telling the person to meet him at the team hotel and that he’d text them the address later.” The disappointment that weighs me down feels as heavy as it did the day it happened. Maybe even heavier now that we’ve kissed and he’s been so sweet.