“Understood. I’ll tell the guys so there are no rumors. Your place was broken into. I live close by. It was late. You crashed here. You’ll be staying here until it’s safe to move back. That okay?”
“Yes, that works.” Slowly, she walks over to the sink and rinses out her mug, whistling to Pazza. “Except…do you mean that about staying here until the house is ready? Not that it will be long, just until the landlord fixes the little bit of damage, changes the locks, and insurance gets what they need.”
“Of course, I mean it. And I imagine it might be a while before you feel comfortable going back home, even after they straighten everything out and it’s secure again. So, just know that this place is yours for however long you want.”
She seems to hesitate, biting her lip. “Thank you. On my side of things, I’ll talk to Darlene, let her know our living situation. Just be open about it so it’s not weird.” Darlene’s her boss. The head honcho for all our media and PR. “I’m going to hop in the shower, then.”
Heat rushes through me. It’s too easy to picture water sliding down her chest, furrowing between her thighs. I exhale roughly and tug my shirt, trying to cool myself off. “Shower. Sure. Great.”
God, I’m hopeless.
Frankie gives me an amused smile. “Okay. I’ll be ready at eight?”
“Sounds good.” I throw back the remainder of my coffee, hoping its burning path down my throat distracts me. Don’t do it. Not anymore. Don’t think about Frankie naked in the shower. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.
The hot water kicks on, and I drop my head to the counter with a groan.
Too late.
10
Frankie
Playlist: “Go Wild,” Friedberg
Annie stares at me in disbelief. “Why am I just hearing about this?”
I shift in my seat at the outdoor café that’s our usual lunch spot. It’s a midway point between the practice facility, Annie’s research lab, and the campus where Lorena teaches. Ren and I have an afternoon PR gig at Children’s, and he offered to drive me after this lunch date with my friends.
As I hesitate to explain myself to Annie, I glance over at Ren, seated on the other side of the café. He takes a sip of his tea, book in hand. He’s hidden at a two-top tucked into a shady corner.
“I didn’t want to worry you,” I tell her. “You were possibly birthing a human last night. You’re in a delicate condition.”
Annie snorts. “Listen, I know we read that scintillating historical romance the other month in book club, but that phrase does not hold up. I’m not delicate. I’m pregnant. And it was indigestion, apparently. I can handle bad news without having a fit of the vapors. Call me next time your house gets broken into and ransacked.”
I meet Annie’s big moss-green eyes. She pushes her nerd glasses up her freckled button nose and frowns at me. “I’m serious,” she says.
I grasp her hand and squeeze. “I’m sorry.”
“I forgive you.” Annie stabs a chunk of chicken, lettuce, and tomato, then shoves it in her mouth. “Provided you come to water aerobics tonight.”
“Ugh, fine. I know I’ve been missing a lot, but playoffs schedule is brutal. I’ll be free to watercize my ass off consistently once we’re done.”
“You two and your water aerobics.” Lo shakes her head, then freezes mid-scrolling through her phone. “Hey, Frankie. Have you been on Twitter lately?”
I feel my color drain. I’m social-media savvy enough to know that lead never bodes well.
“Not since this morning. We did a live session Q and A in the locker room after practice for playoffs hype this morning, then I came here. Why?”
Lo slides her phone toward me. It’s a paparazzi shot, taken right outside the practice facility, before Ren and I left to come here. His hand rests low on my back as he reaches for the car door. A tiny gesture as I caught my toe on uneven asphalt that felt so surprisingly good. Maybe it was because he didn’t say anything. Just gently steadied me with that warm, solid hand as he opened my door.
Annie leans over to see Twitter unfurling with comments that have my stomach rolling. Pushing her glasses up her nose, she glances from Lo’s phone to me. “Wow. Lots of women really don’t like you already, huh?”
The comments unfold at alarming speed. Some are nice. Many are awful.
Ooh, I want her shoes.
Is that a cane?
Wow. I thought he was gay.
Lorena crunches on an ice cube from her tea and swears under her breath. “That right there is why we need feminism. To exorcise embedded patriarchy from our culture, women have got to stop internalizing toxic male practices like hierarchical aggression and then wielding them against each other.”
Annie sits back in her seat and puts her plate on her round belly with a sigh. “While true, Lo, maybe what Frankie needs is less cultural critique and more practical insight right now.”
Lo throws up her hands. “I’m in liberal arts academia. I’m the worst person to come to for anything practical.”
Both of my friends turn to face me. Their heads tip in twin looks of concern. Sweet and tiny Annie, with her pragmatism and her big heart. Lo with those sharp mocha eyes and badass facial piercings that hide a sensitive, philosophical soul. They’re as different on the outside as they are on the inside. And especially right now, I don’t know what I’d do without them.
“It’s all right.” I shrug. “Nothing to be done, really. Just wait for the comments when they call me his pity fuck.”
“Oop, one just rolled in,” Annie mutters.
Lo and I swivel our gazes at her.
Annie turns bright red and sinks lower in her chair. “Sorry. Pregnancy brain. Can I have a pass for that?”
“One,” Lo says sternly. She takes the phone back from Annie, scrolling through the comments. Her expression hardens, and she flips over her phone, setting it on the table so the screen is hidden. “I want to throat-punch those evil trolls.”
“But you can’t,” I remind her. “So, let’s move on, shall we?”
Lo stares at me for a long minute. She has a very disturbing ability to intuit my thoughts, so I blink away, avoiding eye contact as I take a long slow breath to quiet my pounding heart. I have experience with this, maybe not with it being directed so aggressively at me, but social media is a beast I handle capably every day.
It’s not a big deal. People are assholes. I’m used to being judged for my appearance—the cane and my flat expression. What’s a few hundred thousand people thinking the worst of me?
“So,” Annie says, squeezing my hand affectionately. “When do you get your acceptance letter from UCLA?
“That’s not a sure thing,” I remind her. “Who knows if I’ll get accepted?”
Annie rolls her eyes. “Please. You’ll get accepted. You are made to do sports law. Your admissions documents were perfection.”
“It’s true,” Lo chimes in. “I edited them for you. I made sure of it.”
“We’ll see,” I mutter.