That Wild Player, page 17
“What’s with the scowl?” Matt asks.
“Just thinking,” I say.
“About?”
“Michelle. Does she normally act…odd?”
“No.” Matt gives Luke a quick glance. “Sammi’s the, uh, unique one.”
Luke pooches out his lips, contemplating the statement. “In a perfect way…” he says.
“Michelle’s a conformist. A rule follower,” Matt says.
Luke nods. “Never saw a rule she didn’t like.”
But something about the situation still feels vaguely wrong. I start to say something, but just then the door opens and Jan and Sammi walk in. Sammi’s slightly flushed from one too many margaritas—I heard about the five-dollar specials—while Jan seems more or less sober, although both sport slightly dazed expressions.
I peer over their shoulders, but the door slams shut.
“Where’s Michelle?” I ask.
“Home,” Jan says, vaguely distracted.
“You all right?” Matt asks.
“Yeah, of course.” She gives him a kiss.
Sammi cuddles next to Luke and gives him a kiss too.
I’m the only one without a girl to give him a kiss. Normally I wouldn’t care, but now I feel…oddly bereft.
“Did Michelle join you for Mexican Monday?” I ask.
Jan and Sammi both nod, the slightly dazed expressions back on their faces.
“She isn’t who she used to be,” Sammi says.
“What?” Did Michelle say something? I’ve been mulling over why she’s been acting so strangely. Maybe Jan and Sammi have an idea.
“She stayed up two nights in a row,” Jan explains.
I don’t get the relevance. “And?”
“That’s like…the director of the CIA winning an Olympic gold medal in figure skating. Michelle has never pulled an all-nighter. Not even in college.”
“She always finished her work before ten p.m. True dedication,” Sammi says. “I could never do it. All-nighters are to college what wasabi is to sushi.”
“You liked to party too much,” Jan says.
“Work-life balance. It starts early.”
I steer the conversation back on topic before Jan and Sammi completely derail it. “But she’s okay now?”
“I guess.” Jan shrugs.
It isn’t nine yet, but screw it. I get up. “I’ll go check on her.”
“She’s probably asleep,” Sammi says.
“What? Already?”
“She’s drunk and tired. Two all-nighters, remember?”
“So what’s going on with her?” They can’t give me more hints?
“Not discussing this anymore,” Sammi announces loudly. “I don’t see the point with a guy who only wants sex from her.”
Guess Michelle told her friends. I should’ve expected that.
Jan shrugs. “Girls gotta stick together.”
I give Matt a “men gotta stick together, too, so get your woman to talk” look, but he pointedly ignores me. Traitor. Luke’s too distracted, playing with Sammi’s hair.
Forget this useless group. Michelle must’ve gotten home a few minutes ago. She’s probably still up.
I go over to the townhouse next door, looking at the windows. All the lights are off. Every one of them. Guess she forgot all about that invitation to fool around tonight.
I walk up to the front door, but don’t knock. She did look tired earlier…and Sammi said she’s drunk, too. It’ll be impossible to have a productive conversation with a drunk and sleep-deprived woman.
Shoving my hands into my pockets, I stare up at the darkened windows. Tomorrow. We’re definitely going to talk tomorrow.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Michelle
Maybe I should’ve called in sick again after all. Today’s the kind of day not even power lingerie and one of my best red dresses can salvage.
The room lurched left and right the minute I got out of bed, like a ship in a hurricane. My belly feels raw from puking. And my head throbs so hard I can feel my scalp pulsing.
But the worst is my right ankle. I fractured it falling down the stairs at home. I don’t even know how it happened. One moment, I was perfectly vertical. Then I blinked once, and I was on my side at the bottom of the stairs with my ankle hurting like hell. I couldn’t put any weight on it.
While sitting on my ass with tears in my eyes, I debated calling someone for help. My traitor phone showed me CJ first, and I shoved the offending gadget into my purse and dragged my butt to the local ER, texting Mimi along the way to let her know I’d be a little late.
After an interminable wait, a sweet, round-faced doctor reviewed my X-ray and declared the ankle fractured.
Well. Duh. I could’ve diagnosed that based on how much it hurts for free.
So now my lower leg is in the ugliest walking boot I’ve ever seen in my life. No more heels until I’m fully healed, so my left foot is in one of the pale cream slippers I bought when I was into ballet fitness. Oh, and crutches, too. No weight on the injured ankle at all.
God. I look at myself in the mirrored door inside the hospital elevator. I look ridiculous. A total Frankenstein reject.
And I feel even more ridiculous when I finally get to the office after lunch. Crutches are super awkward, and they’re harder to use than they look, especially when you have a purse to carry.
Mimi’s the first person I run into. “Oh my goodness, what happened?” she asks, her eyes saucer-sized.
“I fell down some stairs, no big deal. How are you?” I ask, keeping my voice extra cheery. Maybe then she won’t notice how ridiculous I look overall.
“Uh…I’m fine, thanks. Do you need some help?”
I start to decline, then say, “Maybe you could take my bag? Thanks, Mimi.”
“Don’t mention it.” She falls into step with my lurching progress. “Coffee? Tea? Water?”
“Coffee, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course. Why don’t you get settled at your desk and I’ll bring it to you?”
I hide my crutches under my desk, out of sight and out of the way. Five minutes later, I’m sipping the coffee Mimi dropped off, checking the day’s agenda and working on emails I’ve missed. Mom and Dad haven’t tried to contact me since Saturday. That’s exactly how I want it, since I have nothing coherent to say to them.
After clearing a dozen emails, I glance at my phone and see a text.
–Sammi: Are you okay? What happened?
News sure travels fast.
–Michelle: I’m fine.
–Jan: Heard you’re hobbling around on crutches.
–Michelle: A minor ankle fracture. Nothing fatal.
–Sammi: Ouch. Need us to get you anything? Or any help tonight?
–Michelle: Nah, I’m good.
–Jan: Let us know if you need anything.
–Sammi: No kidding. Now I wish I’d stayed the night with you.
–Michelle: It happened this morning. And even if you’d been around, you couldn’t have prevented it. Trust me.
I return to my inbox and clear the rest of the emails, then review a request for recruiting resources for some kind of an on-campus event. My phone alerts me to another text. I pick it up, wondering what Sammi and Jan want, then frown when I see CJ’s message instead.
–CJ: When are you done today? I’ll pick you up for dinner.
I sigh. I swear I made my position clear yesterday. Besides, he didn’t bother to stop by last night. Okay, so I was out cold by nine thirty. But if he had come by, he would’ve at least tried my phone to get me to come down and open the door.
So why is he bothering now?
–Michelle: Why? What’s the point?
–CJ: Everyone has to eat. Sushi? Or anything else you want.
My head and ankle are both throbbing. I don’t have the patience for this.
–Michelle: You go eat whatever you want.
–CJ: Come on, Michelle. We also need to talk.
–Michelle: I don’t talk or eat with my vibrator.
–CJ: ???
–Michelle: This is just sex. I told you to stop by yesterday.
–CJ: Jan and Sammi said you were tired and went to bed early.
Hm. I didn’t know they talked. Oh well. I’m not going to overthink it. I seriously will not. Nope, I’m not thinking about anything.
–Michelle: Fine. You can stop by at 9 tonight if you’re up for it.
–CJ: Are you being deliberately obtuse?
–Michelle: No. I’m giving you exactly what you said you want. Now I have to work.
I want to add, “Unlike some people”…but that would be petty.
When it’s time to go home, Sammi and Jan stop by. “Oh my God, you should’ve called,” Jan says. “You look terrible.”
“Thanks,” I say dryly.
“I mean you look like you’re really in pain.”
“Jan’s right. I’ve sprained an ankle during runs, and that legit hurts like hell. I can’t imagine how a fracture must feel.” Sammi eyes the boot.
“It hurts more that I have to wear this ugly thing. Why can’t they make a fashionable boot?”
Sammi shrugs. “Because the people who make them are men?” She picks up my purse, and Jan grabs crutches and helps me get situated.
“Did you say anything to CJ last night?” I ask as we make our way to the elevator.
“Like what?” Sammi asks.
“He made it sound like you guys talked.”
She glances at Jan. “We just said we were shocked you hadn’t slept for two nights. Didn’t he stop by yesterday? He went over to talk to you.”
“No idea. I passed out the minute my head hit the pillow and never got back up.”
Jan peers at me. “You look more rested than yesterday. But how did you hurt yourself?”
“Fell down the damn stairs this morning. It was so silly I was speechless afterward.”
“Man. Mimi would’ve totally understood if you took the day off.”
“I didn’t feel comfortable doing that for a second day. Besides, I have work to do. And I’m going to be on top of things from now on. No more staying up all night or stair-surfing.”
When we make it to the parking lot, Sammi and Jan scowl the moment they notice my car. “It’s not like I can walk to work,” I say.
“You should’ve called one of us or something.” Sammi shakes her head. “How are you going to drive? Your right ankle is totally out of commission.”
“The left one still works fine.”
“That’s awkward. And probably dangerous,” Jan says. “I’m going to make sure you have a ride until your ankle’s healed.”
“I’m fine.”
Sammi raises a finger. “Not a word out of you except ‘thank you so much, you’re the best…of the best!’”
I give Jan and Sammi a little smile. The fact that they’re still the same friends I’ve always had settles my nerves. “I have to drive home, though. I don’t want to leave my car here until I’m better.”
Jan mulls it over. “You know what? I’ll have it dropped off at the house. I’m sure Derek or David can do it. They don’t live that far away.”
“I’d hate to impose.”
“Derek won’t mind. Trust me.”
And he probably won’t. He’s too nice to not want to help.
I go with Sammi, since her car’s bigger than Jan’s. When we make it home, Sammi helps me get to the townhouse, then has me sit down immediately in the living room.
“Keep that ankle elevated,” Sammi instructs me, placing my foot on the living room table without waiting for a response. “Try to relax. Did your doctor give you anything for the pain? You really need to baby yourself as much as possible.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“What do we have in the fridge?” Jan says, looking in there. “How about pizza?”
“Works for me,” I say. I’m in no condition to cook, and I’m hungry.
“I’ll ask Matt if he can pick one up on his way home if he hasn’t left the office yet.” Jan starts texting. “And the man can deliver.” She smiles.
“To Matt—Deliverer of Virgins and Pizzas,” Sammi says, making a mock toast.
I laugh.
Later, after Matt and Luke arrive with pizza and drinks, we’re sitting around the dining room table talking. I ask Luke how his new book’s coming along.
“Eh, okay. I feel like something’s off, but I can’t quite pinpoint what,” he says after polishing off a slice of pepperoni pizza.
“You probably need to kill someone. Actually, forget that. Make them have sex,” Sammi suggests.
Luke rolls his eyes, although his mouth curves in to an affectionate grin. “Before or after they’re killed off?”
“Ewww!”
“Hey, you brought it up…”
I nibble on my pizza and let the conversation wash over me. None of it is super important, but I enjoy the friendliness and closeness of sharing little things that happened throughout the day.
After we’re finished, Jan and Sammi clear the table and Matt and Luke take out the pizza boxes, all four of them admonishing me not to move a muscle. “If I eat like this without moving, I’m going to blow up like a blimp.”
“Better a blimp than screwing your ankle up permanently,” Sammi says.
Jan returns from the kitchen. “You need anything brought up to your room? Water? Snacks?”
“No, I’m fine,” I say, eyeing the damn stairs. They’re going to be tricky to navigate. Maybe I can try going up on the crutches, but if I can’t manage, I’ll have to crawl up. Or…maybe I can just sleep in the living room. But there’s no full bath on the ground floor…
“By the way, are you having brunch with your parents the weekend after next?” Sammi asks.
“Don’t think so. Why?”
She gives me a look. “It’s your birthday…?”
“Oh.” I totally forgot, what with discovering my parents’ fake-perfect life and fracturing my ankle. “I doubt it.”
Jan and Sammi exchange a glance.
“I’ll be fine,” I say. “I’m just not ready to talk to them yet, and it’s probably better this way.”
Just then, CJ shows up. My breath catches for a moment at how amazing and fresh he looks. He moves effortlessly, his gait unhurried, and the T-shirt and shorts fit him just so to show off his lean, strong body. He is carrying a gorgeous bouquet of lilies and a glossy paper bag bearing the logo of some fancy European chocolatier. For a fraction of a second, I start to smile at the gifts, then I remember what we’re really about, and frown instead, checking my watch.
“It’s only eight fifty,” I say, even though his arrival interrupted Jan and Sammi so we don’t have to talk about the thorny topic of my parents. To be honest, I’d rather skip all birthday-related activities with my parents this year. It’ll just be too damn awkward and tense. “I thought you weren’t coming over until nine.”
“I was in the neighborhood and didn’t want to sit in my car for the extra ten minutes.”
“You should’ve come earlier,” Matt says. “You missed the pizza.”
CJ shrugs with a smile, then notices my ankle. “What happened?”
Thankfully, Jan steps in and explains how I tumbled down the stairs, saving me yet another retelling of the story.
“Jesus, Michelle.” CJ comes over and runs his hands along my neck, shoulders and arms as though he’s checking for injuries. Like he’s really, really worried.
Somehow it makes me feel warm and just a tiniest bit resentful at the same time. And I hate it that I’m feeling conflicted. Why the hell would he care whether I got hurt when it’s just sex?
“I’m fine,” I say, pulling away a little. I can feel Jan’s concerned gaze and Sammi’s speculative one. Oh no. I don’t need Sammi thinking too much and tormenting me with her theories. “It was just a stupid slip. Won’t happen again.”
“Yeah, it better not,” Sammi says. “I guess no dancing at your birthday party.”
“Your birthday? When?” CJ asks.
“I don’t know,” I say at the same time Sammi says, “The weekend after next.”
I give her a meaningful look. She stares back innocently. I can’t decide if she honestly doesn’t get it or she’s going to meddle no matter what. Probably the latter. Then she finally explains, “Does it make sense for you to say you don’t know your own birthday?”
“Yes,” I say because I’m feeling perverse. Besides, why shouldn’t I say I don’t know if that’s what I want?
I reach for the crutches, but CJ is faster.
“Let me.” He helps me up, then, like that isn’t enough, proceeds to help me get situated with the crutches.
I grit my teeth. Why is he making this harder? I’ve made our situation clear, just as he has. I’m his inflatable doll, and he’s my vibrator. And after the fiasco with my parents, I don’t harbor any illusions that I’m right about what I told him about relationships.
I make it to the bottom of the staircase without any problem, but once I get there, I discover that hopping up each step on one foot isn’t as easy as it looks.
“Can someone help me?” I say loudly, hoping anybody but CJ will volunteer.
Of course, nobody does…because CJ is standing right next to me and more than happy to assist. He picks me up in his arms like I weigh nothing and starts carrying me up the stairs. It’s sort of hot and romantic, but I’m not associating either word with a guy who just wants sex. Nope. Not at all.
When we finally make it to my bedroom, I sit on the edge of my bed and prop the crutches against the nightstand. “Close the door,” I say. “And take off your clothes.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
CJ
Cheap.
And used.
Some women say that’s how they feel after sex. I always thought it was ridiculous. Couldn’t understand the feeling unless the guy they had sex with was so bad they didn’t get any enjoyment out of it.
But now, I get it. One hundred percent. The sex I had with Michelle was hot as hell, and I came so hard I thought I was going to black out.
Once her breathing settled, though, Michelle told me I could go home in that no-nonsense voice of hers, the kind she must use to explain HR policy violations to hapless workers.
