I play it cool, acting like I haven’t just been busted for being a lying piece of shit. “Hey, Will, whatcha doing. . .?”
My question is cut short from her pegging a rolled-up towel at my head. She doesn’t stop when her hit has perfect aim; she continues pegging towels at me until Amara’s usually overstocked shelf is depleted of stock other than heated bottles of massage oil.
“Jesus Christ.” I duck, barely missing being smacked in the head by a missile filled with gel-like liquid. “Calm the fuck down and give me a chance to speak.”
Willow freezes with a second bottle midair. “Oh, you want to speak?”
When I nod, she squeals, “Like you didn’t have plenty of opportunities the past three weeks!”
She releases the bottle from her hand, not without first giving it a good flick for mileage. It hits me in the chest, adding to the burn stretching across my pecs. It’s a muscle burn, just not one I used at training today. It’s compliments of the hurt look in Willow’s eyes. She’s mad I deceived her, but not as angry as she is at herself for opening up to me. I understand her pain. I wanted so bad to fess up yesterday, but every time the opportunity presented, my head pulled rank over my heart.
That’s not happening today. She’s hurting too much for my head not to hear the pleas of my heart. “I was planning to tell you—”
She glares at me with pained eyes. “When, Elvis? When I worked it out for myself? Or via a text message after you fucked me then dropped me home?”
“Hey, that’s not fair.” I step into her path, blocking her only exit with my body. “I wanted you to stay last night; you’re the one who wanted to leave.”
“Only because you felt sorry for me.” She slaps my chest, seemingly more angry at herself than me. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? I tell you I’m an orphan, so you give me an afternoon pity fuck session before pulling strings so I get an internship with a team most sport therapists would cream their pants to get.”
I feel my anger festering. It’s bubbling in my gut, begging to be released, but I keep a cool head, understanding she has every right to be angry.
“For one, I didn’t arrange this. If I did, why would I walk into battle without adequate protection? I’m not a fucking idiot. If I knew you were going to be here, I would have entered in full defensive getup.”
There it is, the smile I’ve dreamed about more than I’ve seen in person. It’s only half her usual smile, but it’s better than the vicious snarl I was getting only seconds ago.
“Two, when did you get the call about this placement? Was it before or after you sucked my dick with more power than the world’s most expensive vacuum?”
I can tell the exact moment the truth smacks into her. Her pupils widen as the angry sneer coloring her cheeks drains.
“It was before we fucked, wasn’t it?”
She refolds her arms in front of her chest, hoisting up her fantastic tits until they sit an inch under her chin. She’s hoping her bountiful bosoms will distract me. They do, but not enough to end our conversation. They just make me want to take a slight pause, to slip into the void where all married couples go when they can’t be fucked to bicker about the same old shit for another day.
Thankfully, I’ve learned from the mistakes I made with Lillian, and I refuse to make the same ones with Willow. “It was before, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” she finally relents. “But that’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point? I get I lied to you. I get I fucked up, but this seems more than that.” She didn’t smile at my vacuum comment, so I know it’s something more than a lie that has her panties in a twist.
“It’s just. . . It’s. . . Argh!”
I save her bottom teeth from menacing her lip, fight with all my might not to replace her teeth with my own, before dropping my hand to my side. “Say it, Willow. Express whatever is on your mind. I’m a big boy. I can handle it.”
I feel like she punches me in the nuts when she mutters, “Coach James made me sign a non-fraternization policy.”
“Huh?”
That’s it. I have no more words.
Except, “When? Was it notarized? Did you sign it?” I yank on my hair like I’ve just been told I’m being pulled from the team when I read the confirmation in her eyes. “You signed it. Why would you do that, Will? Fuck me. . .” I glare at her. “Oh, that’s right, you can’t!”
“Don’t blame me. This is your fault.” She socks me in the stomach, making my pain real instead of imaginary. “I didn’t know at the time that you. . .workedhere.” She chokes on the “work” part of her statement, like she’s unsure my job is work. “I wouldn’t have signed it if I had known—” She suddenly stops, swallows, then starts again. “Actually, I probably would have to teach you what happens when you’re a lying piece of shit!” She yells her last four words in my face.
“Okay, I deserve that, but you’re not seeing the entire picture here. If I’m missing out, so the fuck are you.”
The earlier anger I mentioned works up from my gut to my throat when she does a weird shruggy thing as if to say,why am I missing out?
When she steps past me, I’m too shocked to stop her.
