“Yo, Chef!” I hear called from down the hallway. We’ve been back in Denver for less than twenty-four hours, and the home opener is tomorrow afternoon. I watch as Holloway strides toward me, a more grumpy-looking Max following behind, along with two other players, Ryder Sullivan and Jackson Archer.
“What’s up?” I ask casually, refusing to look at Max. We barely interacted in Dallas. The conversation about Javier left me rattled, and I think Max knew it. He maintained a steady distance from me at all times, which I appreciated.
“Callahan told me you created some kind of bean salad for him. I’m intrigued. How bean-y is it? Like how farty will I get?” he asks innocently.
“I don’t know,” I reply, failing to hide my smile. “That’s pretty much between you and your digestive system. I have no control over how flatulent you become.”
“Why do beans make you fart so much?” Jackson asks. He turns to Max. “Did you fart a lot?”
Max’s face reddens slightly as he purses his lips. “I don’t know, I didn’t exactly keep track.”
“Come on,” Jackson teases. “We all know when things are worse, and you’re ripping them left and right.”
We all stare expectantly at Max, who rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that makes his biceps ripple. Good Lord, he is one attractive man.
“I guess it was more than normal,” he finally says.
Jake points at him. “Thank you. But why is that? Why do beans do that?”
“Well, it’s a couple of factors,” I begin, suddenly feeling quite awkward. Discussing flatulence in the hallway of a baseball stadium with a group of guys who make more money than I could ever imagine was not on my bingo card for the year. “Beans are full of fiber, and when you suddenly eat a lot of fiber, your body can’t digest it all at once. The further it goes in your digestive system, themore it gets broken down, and it creates gases like methane and carbon dioxide. The more fiber you eat, the more likely it is that your body will get used to it, and you won’t pass gas as much.”
“It’s literally called passing gas because it’s gases,” Ryder says slowly. “Holy shit. I totally never knew that.”
“Glad I could teach you something,” I say awkwardly, then make a tiny curtsy. Who the hell am I right now? “Um, I’m gonna go.”
As I hurry away, Jake calls after me. “But can I get that recipe?”
I nod emphatically without turning around. I’ll be sure to give him the recipe after our next road trip, because I don’t want to be stuck on an airplane with him if he’s not used to a tremendous amount of fiber. I can only assume that Max has been through it because he eats like crap.
As I exit the stadium, walking quickly to my car, I hear the door behind me open, and I just know it’s Max.
“You know, you could have warned me,” he says loudly. I stop suddenly, and he almost runs into me. As I turn around, I bite my lip to keep from smiling. He looks completely infuriated. “I thought something was wrong with me. It kept me up all night.”
“Aww,” I gush, reaching up to lightly slap his cheek in mock dismay. “Poor little Sunshine. Didn’t get enough beauty sleep because you were breaking wind all night long?”
He scoffs. “How was I supposed to know I’d have a reaction like that?”
“Well, a good chunk of the population knows that beans lead to passing gas, as Jake pointed out a moment ago. I honestly didn’t think you’d eat it, so it never occurred to me that I needed to pop a disclaimer on the package.” I pause. “You did eat it?”
Max nods. “Yes, of course I did. I ate the whole damn thing.”
My mouth drops open in shock. “Max! That was a side dish meant to last you the entire week! It went with the barbecue chicken I included!”
His eyes narrow. “Exactly how was I supposed to know that, Layla?”
“I put a note on there!” I wait for him to acknowledge it, but his face never changes. “I — I put a sticky note on the package. I did. How to reheat the chicken and everything. I swear I did. At least I think so?”
“Absolutely no note, Peaches,” he replies, his voice dropping a bit. He glances down at my lips, then back up, and I feel like the outside temperature is rising quickly.
“Well, that was my mistake,” I say hurriedly. “I have to go, I have an appointment. Have a nice afternoon.”
“I have to assume you have it out for me,” he says casually, stepping in line with me as I walk to my car. Hands in his pockets, his long strides match perfectly with mine. “Waking me up on the airplane, forcing me to eat certain foods, trying to see if you can make my intestines blow up from the inside. What’s the deal, Lay?”
Crud. Him calling me Lay is adding another crack in the armor I’ve been trying to keep on while around Max. It’s almost as spine-tingling as when he calls me Peaches, but I’ll never admit that. “Just some coincidences, Max. I’m not out to get you in any way.”
“You haven’t heard from Javier, have you?” he asks quietly, as we reach my car.
I whirl around to face him. “Hey. You don’t get to just bring him up, alright? This is none of your business. I’m doing fine. No, I haven’t heard from him, and I’m hoping to keep it that way. I don’t want you whispering his name, and then he suddenly appears like some kind of nightmarish demon asshole.”
