Page 79 of Tiger Lilies and Tight Ends

Living the life?

What?

I turn to face them more. “Actually, I don’t know what you mean.”

Both of them blink at me.

“Well, it’s just that everyone knows football players are rich,” the brunette says. “Dean Davis is one of the highest-paid players in the league, and then there’s you. You’re having an amazing career, and your contract is impressive as well. Lily even agreed about how great it’s been. I thought it was our conversation that sparked the idea for her latest social post on her author account. We heard about that by the way.” She winks at me like we’re in on a shared secret. “Oh, and I love the fish tank.”

There is so much that I want to break down from just those few lines. I know Davis makes a crap ton of money, and I know my contract is public knowledge, but why were they talking about how much money I make? That’s really not anyone’s business, nor should it be discussed. Also, how great it’s been? How great what has been? Who did they hear from that she’s an author? And did she say fish tank?

I don’t respond to them. I don’t even know what to say and my hands curl into fists.

I can feel the color draining from my face, just in time for the door to ding and open to my floor.

“Good night,” I tell them as I exit and hear them whispering.

My heart is thumping hard as I think about what she might have discussed with them, with a lot of people, like my salary, and then there’s what she posted and why. Bumping my key against the entry pad, I push into my room when the light turns green and then kick the door shut. Pulling out my phone, I sit down on the bed and pull up her account. There are two new posts. The first is about the new book, but the second is an image of Lily walking toward my boat with the caption, “Living the life.” Her head is cut off to remove her hair, but the dock and the boat are visible, including all the markings that let people know it’s mine. The Tarpons flag, the pirate flag, and the brand. Not that the brand matters, but I’ve never wanted people to know I have such an expensive boat. It’s none of their business.

And then my breath leaves me as I swipe through the others.

This has to be a bad dream. A bad fucking dream.

While some are just random pictures like holding a Starbucks coffee, holding her last series up with the beach in the background, others are of inside my house. My fish tank and subsequently the kitchen, her laptop on my couch, which shows off the living room where there’s a Tarpons hat on the coffee table, and the inside of our refrigerator, which is full of some colorful sparkling water. I know Morgan does all of this, but Lily must have let her into the house where she took all these. Why would she allow this? Why would she willingly break the rules? I didn’t think they were too harsh or unreasonable, but she didn’t even ask me first. I know creating a list of rules is stupid, but she asked for them and these rules were important to me. I thought she understood that. I shared with her what Marissa had done, how it made me feel, and why my privacy is important to me.

She disregarded this completely.

Anger mixed with sadness burns its way through my veins as that tightness squeezes even more than it has in the last week.

And that’s when I realize what it is. My feelings for Lily, as they’ve grown and become so real, deep down, I feared that they were one-sided, just like they were before. The last time I cared for someone, I was used, and my very serious feelings meant nothing. They were laughed at, and I was humiliated. Do I think she’s into me? Yes. But she wouldn't have done this if she cared and respected me the way I do her.

This brings me back to that tightness in my chest that just wouldn’t let up because deep down, my soul worried that things were too good to be true. I wanted this, I wanted her, but it was naive of me to think that she would be as into me as I am her. My subconscious had to have known. She just got out of a long-term relationship. If anything, I’m a rebound while she figures out her life. I mean, she’s said it over and over. She’s creating a new plan and figuring out what and where she wants to be next. Only I’m the dumbass who wasn’t really listening. I got caught up in my head about what I thought we could be when really, I was wrong. I don’t think I was ever included in those plans. I just assumed I was, and you know what they say about people who assume . . . I make an ass of you and me.

Yes, she admitted to always having a thing for me. Maybe Dean was right. She can officially cross me off her list. She scratched that itch, but then again, thinking about what those girls in the elevator said—is being with someone like me her endgame?

Swiping through my phone, my fingers shake as I know I shouldn’t be searching for her online. We all know the things that are said aren’t necessarily true, that is until they are.

While there are some recent pictures of us, there are so many more pictures of her and Dean. I know that’s what happens after you spend that long of a time period with someone, but as I look at them, I realize she looks more like those girls in the elevator than she does her normal self. Her hair, her makeup, the jewelry she’s wearing, her clothes, all of it screams wealth and image, and she did what girls like her do. She moved from one idiot to the next.

How did I not see it before? She hasn’t even really tried to find a place to live. If it had been me, I would have been in and out within like two weeks. And while I get why she kept her writing a secret from Dean, it is convenient that as soon as we go public, she decides that she wants to too. It never even crossed my mind to consider that she had ulterior motives, but now that the seed is planted, every doubt and every scenario grows.

Throwing my phone on the bed, I prop my elbows on my knees, and my head finds my hands. My fingers tug on my hair, I’ve broken out into a sweat, and my eyes slip shut as they burn. They burn from anger, they burn from being exhausted, and they burn from being hurt.

Hurt again.

Do I think I’m spiraling? Absolutely. I’m certain there is more to this story than what appears, but anxiety, vulnerability, and heartache don’t care. When they take over, that’s it. Anyone who experiences this understands.

Maybe I should have talked to her before I left to make sure we’re on the same page.

Maybe I should have explained how I was feeling and how that tightness wouldn’t go away.

Maybe I should have called Lance before I ever even laid a finger on her.

Maybe I should have done a lot of things.

But here I am, feeling like I’m reliving some of the worst moments of my life with Marissa all over again.

Trust. The one thing I never give anyone until it’s earned, but because of our history, I gave it to her. What was I thinking? Oh, I know. Because she’s related to my best friend, she must be a good person too, but how many people out there have family members who suck?