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21
Gigi
The next couple of weeks went by very similar to that. We picked at each other—when we weren’t in front of a camera somewhere, that is.
I really didn’t know how I was going to keep this up.
In one of my classes, we were leaning about the addiction crisis. When I looked at the questions for determining if a patient was an addict, I seemed to be able to answer a lot of the questions in regard to my feelings about Beau.
So, I decided to treat my addiction like other addicts did. Only, I had to live in the same apartment as my crack cocaine. Therefore, I’d have to do my detoxing with my drug still in the room.
First thing I did was stop looking at my memory binder. Cold turkey. I really, really wanted to take just one more look at it. But I stopped myself.
Next, every time I started daydreaming about him, I tried hard to envision a really mean coach I once had. Morgan was a tyrant and she’d hated everyone, including me. Whenever I felt my mind trailing off and thinking about how handsome Beau was or how freaking great he smelled—I immediately thought about Morgan screaming her face off at us, telling the team how horrible we were.
And most of all, I decided to take this whole Beau Moreau detox thing, one day at a time. I tried not to count the days we had left together. I tried not to imagine what he did whenever he went out with the team. I also tried not to cry every night alone in my bed.
Now, I wish I could say that any of this worked—at all.
It didn’t.
I guess that was why so many addicts had to go back into treatment time and time again. It was tough to get rid of the monkey on your back. Especially a two hundred and ten pound, six foot one, hockey star forward.
Honest to goodness, I tried my best to put on a brave face during the day. He always ate what I cooked, declaring it delicious. Not once did I see him buy his lunch from the concession or go pick up lunch from a restaurant.
I don’t know why that made me happy, but it did.
We also talked about the dogs. He finally agreed to let me put them in doggy daycare. I was so worried something would happen while we were gone, that I’d made some calls and found a place I really liked. When I’d told Beau about it, all he said was, “Christ, you know you make too much money when you decide to put your dog in daycare.”
To that I had replied with, “The owners of Paws and Paws said they’d give me half off if I walk dogs for her three times a week.”
Beau had just stared at me, his eyes narrowed and stated, “No fucking way.” Then he’d insisted on paying, which I actually felt really bad about. But then Jillian told me not to because of the fact he earned a gazillion dollars more than I did and they were technically his kids, too.
At any rate, the babies were in daycare six days a week and I was unsuccessfully detoxing—from my decade plus long crush turned into real love for me.
I was chopping an actual ton of veggies for homemade fresh wraps. The dipping sauce was the key. Not lying, it was a pain in the ass to search out and find decent substitutes so Beau could eat it, too. It was also very worth it. In my humble opinion, this was even better than the peanut one I normally made.
Beau was on the couch, typing away at his laptop. A few times I had looked up and caught his eyes looking at me—probably wondering when supper would be ready. “What the hell?” Beau said so loudly I actually jumped. He held one of the puppies in his arms as he wrestled away something red from him.
When he’d gotten it free from the dog’s mouth, Beau held it up on the tip of his finger. “Seriously, Gigi? You can’t pick up your fucking underwear?” Beau’s mouth was twisted in anger that to me seemed like a bit of an overreaction. But whatever.
“It’s a thong, Beau. I’m sure you’ve already seen more than your share of them this week. So sorry if mine put you over the edge, though,” I said sarcastically as I made my way into the living room to divest the hockey forward of the offending under garment.
“Yeah, G, I’ve seen dozens this week. Hundreds, actually,” he snapped at me like a shark at nice, chunky chum.
“How nice for you. Bravo,” I said dryly and walked to my room. In all honesty, a part of me was quite relieved that the puppy had chosen the fancy, red pair. It was one of my better ones. I’d worn it out dancing with the girls. Cute undies always gave me a bit of a boost.
When I came back into the kitchen, Beau was gone, and a note was on the counter. “In the courtyard,” it read.
As soon as the fresh rolls were finally ready, I texted Beau to let him know. Ever since the horrible night that we never talked about, Beau would always answer my texts back. I extended the same courtesy. Not because I wanted to—but because I actually wasn’t a screaming bitch like he probably thought.
A minute later, I heard him stomp up the outside stairs and open the door. He washed his hands and sat down. “What kind of sauce is this?” he asked, staring suspiciously at the small bowl of sauce on his plate.
“Thai sauce. It’s delicious. Try it,” I said, dipping my fresh roll into my bowl.
“There’s no nuts in it?” he asked, still eyeing it as though it was going to jump off his plate and attack him.
“No, Beau. It’s the soy substitute that I use in the protein balls.”
