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How can I promise her something that I can’t control the outcome of? “I promise,” I tell her. “Because we’ll be together.”
We hang up and I finally read the other messages. My mom is curious about Kelsey, so I fill her in and tell her how much I like Kelsey and enjoy spending time with her. My sister, on the other hand, is concerned about Maggie. That is, until I tell her about Kelsey and how she’s my girlfriend, and that I need her to be on my side with this.
When I get to Maggie’s message, I read each one and don’t feel the need to answer them until I get to the last.
Maggie Gardner
Well since you haven’t called, I’ll just tell you here. I’m coming back. I’ve accepted a job as director of philanthropy at the hospital. Looks like we’ll be spending time together again. Can’t wait to see you. I miss you, Alex. I miss us. Xoxo
Congratulations on the job, Maggie. I wish you the best. I’m with someone now and I’m happy. I need you to accept this and tell your friends to leave her alone.
I send the message and then send a message to Kelsey.
I forgot to say thank you for the pics you sent of us. You looked so fucking gorgeous last night, and now I can look at you anytime I want. I’ll see you on Monday when I’m back.
After I send the message, I turn my phone off. If anyone from the team needs me, they know where to find me. Everyone else can leave me alone for a few hours while I try and decompress this ridiculous situation and try to figure out a way to help Kelsey navigate this type of bullshit. The thing is, she shouldn’t have to. I’m a professional athlete for Christ’s sake. People like me are a dime a dozen. No one should care who I’m dating.
FIFTEEN
KELSEY
Birds chirp outside my window. It’s a promise of a new day and I’m determined to forget all the crap that happened yesterday. After a cup of coffee, I sit down with one of my manuscripts and my red pen. I read each chapter first, and then go back and mark whatever changes I want to see or note any questions I might have, and then I move on. My process isn’t for everyone, and I make sure agents tell their authors before we sign any contracts. There’s nothing worse than finding out during a status check that the author is beside herself because she can’t read my handwriting or doesn’t know what the editing marks mean. The last thing I want is for any author to feel stressed when they receive their edits back from me.
A couple of hours and five chapters later, I’m on my way to meet Basha for lunch. We try to do this as often as possible. I step outside after saying hi to our weekend doorman and let the late fall sun wash over me. There’s a chill in the air, and it smells like winter. Most people say you can’t smell the seasons, but I disagree. Maybe it’s in my head, but I’m going to continue to believe I can until someone proves me wrong.
The sidewalks are busy, and Sunday feels like a workday with the amount of people out and about. I pass by a bar, with signs for today’s Pioneer game. They’re in North Carolina, and if I didn’t know Alex, I wouldn’t make it a point to watch. But I want to see him on TV and plan to root for him from the privacy of my apartment, while working. Honestly, today is going to be a good day, with the exception of Alex being away.
I never imagined myself dating a professional athlete or anyone like Alex for that matter. I always thought my type would be a businessman or a lawyer, someone who wore a suit every day and carried a briefcase. Now that I’ve been with Alex, I know he’s my type. The man makes everything sexy, whether it’s his ridiculous joggers or the tuxedo he wore the other night.
I sigh, thinking about Friday night. I’ve done my best to put it out of my head, but the images from yesterday, which are all over the internet, have really messed up my psyche. Alex tells me he and Maggie are done, and I believe him. However, after seeing the images of them together, photoshopped or not, it’s also easy to believe otherwise. Even when I know they’re fake and not really of him.
Whoever put them together knew exactly how to capture and display them as the perfect couple. The photos are nothing like mine and Alex’s. I look awkward and uncomfortable, and he looks like he's there in form, but not spirit.
The ones with him and Maggie—the fake ones—look unbelievablyreal. And they look like someone caught their clandestine affair. They look happy and in love, while Alex looks like he had to force himself to take me. Even though this isn’t how I feel, it’s what my eyes see, and I don’t know how to change that.
When I get to the corner, I press the walk button and focus my attention on the other side of the street. There’s a park, with kids running around. A few people jog along the path and hold their stride as they wait on the corner for the light to turn. Other’s mill about, sitting on the benches I can see from where I stand.
“Hello,” the man standing next to me says. My senses heighten with the stranger danger feelings kicking in.
I smile and return his greeting. I’m very much the type of person who wants to be nice to everyone because you never know what kind of day they’re having. I smile at strangers if we make eye contact when we pass by each other. More often than not, the gesture isn’t returned, but I don’t care. It’s not why I do it.
The next thing I know, the man has a camera pointed at me. “Are you and Alex Moore dating? Why were you with him the other night if Maggie Gardner was there? How do you feel about Alex and Maggie being together?”
My mouth opens to answer but then I close it and walk across the street. If I thought this would deter the man, I was wrong. He’s hot on my heels, firing question after question at me, with no signs of giving up.
I want to run but fear I will trip and fall. He’d surely capture my stumble and splash it all over the numerous gossip sites I found yesterday. Who knew there were so many? I didn’t, but one search of the internet and ten plus pages flooded my screen with content about the gala. One site alone posted over a hundred articles about the people in attendance. I read a few about Liam Page and his wife, and I wondered how she handled the notoriety that comes from being married to him.
There’s no comparison though—the things that were posted about Alex and me, and those I read about Liam and his wife. Liam’s this famous musician, and Alex is a pro athlete. Surely, they shouldn’t be treated the same way when it comes to the media and popularity. And why does anyone care what Alex does?
“No comment.” I finally find the courage to say the two words most people say when bombarded with questions, but this man doesn’t give up and the questions continue in rapid-fire motion. How would anyone even begin to understand what in the hell he’s saying if he doesn’t pause and take a breath before he asks the next question?
I pick up my speed and hustle toward the restaurant where I’m meeting Basha. Once inside, I lean into the wall and catch my breath. What this was, wasn’t normal. At least, that’s what I tell myself. No one cares that much about who I am.
Basha waves when I enter the restaurant. I have my scarf removed and coat unbuttoned by the time I reach the table. “I need a drink,” I tell her as I sit down.
“I just ordered coffee for us.”
“No, something strong.”
