Page 42 of Ella Gets the D
I clear my throat. “Never better.”
He folds his arms over his bulky frame, currently wrapped in an athletic compression shirt, and waits.
A second passes.
Another.
By the fifth, his gaze dilutes to quick glances between me and the half-eaten burrito in front of him.
I flash a dimple at the flex in his forearms that would rather be on the table making work of his second dinner.
“You seeing someone?”
“Nope.” It’s not a lie. I’ve been single for years, and I plan to keep it that way.
“Kee looked happy to see you.” The way he says it suggests more than what’s there. Aside from a few random texts, I haven’t spoken to or thought about her.
He’s a second too late to snatch back the burrito I stole. If he’s going to run his mouth, he doesn’t need this. I cut off the part he gnawed, take an obnoxious bite, and throw in a moan for good measure at his scowl. Because I don’t talk with food in my mouth, I make him wait, much to his annoyance.
“Where you going with this? It’s barely been a week since I got back. If you want to play host so bad, tell people to pull up to your place.”
The problem with knowing someone since you were kids is the ability to see through their bullshit. With anyone else, saying I’m staying in would be enough to drop the subject. But Antonio plans to press me for the answer he knows I’m hiding.
Persistent shit. Four years younger and forever in my business.
I exhale deep and roll my eyes. We’ll be here all night, and I have an ice bath at home with my name on it. Our bodies must be over a hundred years old for each of the fourteen years we’ve played. “I kinda got someone staying with me.”
The confusion twisting his face is understandable. How do I have someone in my house when I just returned from London? Why the hell did I allow it when I never have before? Each question scrolls across his face, which is stuck on WTF.
I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that the star of my fantasies every night since I met her is moving in with two kids. I’ve been waiting for the shock to roll through, but it hasn’t happened yet.
Antonio knows better than anyone that I won’t play house or make it official with a woman. I came close years ago, and that ain’t happening again.
“You lying.”
“Why would I?”
“So?”
“So?” My brow lifts in defiance. He’s grating my last nerve. “All you need to know is I’m helping a family friend in a tough spot. It’s temporary, and it’s not a big deal.” It’s also none of his business, a reality that’s yet to set in. “Can you respect that?”
He scoffs. “Of course.” His shoulders, once tense from unanswered questions, finally relax, a sign the investigation is over. “We still on for Sunday?”
I shake my head and laugh. “He’s already prepping your ribs.”
Antonio earned his own container years ago, the way he flies through them. It’s a testament to Langston Brooke’s skills on the grill. They pull people from around the beltway to his backyard every Memorial Day weekend.
We walk back to the stadium to get our cars. I’m digging through my bag for my keys when my hand brushes against my phone. I open it to reread the text thread between me and Ella for the fifth time today.
We exchanged numbers through Morgan once she came back to the office after lunch. I hate texting as much as I hate talking on the phone, but I reached out to Ella for reasons I’m still trying to understand. Yesterday, she told me I was doing too much, like asking about your preferred loaf of bread was excessive.
Who wouldn’t jump at the chance to not have to haul groceries into the house like a CrossFit workout? It’s one less thing she’ll have to worry about. I ended up getting them anyway after a call to Morgan. It took prodding and a verbal promise I wasn’t sniffing gasoline for her to tell me.
The refrigerator and pantry now have her and her kids’ favorite foods and snacks. Everything is ready for their arrival tomorrow night.
The question is, am I?
Chapter 17
