Page 59 of Never Date A Player
You would think that as we’ve made out a couple of times and are about to embark on our first official date, Lewis would go easier on me during training, but no. He broke my ass in a four-mile uphill run, then had me climbing a rope at his gym with only my arms. About a billion times. Yesterday, he took me and our team to a football field to practice maneuvers and train on how to assist during competition. He explained what was allowed and what wasn’t. I beat the guys in sprints, and only lost to Lewis in another, albeit shorter, uphill run. I would have smoked him then too, if he hadn’t whispered “Cave Rock” in my ear and distracted me.
Very underhanded of him, testing my mental endurance. I’ll have to work on that—and find a way to pay him back.
It’s Saturday, the night of our date, and Cali’s somewhere with Jaeger. I’m nervous, but I’m also pretty proud of myself for being somewhat steady despite kind of freaking out. Does that make sense?
I’ve gone through my wardrobe three times for something to wear. Something that doesn’t scream, “I’m a loose whore who attacked you on a cliff, then rode you to near orgasm in front of families”—you know, that kind of outfit. My conservative, crisp button-downs tucked into skinny jeans don’t seem quite right either.
I’ve fought the hormone-crazed responses Lewis draws out of me, because getting close to him scares me. It wouldn’t just be sex with Lewis. He’s different. I’m different with him.
I grab a navy sleeveless lace dress. It’s not formfitting or cleavage-baring, but it cinches at the waist with a wide black band and stops several inches above my knees. Classy, with sex appeal. The black and metallic heels are brought out next, because that night at the boathouse in those heels was magical. Lewis didn’t run when I told him why I freaked out at the cascades, like I expected. He kissed me.
I might not be ready for a new relationship, but this thing between us has a life of its own. I haven’t completed the mudder, but I feel stronger and good about myself. Maybe it’s the training; maybe it’s the guy training me.
I pause with my hand on the underwear drawer. I rarely trust guys, but I trust him. The A-hole had access to my body, but not me. Lewis sees everything—almost everything; he doesn’t know about my mom—and he still seems to like me.
On a whim, I pull out a sexy panty-bra combo. A rap at the front door has me clutching the underwear to my chest. What the heck? I glance in the mirror. My hair is a half-dry frizzy mess and I’m in my bathrobe. I will die if this is Lewis and he’s early.
Tucking the robe closed, I peer out the window. A car I don’t recognize is parked on the street in front of our house. I stuff the sexy undies under a pillow and set the security chain on the front door before opening it an inch.
A pretty, older, redheaded version of Cali stands there. I let out a breath. “Maddie.”
“Hi, sweetheart.” I release the chain and Cali’s mom walks inside. “Getting ready to go somewhere?”
My face heats a degree or two. “Um, I have a date.”
Her smile widens. “That good, huh? Well, don’t let me keep you. I could use a glass of water, but I’ll get it.” She waves me off when I start for the kitchen.
“Good grief,” she says a second later, and I look over my shoulder. She’s staring at the sink. “You girls have things growing in here.”
Yeahhh, we’re not so good about the dishes. Cali and I don’t have a dishwasher, and this washing by hand business is something I liken to the Dark Ages. Tyler’s presence hasn’t helped. If anything, he’s made it worse. Basically, the dishes don’t get done unless an item is needed, and then we wash said item and leave the rest to molder.
“Sorry, Maddie. Let me wash something?—”
She holds up a hand. “No, no. I’ve got this. It’s not often I get to take care of you kids anymore.”
And that’s the difference between Maddie and my mother. My mom would have pinched her nose and moved to another room.
I blow-dry my hair, apply a minimal amount of makeup, and dress. When I return to the kitchen, Maddie is elbow deep in sudsy water, clean dishes piling at a rapid pace on a dishtowel to her right.
She glances over. “Oh, honey. You look gorgeous.”
I fidget with the bracelet I chose. It’s a black and gold chain that drew my eye in one of the boutiques along the strip. Cali insisted I buy it. She said it added rock-and-roll to my plain wardrobe. “You don’t think it’s too much?”
Her eyes blank. “Too much what?”
I glance down. “Legs? Heels?”
Her expression warms. “No, honey, you look very pretty and put together.”
“So, not too revealing, because?—”
She laughs. “Gen, honey, wear what you want and own it. The clothes don’t define you. Now behavior on the hand…”
“Like hooking up in public?” My voice comes out several octaves too high. I want to take back my words the second they are out.
Maddie raises her eyebrows. “Well, now, if we’re talking about making out with a string of different people in public, one could argue a looser interpretation of dating. On the other hand, even if you slept with several, did it shame you—make you feel bad about yourself? Or are you happy?”
Being with Lewis makes me feel real, not some shadow of myself. He’s the only one I’m interested in making out with on top of a cliff. “Happy.”
