Page 32 of The Fantasy League
So few words had been spoken between the two of us since we left the gala, but the ones that had coiled tightly in my chest.
Hell, Abel was in my house.In my house.And not only that, he was picking out my pajamas and getting me water.
What the hell was happening?
A week ago, I never would’ve let this happen. Ever.
“I saw the bottle sitting on the counter. Thought you might need some.” He held out a bottle as he walked through the doorway. “How bad do they hurt?” He tipped his head toward my swollen feet while he dropped four of the red painkillers into my palm.
They hurt like a freaking bitch.
I hadn’t looked down, but I was sure that when I did, they’d be swollen twice their regular size. I could feel the blisters throb along the bottoms of my feet, and a fresh cut from where the back of the shoe dug into my achilleas all night.
They hurt almost as bad as the time Mae stomped on them to stop me from talking so we didn’t get caught by the cops for underage drinking while we hid behind a tree.
“I’ll survive.”
“I hope so.” Abel’s lips curled upward, and he bent down to place a quick kiss on my cheek. “Good night, Red.”
* * *
The next morning,I dove headfirst into fixing the suggestions that my editor had sent over to me earlier that week. It was my first go-around implementing suggestions, and I’d be lying if I said that some of them didn’t hurt.
Having someone completely rip apart your life’s work was… humbling, to say the least.
I’d always felt especially attached to the little blurbs and stories that paired along with each recipe, so seeing a few of them ripped to shreds by my sweet, extremely pregnant editor put a damper on my mood.
After spending two hours in bed rewording sentences and scrapping paragraph after paragraph, I wasfinallycontent with the edits that I’d made so far. I could only cross my fingers and hope that Gina felt the same.
A lightness filled my chest when I heard the front door open. “Knock, knock,” Mae’s voice echoed down the hallway.
“In here!” I yelled to her, unwilling to move from my position on the couch. Not because I was lazy, but because my feet had never ached so badly in my life.
At nearly twenty-five, one would’ve thought that I’d learn by now to break in heels before wearing them to an event where I’d be standing all night. Admittedly, I should’ve known better, but now I was reaping the agonizing consequences.
Not to mention the borderline hangover headache that squeezed my skull so tightly I thought it would explode.
This was nothing compared to the hangovers I’d endured in college, but these days I didn’t drink as often and when I did I wasdoneafter two glasses of wine.
As if reading my mind, Mae waltzed into the bedroom holding up a take-out bag that smelled exactly like my holy grail hangover meal. A chicken tender tray with double onion rings, three barbecue sauces, and a large sweet tea, to be exact.
“I had a feeling you might need this after I watched Abel carry you into the house last night.” She tossed me the bag and I ripped it open, digging into grease-filled hangover heaven.
She got my order perfect too, even down to the three sauces. Praise God, she knew me so well.
“You’re the best,” I moaned, taking the first bite of chicken into my mouth. “But he didn’t carry me in because I was drunk… well, sort of. My shoes murdered my feet last night. Why didn’t you tell me to break them in more?”
“I tried telling you… twice! You’re the one who insisted you’d be fine.” She flailed her hands as she took a seat on the corner of the bed. “Now tell me everything. Don’t leave out a single detail. Did you see his dick?”
“Oh my god, no. I didn’t see his dick.” My mind reeled back to how Abel took care of me last night. How intimate the entire encounter had been. Like something a boyfriend would do for their girlfriend. “We did decide that we’re going to be friends though.”
“Oh my god, you like him! You fucking like him, don’t you?”
“Like is a strong word…”
“Please tell me there is a ‘but,’” she pleaded with her palms pressed together.
“ButI don’t hate him.” I lifted my shoulders nonchalantly while scarfing down onion rings.
