Page 16 of The Fantasy League
Scarlett:I heard about your bets with Mae. Remind me to never go to Vegas with you.
Scarlett:P.S. I’ve heard food poisoning is a bitch.
* * *
“I need more time.”
I spent all weekend wrestling with myself on whether or not to accept Abel’s offer while simultaneously trying to make progress toward my cookbook and plan out blog posts for the next few days.
I barely made it out of bed with the cloud of exhaustion that loomed over me. Maybe, just maybe, I’d bit off more than I could chew. And adding Abel’s “situation” to the mix would only spread my already overextended time even thinner.
If I was being honest, I didn’t want to accept his offer. In fact, I hadn’t so much as hesitated to shoot him down until he brought the house into the equation.
How in the world could he have known that would be my only weakness?
Don’t get me wrong, Abel was a good-looking guy. Dark hair that was curly on top and shaved on the sides. A short beard that he always kept trimmed to perfection. And there was the fact that he was six foot five which instantly made any guy two points hotter.
If we were just going off looks, he was exactly my type. But the cold, aloof personality that he only seemed to have around me and no one else annihilated that teeny tiny crush I had before working for him.
There was no way that we’d be able to easily convince people that we were madly in love with his usual demeanor. Plus, I wasn’t exactly inclined to helping out an asshole, no matter how hot he might’ve been.
Fourteen-million-dollar house. Fourteen-million-dollar house.
Ugh, why couldn’t it have been Henry Cavill asking me to be his girlfriend and offering me a mansion?
“Take as long as you need,” Abel said, grabbing his gym bag off the counter and slinging it over his shoulder.
I hadn’t said anything yet—mostly because I didn’t know what to say—but when I came into work earlier, I noticed that Abel had moved all of the pots and pans to a lower shelf so that I could reach them more easily.
I couldn’t figure out if I was more baffled at him remembering what I said the other morning about struggling to reach the pans or the fact that he had actually done something nice for a change.
And I didn’t have to ask him to do it. Probably because he knew I never would’ve flat out asked him to rearrange his kitchen set up for me though.
It was kind of like when you’re dating someone and they got you flowers, not because you asked for them, but because they wanted to get them for you.
Abel wanted to do something nice for me.
What. The. Hell. That was a first.
I couldn’t lie, it did spark curiosity to find out what other sides of Abel I didn’t know about yet. I couldn’t help but wonder what lay beyond those solid brick walls he’d built up against me.
Was he funny? What kind of movies did he watch? Had he ever committed any crimes? I had so many questions and so few answers.
“Will you, uhh, tell me about yourself? I feel like we don’t really know each other and it might make it easier for me if I knew whether or not you’re a horrible person.”
“Sure. What do you want to know?” he replied, flashing the tiniest of grins at me.
Abel smiled at me.
For the first time in eight months, Abel Abbott smiled at me.
What the hell was going on?
“I guess whatever you’re willing to give up. Committed any crimes recently?” In my head, the question sounded more like an interrogation, but the words that slipped from my lips betrayed me by sounding singsong and flirtatious.
“No crimes. No jail time. Never gotten into a fight. I had one job in high school working at a grocery store, and I made sure to put in two weeks' notice before leaving for college. I did get a speeding ticket a few years ago, the cop was a fucking asshole, but I paid it early.” He paused, expelling a pent-up breath. “And I know I haven’t always been the most appreciative boss….”
I held back a scoff. At least he was self-aware.
