Page 109 of Rebound
Lavinia laughs, shoving at my shoulder. Her laugh is a magical thing. It lights up her whole face and you can always tell she’s feeling happiness in her soul.
“I do enjoy a good breakup,” Lavinia says. “I felt the same way after my breakups with Kyle and Brad.”
I can’t stop my face of disgust. “Kyle, Brad, and Josh. Did you deliberately set out to collect douchebags or was it happenstance?”
“At least I’m not out there collecting Maniacs,” Lavinia snaps back.
I turn onto my back, throwing an arm over my face. “We don’t need to talk about that.”
“No, no, let’s talk about all the women that you’ve slept with who fell madly in love with you and now follow you from city to city and collectively call themselves the Maddox Maniacs.” She sounds so amused by it all.
“I haven’t slept with all of them,” I correct. “Some of them are hockey fans.”
Parasocial relationships are never something I’ve encouraged. In my past sexual encounters—before Lavinia came back into my life and turned it upside down—I was very clear that I’m not interested in anything beyond the physical or beyond one night.
My example of a relationship is my parents, two people who hate each other, but are still married for financial reasons. I grew up with that fucked up mess in my head and only years of therapy helped me get through it to the point where I could openly admit I was messed up and I definitely didn’t want a relationship.
None of those apply when you have Lavinia Callahan barging into your life and smiling at you like she’s the literal personification of sunshine.
“Fascinating,” Lavinia whispers. “To be so good at sex women throw themselves at you.”
Lowering my arm, I look at Lavinia. “I’m a married man now. It’s a moot point what they do, and it’s never something I’ve encouraged.”
“Still, I’m not sure it’s something which endears you to the other guys on the team. Not that I’m saying it’s your fault or the women’s fault.”
Turning onto her back, Lavinia raises her arms over her head, hands pressing against the headboard as she stretches. Her chest rises up, nipples visible under the thin cotton of my shirt. It takes a lot of calculus to keep myself in check and not reach for her.
I don’t want to scare her away with how much I want her. If it’s up to me, I won’t let her leave this bed for at least a month. Maybe two. I want to memorize every scar and freckle on her body, every sound and sigh she makes, until she’s imprinted in my mind. Until she’s all I know and all I see.
“The water is probably cold by now,” she says.
It takes me a second to realize she’s talking about the water I brought in for her tea.
“I can get you more hot water.”
Turning to me, she snuggles in closer, resting her head on my chest. “Nah, it’s fine. I’m too cozy to let you out of bed.”
Slowly, I wrap my arms around her and kiss the top of her head. She lets out a deep breath, settling comfortably against me. I turn off the lamp and lower the blinds, plunging the room into darkness, except for the sliver of light coming through the partly open door.
I lie there, listening to Lavinia’s breaths even out until she’s finally asleep. I’m still awake because the strangest emotions are wreaking havoc inside me. Lavinia is placing her trust in me. She’s trusting me to take care of her, she’s trusting me to get along with the team and it brings up the strangest realization.
Lavinia is the only person who’s ever fully trusted me because I’ve allowed her to see everything, or at least the parts of myself that aren’t completely broken.
THIRTY-FIVE
LAVINIA
The following Tuesday after movie night, I’m filming a brand deal when a text from Roman pops up on my phone screen. We’re both very busy so seeing each other every day is proving to be difficult.
I’m filming more content than I have in the last two years, I’m posting every day, Jules and I have recorded two episodes of Unscripted that don’t release until the new year, and I’ve gone back to training three-four times a week.
My body is sore and exhausted, but my heart is happy.
Roman has been so sweet. He listens to me talk about training again, about some ridiculous supernatural conspiracy theory video I found while doomscrolling.
Two days ago, I offhandedly told him that I hadn’t eaten lunch because I’d been so busy, and he had lunch delivered for me. A delicious beet salad with extra protein, exactly the thing I’d have ordered for myself.
Just because we haven’t seen each other doesn't mean we haven’t spent the time getting to know each other. I’ve learned that Roman’s favorite color is green. He's been to Italy three times, and he often considers moving there, he learned how toride a motorcycle when he was sixteen, got his first tattoo on his eighteenth birthday in New York. He loves to cook.
