Page 44 of The Right Garza
Trent:Tripp. He has a fight
Me:A fight?
Trent:Yeah. He does MMA
Me:Whoa. Dope!
Trent:Fucking hate the sport. I’ve never been to any of his fights and he’s got a beef with me about it. So I was thinking of trying tonight.
Me:I’d love to watch Tripp fight, but I really need to get some shut-eye.
Me:But Maggie’s been complaining of boredom so I’m sure she’d love to go with you.
Trent:It’s a forty-minute drive, you can nap on the way
Trent:Please?
Trent:*GIF of puppy dog eyes*
Me:You’re so manipulative.
Trent:*GIF of cute begging cat*
Me:OK. Jeez. I’ll come. What time is the fight?
Trent:Nine. Will pick you up in an hour.
“Goddamn Trent,” I mutter as I set the phone down and sink lower into the bathtub. Thankfully, tomorrow is Sunday so I’ll be able to sleep in.
After another fifteen or so minutes of relaxation to the point of dozing off, I climb out of the tub, wrap a towel around me, and pad to Maggie’s room. She’s nude as usual, reading a book with her head hanging off the bed.
“Hey, get dressed. Trent’s taking us to Venice to watch Tripp fight.”
Her face lights up at the prospect of finally going out. “Oh, thank God, I’m s—” She breaks off and frown. “Wait, did Trent invitemeor just you?”
“Both of us.” It’s a lie, but I can’t leave her here knowing how much she wants to go out. She’s been hounding me to go out with her for two weekends now, but these days it feels as if I’m nevernottired. “He’ll be here in an hour.”
As she bounds to her feet all aflutter, I pad to my room to put together an outfit. My savings account might no longer hold five figures, but I do still own a lot of nice clothes and jewelry. Some valuable stuff, too, that I probably should consider throwing up on eBay and cash out.
Hmm.I jot down a mental note to do just that.
By the time Trent’s headlights brightens the driveway, Maggie and I are ready and waiting on the front steps, sucking on vape pens.
“You’re so sexy,” Maggie whines around a cloud of smoke. “If only I had the curves and flesh for an outfit like that.”
Figuring an MMA fight event would be crowded and rowdy, we both went for comfy-sexy. Maggie’s in lace-up crop-top shorts set and ankle boots, and I’m wearing chunky-heeled thigh-highs with a wine-red bodycon romper jumpsuit.
“Stop it,” I admonish. “Your body is perfect.”
“Yeah, if I was trying to become a freaking Victoria Secret model.” She rolls her eyes and makes a miserable noise. “I can’t gain weight no matter what I do.”
“Skinny girl problems,” I mumble, bumping her shoulder to nudge her down the steps as Trent’s jeep pulls to a stop. “You take the front. I need the space in the back.”
There’s a small pillow tucked under my arm, because I one hundred percent intend on sleeping on the drive. Ineedthat nap because I’m damn near running on E right now.
“Hey, boo thang,” Maggie teases Trent as we get into the jeep. “Thanks for the invite. Used-to-be-fun Lexi has turned into a snore of an old woman now. I can’t get her to go anywhere.”
“Uh, yeah, no prob.” He twists around to eye me in the backseat as I fluff the pillow and get comfortable. Those dark eyes narrow to slits, but I’m too tired to care what he’s displeased with me about this time.
