Spiral (Off the Ice, #2) (24)
Brick-covered buildings line the entire block. Squinting, I stare out my car window to read the numbers. It was dark when I dropped her home after our date, but I still remember which door is hers. I step on the brakes, jerking in my seat when I realize what I’m doing.
There’s nothing creepier than showing up to a girl’s apartment when she hasn’t answered your calls. Yet here I am, making a fool out of myself for the second time this week. I’m mentally scolding myself for thinking this was a good idea.
As I’m reluctantly peeling away from the curb to drive home, something pulls my gaze to the golden numbers on the door at the corner of the complex. The fourteen gleams like a polished ring, and I grip the steering wheel to force myself to drive away.
Either the stress is melting my brain, or I took some brutal hits in yesterday’s game, because I’m out of my car and jogging toward her door. There’s a light drizzle of rain as I head toward the number calling my name.
The short black fence, with absolutely zero security, screeches open with a flick of my hand. The concrete path that leads to her apartment is covered with yellow, overgrown grass and weeds that stick out of the cracks. I read the welcome mat laid out in front of her door. COME BACK WITH TACOS.
My smile disintegrates quickly when a drop of water lands on my head, making me look up to where the porch ceiling leaks a rusty brown liquid. I wipe it away and move to the side before I force myself to stop delaying. I knock and wait with a tapping foot, just as a series of rusty brown water drops trickle onto my face. Stepping to the side again, I bring up the hem of my shirt to dry my face.
“That’s one way to assure I won’t slam the door in your face,” Sage says.
Pulling my shirt back down, I see her eyeing where I just covered my torso. Sage stands there in heels and a black dress that reminds me of the one she wore to the auction. A curly tendril of hair frames her face, and her hazel eyes shine brighter with dark eyeliner accenting her almond-shaped eyes.
I clear my throat. “I’ve never had a door slammed in my face.”
“I’d happily be your first.” She swings it closed, but the move is slow. It only takes my hand against the door to stop her from closing it.
She sighs, opening it wide again. “Are you going to say something, or are you here to rob me?” She hikes a thumb behind her. “I don’t have much, but I’m sure my candle collection can get you a few bucks.”
“I’m not here to rob you.”
“You sure? Because you just showed up at my apartment without an invitation.” Sage crosses her arms. “I know you think I’m your girlfriend, but this is a lot even for me.”
With her eyes on me, it’s hard to come up with words. The ones I rehearsed for days don’t make sense anymore. “What I said at the conference—”
“Was a mistake,” she interrupts. “You were right. We don’t know each other. I wasn’t thinking when I suggested pretending to date. It was a mindless idea. One that should never have been said out loud. Now, if you will excuse me, I have somewhere to be.”
She turns to grab her purse from the coffee table in what I assume must be the living room. I’m not sure because the kitchen and the couch are all in the same place, which would be normal if there wasn’t a rack with all her clothes there too.
When she puts her purse onto her shoulder, she doesn’t look at me as she comes outside. I move back to give her space to lock the door. Sage jiggles the doorknob a few times and manhandles the door to get it to shut securely.
“Can I at least apologize?”
She sighs. “I heard your voicemail, Eli. No need to drag this out. Don’t worry about announcing I’m your girlfriend to the world. It’s only a matter of time before they pin you with the next girl of the week.”
I wince, knowing she watched the interview and heard what they said about her.
Then she drops her keys into her purse and descends the short steps.
“Where are you going? I’ll give you a ride,” I offer.
She walks past me, but I follow her anyway, watching as she sidesteps the cracks on the pavement and the muddy pockets of puddles left over from the earlier downpour.
“You can’t possibly walk in those shoes.”
“They’re fine, and I’m taking the train. That’s what us gold diggers like to use.”
The jab finds my sternum. “Let me drive you.”
“I don’t take rides from strangers.”
“I’ve seen you use Uber.”
“Fine, I don’t take rides from assholes,” she shoots back.
I wince, and if I’m not mistaken, she does too, but I deserve it.
“Sorry,” I say. We’re already way past my car, but she halts on the sidewalk. “I’m sorry for making you feel less than or like I didn’t want to be attached to you. That was never my intention, and questioning your character is not why I refused your offer.”
She gives me nothing, but I know if I don’t explain now, I’ll only make this worse.
“I know firsthand how the media and the fans act. The comments you got these last few days? Those are mild compared to the stuff Brandy, our team photographer, got on her social media when she was seen with me. The stuff they were saying about her isn’t even worth repeating, but I’d never want you to go through that. I never wanted to hurt you.”