30. Maggie

The sun coming in through the curtains of Tommy's room the next morning woke me up from my deep sleep. I pulled the comforter up around my body, trying to keep any chill away from me. My clothes still lay in a pile on the living room floor downstairs. I reached out a hand toward Tommy, only to feel a cool, empty bed.

I pulled the covers back and padded over to his dresser. The first drawer had a stack of his T-shirts and some sweatpants. I grabbed one of each and threw them on. The shirt came down to mid-thigh and I had to cinch the sweatpants as tight as they would go so they wouldn't fall off my hips. As soon as I walked out of the bedroom, the smell of food hit my nose. My mouth instantly watered. Tommy was stationed in front of the stove, a pair of pajama bottoms slung low on his hips. His chest was still bare, and just the sight of it made me want to go for round two on the kitchen island.

"Good morning," I rasped, sleep still clinging to my voice. Tommy turned around in surprise, spatula in hand.

"I was hoping to bring you breakfast in bed." My heart melted at the disappointed look on his face.

"I can go back." I pointed a thumb back up the stairs, a playful smile on my face.

"Then I'd miss this view in front of me." Tommy set the spatula down and came over to lift me onto the kitchen island.

Maybe my daydream might actually come true.

"You look so sexy in my clothes," Tommy growled into my ear, sending butterflies flying all over my body.

He went back over to the stove to flip the pancake he was making, giving me the perfect view to watch him at work. My eyes roamed over the strong muscles of his back that were covered in black ink. The tattoo sleeves on his arms flowed into the tattoos that spread across his chest and upper back. They were bold, full of thick lines and sharp patterns. His body was a true work of art.

"When did you start getting tattoos?" I asked him as he flipped another pancake onto a stack next to him.

"When I was eighteen, right after I got drafted. I started on the sleeves first."

"How did you decide on them?"

"I designed them myself, actually. I created the patterns in high school and desperately wanted them tattooed on me." My eyebrows shot up in surprise. I definitely hadn't expected him to tell me that he had made them.

"They're amazing." My eyes traced each line, curve, and design that flowed effortlessly into the next. They helped define the hard planes of his muscles that made my mouth water just looking at them.

"Thank you," he told me as he brought a plate of pancakes over to me. A bottle of syrup was already on the counter, and I dumped an unhealthy amount onto the stack of fluffy goodness in front of me.

"Shooting for a sugar high?" Tommy asked as he leaned against the kitchen counter across from me, digging into his own stack of pancakes.

"How could you not want to smother your pancakes in an absurd amount of syrup?" Tommy shook his head at me with a smile on his face as he stabbed another piece of pancake with his fork.

"So how do you think the season is going?" I asked him.

"I feel really good about everything right now." Tommy set his plate on the counter next to him and crossed his arms over his chest. "I think I've done enough to really cement myself as an asset for the Cougars, and I feel good about this season. I've kept to myself, kept my head down, worked hard, and tried to focus on baseball."

"With extenuating circumstances," I added with an awkward smile. He could have had less stress in his life if he hadn't offered to take me home from the club those few months ago.

"I don't see a single thing I'd change about this season." His eyes stayed glued on mine and again made it feel like I was glowing from the inside out. "I have a lot to thank you for with how this season is turning out, honestly."

I waved him off, busying myself with the pancakes that were left in front of me. "What about you?" he asked me after a moment.

"What about me?"

"Do you feel like this season is going well for you?"

I had to actually stop and think about what he had asked me. How had this season gone for me?

Of course, I had aspirations for my career and was trying to gain as much experience as I could to achieve them, but had this season actually moved me toward those goals? Photography was my passion in life and always would be, but it had opened my eyes to different directions mys career could take me. After a few years in professional sports, I knew this was where I wanted to be. But the idea of running my own media department one day and becoming a mentor for other young photographers and media experts excited me.

"I know I've taken some great shots this season."

"You definitely have," Tommy agreed. I chewed on my thoughts for a minute longer before I finally spoke the truth of my desires.

"But I think eventually I want May's job," I told him.

"Okay, so what're you going to do about it?" Tommy asked me.

It was refreshing having someone who challenged me like that. He wasn't jumping in to give me his advice; he was simply asking me to think outside my own box, come up with my own answers. But I knew that if I needed someone to brainstorm or strategize with, he would make a step-by-step guide for me to achieve my goals.

"I definitely need to speak with May."

"Probably," Tommy agreed. "But I'd like to say that your season has been phenomenal. You've taken some killer shots that have been featured, and you've done all of that while dealing with me."

"You're not that bad to deal with."

"Even if that were the truth, the paparazzi that like to follow me definitely are not easy to deal with."

I couldn't find it in me to tell him that wasn't the truth, because this season had been emotionally exhausting for me. The side effects of the contract had weighed heavily on me. I was on edge when I went out in public, waiting for someone with a camera to jump in my face. But I knew that if I told him that, he would never forgive himself for allowing the contract to happen in the first place. If I had learned anything about Tommy in the past few months, it was that he would have rather given up his contract with the Cougars than force me to be in that situation with him if I didn't want to do it at any point.

I couldn't tell him any of that because everything that had happened between him and me would have never happened. I never would have figured out that I was falling fast for him.

After breakfast, Tommy dropped me off at my apartment. It was a much-needed day off for the team and for the staff after the big win. The long stretches of multiple games without a break were starting to take a toll on everyone. People were dragging, trying to get to the All-Star break, and hoping that we'd all have enough energy to get us through to the end.

It was time off that I desperately needed to get my life together. I had laundry to do, an apartment to clean, and groceries to buy. But none of those things seemed to occupy my interest as I sat on my couch in my tiny apartment. The only thing I could think about was what Linda had said the day before.

Did Tommy really love me?

If that were the case, could I handle a relationship with him in the spotlight?

Every fiber in me was screaming that it didn't matter because I was irrevocably, madly in love with him. I had known it for some time. Hell, I had probably been in love with him longer than I had realized.

I was pacing my apartment, trying to burn off the feeling that was building inside me. But it seemed like with every step I took, the urge inside me was growing. A thought had occurred to me that I needed to tell Tommy how I felt or I'd surely do something stupid if I didn't. I could practically imagine myself chickening out of ever telling him and figuring out some way to self-sabotage the one good thing that had happened to me in years simply out of fear.

Without letting myself think too much on what I had decided to do, I started to pick up my purse and bus card. But when I got to the door, I hesitated. I remembered Tommy telling me that he would probably be heading to the clubhouse this evening to work out and take some extra swings. If I took the bus, I would miss him at his house. The only problem was, I still didn't have a car.

I cursed myself as I debated what to do. It seemed that there was only one thing I could do. Mrs. Adams's soap operas were blaring through her door, and I was worried she wouldn't hear my knocks over the sound of Fabio breaking up with his current fling. Didn't she know that I had my own love story to secure?

My knocks grew a little more persistent before I was full on banging my open hand on her door. I heard the television turn down and then slow footsteps making their way toward me. Mrs. Adams pulled the door open. She was an older woman with gray hair that she liked to keep in curlers. Her glasses sat on the bridge of her nose or hung from her neck on her glasses holder. She always had a matching sweater set on, even at the height of summer, and rarely smiled.

"Hi, Mrs. Adams. I have a favor to ask of you," I told her.

"I don't have any sugar." Her voice was crackly, like sandpaper.

"Oh, no. It's not that," I tried to tell her.

"I don't have any eggs."

"I'm not here for food, Mrs. Adams." I glanced down at the watch on my wrist. "I was wondering if I could borrow your car."

Mrs. Adams stared at me for a few minutes, her eyes narrowing as she looked me up and down. I was beginning to grow uncomfortable when she finally spoke again. "But you don't drive."

I was surprised that she had noticed. "I've been getting comfortable with driving again. I just don't have my own car yet."

"What do you need it for?"

Part of me didn't want to tell her the truth. I wondered if I should make up a lie about something more important than telling a guy that I was falling in love with him. But something inside me told me to tell her the truth.

"I need to tell a guy that I'm in love with him." It was weird speaking the words out loud. I hadn't even told Olivia yet how I felt.

She pursed her lips as she watched me. Without saying a word, she shut the door in my face. I jumped, startled at the loud sound the door made. Of all the ways I had expected Mrs. Adams to react, I had not expected her to slam her door in my face. I stayed there a moment longer before I turned to head down the stairs, deciding that I could at least give the bus a shot and wait on his steps until he got home. Then the door opened again and Mrs. Adams reappeared, holding her car keys in her hand.

"Go get him," she told me firmly, handing her keys over.

"Thank you!" I breathed, gently taking them from her hands.

Her door slammed in my face again, and a few minutes later, her soap opera was blaring once more. I wasn't going to wait for her to come back and change her mind. Mrs. Adams's car was an old Buick that had been kept in immaculate condition. It made me only slightly worried about getting behind the wheel with the little practice I'd had, but I wanted to tell Tommy how I felt. Even if that meant doing something that terrified me to get there.

I hit the unlock button on the key fob and pulled the driver's-side door open. The inside of Mrs. Adams's car smelled like Chanel perfume and cinnamon Altoids. It flooded my senses and sent my gag reflex reeling. I punched the button to roll all of the windows down after I turned the key over to start the engine.

My chest clenched as I wrapped my hands around the steering wheel. Every part of me wanted to wait for the bus, but I knew that true growth came when there was a battle to be won. Tonight, the battle would be driving across town in Chicago traffic. I hoped the prize at the end would be worth it.

Without giving it another thought, I put the car in drive and pulled out of my apartment complex's parking lot. The traffic on the side road that I was pulling out onto was slow, and I eased myself onto the road, making sure to check my mirrors and drive precisely the speed limit.

It'll be fine, I told myself.

I let out one more breath as I drove out onto the busy road, keeping in the right lane so people could pass me because I'd be damned if I was going to keep up with the flow of traffic tonight. There was one thing I didn't miss about being behind the wheel and that was the honking. When you were in the passenger seat, it didn't feel as jarring as someone laying on the horn behind you, cutting around you, and flipping you the bird as they did so.

Tommy's brownstone was a good twenty minutes across town, and before the accident, I would have turned on some music to occupy the time. Tonight, I didn't want any distractions. The drive might have been slow, but it was still faster than taking the bus, and it gave me the time to think about what I was going to say to Tommy. I knew I wouldn't be capable of coming right out and telling him exactly how I felt. But I also didn't want to make a complete fool of myself trying to beat around the metaphorical bush that was my feelings.

My knuckles had turned white from gripping the steering wheel so hard. I would need to merge onto Lake Shore Drive next, and my anxiety built at the idea of being surrounded by so many other drivers. With one more breath, I merged onto the road and prayed that my instincts would take over. Like driving was like riding a bike.

A car honked at me as I merged in front of it with plenty of space between us. I mumbled a curse word under my breath, not missing the road rage that came with driving. There were only a few minutes left in my drive when I pulled off toward Lincoln Park. I kept my eyes peeled around me, refusing to look away from the street. I was sure I would have driving habits that would stay with me for the rest of my life after that night. Some would only be around for a while until I was comfortable again, while others I would keep with me as a reminder of the night that sent me down a fork in the road that I had not expected.

I pulled off onto Tommy's road and drove by his house to try to see if he was still home. On the first go-around, I noticed that his lights were still on, so I continued driving around the block to find a parking spot. My heartbeat started to quicken with every second that passed. Every question I had started to race through my mind.

Did I hold a boombox above my head?

Should I give him some grand speech?

Did I propose a new contract for a real relationship?

But no, none of those felt right. None of those were me and Tommy. As I mulled over what to do, I walked up to Tommy's brownstone with every intention of standing out front until the solution came to me.

The light inside Tommy's apartment was still on when I stopped in front of it. His front curtains were pulled back, giving me the perfect view inside. I saw Tommy pacing near the windows, dressed in workout clothes. He looked like he was talking to someone, but I didn't see his phone in his hand. A second later, someone else stepped into view.

My heart dropped all the way to my feet as I recognized who was in Tommy's home.

Sutton James.

Tommy was articulating something to her while using his hands, and she was reaching out to him, trying to grab on to him. Every part of my brain was screaming at me to leave as quickly as possible. It would only save me the pain of watching whatever was about to unfold between them. But it was like my feet were becoming part of the concrete sidewalk below them. My eyes were glued on the scene in front of me, like I was watching the part of a rom-com where the main character didn't get the guy. The only sad part was the main character was me and it seemed like I was most definitely not getting the guy.

Whatever speech Tommy had given her must have been over, because the next thing I knew he was wrapping his arms around Sutton, his face buried in her neck like he did with me. I wanted to cry and throw up all at once. I couldn't rip my eyes away from Tommy with his arms around his ex-girlfriend even if I tried.

A part of me had always known I would end up the fool in this situation. This whole mess started because of Tommy's previous actions, and like they always say, leopards don't change their spots.