9. Maggie

Tommy pulled up outside my apartment at exactly six o'clock. His timeliness was yet another annoyingly perfect thing about him that blatantly juxtaposed with my inability to show up anywhere on time. Which was exactly the reason why I had planned to be ready thirty minutes early and was still barely on time.

The sun still shone high in the sky at this time of the summer as we drove through the city toward the South Side. Tommy's car ate up the road as he slid in and out of traffic. Typically, any sort of aggressive driving made me uncomfortable, but Tommy's driving wasn't necessarily aggressive. It was another piece of who he was: confident. My mind was trying to ignore the fact that I hadn't felt uncomfortable once in the passenger seat with him. Instead, I felt at peace.

Monica had asked if we would go out publicly tonight doing something casual, even though making a planned public appearance for show didn't feel casual at all. She was thrilled to hear that we had already planned something. She agreed to our plan and told us that she'd make sure a couple of paparazzi were there to grab a few photos of us.

To say I was only a little disappointed that I would now be expected to play a role and it wasn't going to be just me and Tommy again would be an understatement. The paparazzi part of this entire thing was what I was least looking forward to. It felt like I was walking into an ambush that I knew was going to be there but couldn't avoid. My parents had been suspiciously silent about the photos of the two of us in his car after the club. I could only assume they hadn't seen them yet, but once we were spotted together again, it was sure to be even bigger news than the first time.

Tommy pulled up across the street from the pizza parlor, and the two of us immediately noted the three guys with cameras hanging on the corner of the street, waiting for their big payday.

I sucked in a breath as I watched them, feeling like I was willingly walking into a lion's den. A hand wrapped around mine, trying to reassure me with a squeeze. My breath started to come in quicker bursts as I imagined that group of men with cameras surrounding us, pressing in on us, a panic attack coming over me, and—

"What if we let them get their picture of us ordering the pizza and we just take it back to my place? Then we don't have to go through the feeling of being in a fishbowl as they take pictures of us through the front glass of the store."

Immediate relief flushed through my body at Tommy's words, but part of me didn't want him to realize how close to a panic attack I was. So I raised an eyebrow in surprise. I definitely didn't think that Tommy would be concerned about me at all during this process. This whole thing was for him, and so far he'd shown nothing but distaste about the idea of us being forced to be together.

"I'd actually really like that," I told him, feeling every bit of anxiety I previously had leave my body. Tommy's hand slid into mine and gave it another squeeze to show his support. That hand squeeze was him telling me he had my back. It was enough to give me the courage to put my hand on the car door.

"Ready?" It was time. We couldn't avoid this any longer.

The next few minutes were an out-of-body experience. Tommy ran around the car to open my door, but it was like I was watching in slow motion. As soon as he was outside the safety of the car, the paparazzi perked up, pulling their cameras up to their faces.

Flash.

I felt myself jump at the light, something I had never done before in my life. The door was pulled open and there was Tommy, holding his hand out for me. The look on my face was probably one of pure panic, but there was no way out.

Only forward.

To the pizza parlor.

Tommy gripped my hand tightly, keeping me close to him. His hand was like an anchor as I pulled myself out of the car and turned to cross the street with him. I kept my chin tucked down into my coat, trying my best to hide my face.

Flash.

Flash.

Flash.

My breath was coming in fast as we looked both ways before walking across the street. Every part of me wanted to run the rest of the way and into the safety of the pizza parlor, but Monica would probably string me up the flagpole at the stadium if I ruined this for the club. And then the shouts started.

"Tommy! Tommy! Who's the girl?" The paparazzi closed in on us, their cameras like weapons.

"Tommy! How are you liking Chicago?"

"Is she your girlfriend?"

It was like all of the oxygen had been sucked out of the air. I was a fish out of water, my mouth opening and closing as I tried to gulp air into my lungs. But nothing seemed to help as we shoved our way past the three men. Tommy's arm wrapped even tighter around my waist, pulling me into his side. My body melded perfectly, giving me something to focus on besides the fact that three grown men were staring at me like I was a gazelle with a broken leg and they were the lions looking at their next meal.

The air didn't change until we walked through the doors of that parlor. As soon as the bells rang overhead and the door closed behind us, I could breathe again. Tommy's arm loosened around my waist, but I felt his hand stay firmly on the small of my back. I didn't want to admit that I appreciated the presence of his hand. Even though I knew the paparazzi wouldn't come inside with us, it still felt like we were in enemy territory and his hand was the only armor I had.

The pizza parlor was practically full, and every head turned toward us as we walked up to the counter to order. I could see a few people pull their phones out to take pictures, most of them probably not knowing who we were, but the fact that paparazzi chased us inside gave them the impression that we were someone important. The girl behind the counter took our orders, her eyes glancing between our faces, trying to figure out what celebrities were standing in front of her.

It was in those few moments as Tommy and I did something as normal as placing an order at a pizza shop, with people staring at us like we were zoo animals, that I realized my life was no longer mine and I wondered if it ever would be again.

I caught myself wondering if I should have agreed to this the entire way back through the city. Tommy chatted away, like nothing that had happened was out of the ordinary for him. He asked me about the city, pointing at different landmarks as we passed them. My brain was on autopilot as I replied to every one of his questions as my mind became consumed with regret.

It wasn't until Tommy pulled up to the curb of a brownstone on the south side of Lincoln Park that I felt normal again. My mouth dropped open at the sight in front of me. I wasn't surprised by how lavish the brownstone looked. It was easily worth a couple million dollars. No, it wasn't that. It was that I had not picked Tommy Mikals to be in a brownstone in Lincoln Park. I had imagined him up in some penthouse in one of the high-rises downtown looking down on the world like it was his kingdom and he was holding court.

Neither of us said anything as we walked up the steps leading to his front door. Tommy balanced the pizza in his hands as he fumbled for his keys. I found myself thinking back through the last few days and wondered how in the hell I ended up here.

The inside of the brownstone was beautiful. It was a newer construction, but it kept the integrity of what a stereotypical brownstone looked like. Had Tommy hired an interior decorator before coming to Chicago? Because everything was beautiful. Nothing felt like it didn't have a purpose or was there simply for looks. It was a reflection of who he was living out loud. It was industrial and dark, with straight lines and clean angles.

It was the exact opposite of what my small apartment looked like. There were multiple blankets crumpled on the couch on any given day. Dishes were stacked high in the sink from my lack of time to do them. My apartment was best described as messy and eclectic.

"I'm ready to see if this pizza is as good as you say it is," Tommy called from the kitchen as he hunted through a cabinet for a couple of plates.

"If you don't like it, I'm not sure this friendship can continue," I told him as I slowly took in a couple of bookshelves he had in the living room. There were pictures of him with his parents from when he was a kid, pictures of him with his college teammates, and baseballs in cases that were from monumental times in his career. I stopped to appreciate each moment of his life, finding myself wanting to hear the story behind each item.

"I'll be sure to lie then if I don't like it." I turned around to find him holding two plates of pizza. He was giving me a cheeky smile that warmed my body. Part of me wondered if that meant he wanted to be friends with me no matter what. Because if that was the case, I found it kind of scary that I was beginning to think the same thing.

Tommy handed me a plate with a couple of slices on it and the two of us took our pizza over to his couch. He made a show of bringing the pizza up to eye level and inspecting it from all angles, making me laugh, before he took a bite with his eyes closed. He continued to chew in silence next to me, savoring the bite he took.

"Verdict?" I asked him, watching as he swallowed.

"Definitely better than Lou's," he told me, a smile spreading across his face.

"You"—I pointed the end of my pizza in his direction—"can stay."

The two of us ate in silence for a few more minutes before I finally got the courage to ask the question that had been plaguing my brain since May had pulled me into that conference room.

"So how did you even get yourself in this position in the first place?"

Tommy knew exactly what I was asking. I watched him grimace at my delivery before he grabbed a napkin to wipe his hands with.

"I was young and stupid," Tommy started. "I had just hit the big leagues and had my first real taste of life as a professional athlete. Girls had never really thrown themselves at me before."

I couldn't possibly imagine how girls hadn't been throwing themselves at Tommy his entire life.

"I fell into the typical rookie trap of spending my money on expensive things I didn't need and letting the distractions take all of my attention. The paparazzi started to take notice, and I was in the tabloids every other weekend. The Kings wanted me to get an agent to help manage some of it. So I did. I thought the agent was helping me, but what I didn't realize was that he was being paid off by different tabloids to supply me with a new girl every time I went out and make sure someone was there to capture it. The Kings released me last year, and no other team wanted to touch me until the Cougars."

Silence stretched out between us as I imagined a young Tommy being taken advantage of by someone he trusted, someone who continued to destroy his image and the career he had worked so hard for. The pain from that time in his life was still etched across his face, baggage he still had to shoulder. My hand itched to reach out and give his hand a squeeze of reassurance like he had done to me in the car earlier, but something stopped me.

"I'm sorry, Tommy."

"It was a life lesson," Tommy replied, his eyes on the bookshelves full of pictures and memorabilia. It was the same look that had been on his face at the stadium after the game, like he was trying to remember everything in case it all disappeared in the blink of an eye. "Look, I've been meaning to thank you for doing this. You really didn't have to."

"It's not like I'm not getting anything out of it," I reminded him. Tommy screwed his mouth to the side as he nodded, remembering the money I was offered. I couldn't be sure, but it almost seemed like disappointment flashed across his face at the reminder.

"Right. Well, I've been thinking that we should talk about what we're okay doing together." This man kept surprising me with his thoughtfulness. It was completely unexpected. "What do you feel comfortable doing in public?"

"Well," I started. "I hadn't really thought about it. Obviously, holding hands doesn't bother me; we've already done that."

"Of course," Tommy agreed. "Hugging?"

"That can be on the table."

"Hand placement?"

"Above the butt."

"Kissing?"

That one made me pause. The thought of kissing him sent those stupid butterflies fluttering around inside me like someone had trapped them in a jar and they were buzzing with an intense energy to find a way out. I couldn't deny that part of me wouldn't mind being kissed by Tommy Mikals. Maybe that could be a perk to this whole thing. I knew that in a normal situation, Tommy would probably never want to kiss me.

"Potentially on the table. Cheek and head are acceptable right now."

Tommy nodded seriously at my requests, like discussing the parameters of fake dating were normal conversations to be had on any given day.

"Do we need to write this down?" he asked me. I instantly laughed at the thought, but stopped when I realized that Tommy wasn't laughing with me.

"Wait, are you being serious?"

"I just want you to be comfortable. You're only doing this because of my mess." I didn't want to remind him again of the significant amount of money I was getting to do this. He was acting like I was a saint doing this out of the kindness of my heart.

"I think we're okay to not write it down right now," I told him as I grabbed another piece of pizza. This time I folded the piece longwise and went to bite off the end.

"You're a folder?" Tommy asked.

"Are you judging me?"

"Absolutely," he told me as he grabbed the remote off the coffee table.

Tommy flipped through different movies before he extended the remote to me. "Why don't you pick something?"

"Why? So you can make fun of my movie selection too?" I asked him, my eyes narrowing playfully.

"I'm a gentleman," Tommy told me, holding up three fingers like a Scout.

"That's a Scout's Honor." I pointed at his hand. Tommy blushed before dropping his hand back down. That rosy color made my insides squeeze. I flipped through a couple of movies before I found one of my favorite romantic comedies.

"A romantic comedy?"

I flashed Tommy a warning look, daring him to make fun of my favorite movie genre. He held his hands up in mock surrender. "I love watching love," I mumbled, busying myself with grabbing another slice of pizza to avoid seeing any judgment in Tommy's eyes. I wasn't sure I could handle it if I saw a look of pity for the poor girl that had fucked up with love so badly in her life that she had to resort to watching it on a television screen.

"I like that there's always a happy ending," Tommy added, settling into the couch next to me. He grabbed a blanket that was draped over the back and slung it over both of our legs. My cheeks warmed at such an intimate act. I was sure Tommy had shared a blanket with plenty of girls and that it meant nothing to him. But for me, I had only ever done it with the person that had meant the world to me.

"Sometimes it's nice to live in a world where that happens," Tommy whispered, the reflection of the opening scene in his eyes. I watched him for a moment longer, wondering what demons plagued his mind. It was starting to seem like we had more in common than I had originally thought.

I secretly studied Tommy, admiring his jawline and how long his eyelashes were. If this sincere side of Tommy was how he really was, God save me, I was going to have to pray that I made it out the other side of this without falling in love with him.