14. MATTHEWS

MATTHEWS

“ I feel like I’m listening to a phone sex line,” Bobbi laughed in my ear. “That’s the hottest shit I’ve ever heard. Just one kiss? ” She mocked, in a voice that made her sound ridiculous.

“It was nearly impossible to say no.” I brushed out my hair with my free hand and made sure my makeup looked good. I had two interviews today before I could explore the campus more, but all I wanted to do was run into Cael.

I had barely slept after our talk. My mind had spun itself in circles before I closed my eyes, and my alarm had gone off an hour later. The Nest was nice enough, with high ceilings, dark wood trim, and carpeted runners on all the hardwood floors. I had been in a lot of frat houses during my two years at Texas University, but none had ever given old-money architecture quite like Dansby House.

“I don’t understand why you did. I was watching playback clips,” Bobbi sighed dramatically. “That boy is a tree. A tall, muscular, blond, should-be-in-a-boyband, tree. I’ll climb him for you if you’re scared. I’ll take one for the team.”

Bobbi moaned loudly in my ear.

And then the faint humming of Backstreet Boys track Everybody floated through the receiver. “Am I sexual…”

Even thinking about his hands on me had heat crawling through my body and I turned the faucet to cold and ran a hand under it as she talked.

“Aren’t you in the office?” I asked, laughing wildly at her nonsense. God, I missed her .

“Yeah, but moaning pop songs in my cubicle is a constitutional right,” she laughed, and I could hear someone giving her grief in the background. “Shut up, Peter,” she barked from the other end. “Are you okay though? I know this is hard.”

“I’m fine,” I said, drowning the bracelet around my wrist under the stream of water. Lately, it felt like it was burning my skin.

“That was so convincing, Mar,” she scoffed through the receiver. “Take two, and this time don’t lie to your best friend.”

“I’m horny,” I admit, “and I’m heartbroken,” I sigh.

“I think that’s a Shakespeare play,” she joked.

“Ha, ha.” I shook my head and wandered out of the bathroom into the quiet hallway. I was still trying to find my way around the Nest. At times it felt like I was getting more lost the harder I tried.

I turned to the stairs and cautiously wandered up to the second floor to admire the stained-glass window at the end of the hallway. It was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen and must have cost a fortune, with all its tiny floral details and glass hornets.

“So what now?” Bobbi asked me.

“More interviews. I can’t tell if I want to ignore his existence or fuck him in the closet,” I mumbled as I turned back to the stairs. I only stopped when I noticed one of the doors was open a crack, and I knew instantly it was his room.

“Do I get a vote?” Bobbi said.

“Absolutely not,” I whispered.

“Why did your voice get quiet… what are you doing?” She instantly became more invested. “Are we snooping? Turn on the camera you stingy bitch,” she whined.

“Nothing,” I cut her off and pushed open the door with the toe of my shoe, peering inside to find it empty. “I might have found his room?”

“You’re in his room!” She yelled, and I hissed into the receiver to get her to shut up. “Sorry, what the hell are you doing?”

The walls were covered in horror movie posters from all different countries, and stacks of horror manga were piled by his unmade bed. The lamp on his cluttered dresser was covered in a shirt that made the light in the room hazy and dark. There were piles of shoes on the floor and his rings were neatly placed in three different bowls balanced on the windowsill. I inhaled a sharp breath to quell the suffocating anxiety that rushed through me. Just like his Dad, everything was a mess but had a place, and it made my heart ache to see how his room exposed the seventeen-year-old boy he was trying to stuff down and hide.

“It’s all the same,” I whispered. I rubbed my fingers over his comforter, pulling the blanket to my face and laughing when the lavender laundry soap hit my nose.

“What’s the same?” Bobbi asked in a hushed, hurried voice.

“His room, him… ” I sighed, letting the blanket fall back to his bed. “It looks exactly like his old room.”

I looked around my feet at the dirty laundry and scooped up one of his shirts, bringing it to my nose. It smelled like sweat, sweet, sticky gummy bears, and that dried-out scent of a shirt that spent too much time in the sun. I rolled it in my palm and tried not to cry.

“You need to get out of his room, M.,” Bobbi urged, and it clicked that I was standing frozen, staring at the walls.

I nodded and backed out, closing the door like it had been before. The shirt was still tangled in my fingers and I was not ready to let go of it yet. I hurried back to the guest room and shoved it under my pillow for safekeeping.

“So, we’re fucking him in a closet, right?” Bobbi snapped. “Because that was some weird shit you just did for a boy you supposedly hate with your whole body, Baby. I cannot stress this enough: you are screwed .”

“Fuck,” I swore under my breath, barely able to get my head straight. I had interviews, but all I wanted was to search him out. “I gotta go,” I said, hanging up before Bobbi even got a chance to respond.

I shoved my phone in my pocket and stepped back out into the hallway, looking around, trying to remember which way would lead me to the sitting room. Then a loud chorus of rough banging echoed from my left. The sound led me to the kitchen, where a tall, blonde girl was slamming around a drawer beside the fridge, her grunts of frustration loud as they echoed against the cabinets.

“Do you need help?” I asked over the racket.

She turned to look at me and I realized it was the same girl from dinner the night before. She was pretty, with wide, brown eyes that glowed warm under the lighting, in contrast to the white scar that split her delicate features in half.

“Ella?” I said, hoping I didn’t fuck it up. “You were at dinner last night.”

“And the stadium. I saw Silas giving you the tour. Ella Miele.” She wiped her hands on her pants and extended one to me.

“Mary Matthews.” I pointed at the batter on her fingertips.

“Sorry.” She pulled back when she realized there was still a mess. “I’m attempting to bake cupcakes for my best friend’s boyfriend, but—” she sighed, “the liners are in that drawer, and I can’t get it open.”

“Can I try?” I scooted around her, set my phone on the counter, and shrugged off my dress jacket. She raised both hands in the air and backed away from the fingerprint-covered drawer.

“So you’re here to interview the guys?” She said, hitting the faucet with her elbow and washing the batter away.

I opened the bottom cupboard, slinking my hand beneath and feeling around for the back. “Yeah, I have two today.”

Gripping the drawer's base, I rattled it around until I could hear the utensil unhook. “Try again,” I told her, backing away.

She smiled over at me, tucking a piece of blonde hair behind her ear and pulling on the drawer. “That’s impressive,” she praised, when the drawer slid open without resistance.

“We had a drawer like that, and the utensils got caught on the wood inside. Just needed a little wiggle.”

Ella watched me for a moment longer before speaking. “Keep that in mind when talking to the guys today. Sometimes, they need a little wiggle to pop loose. Especially the grouchy one. His bark is worse than his bite.” Ella laughed, grabbed the muffin liners from the drawer, and waved them in the air. “Thank you.”

“You’re talking about Arlo King.” I leaned against the counter and she nodded. “And the cupcakes are for?”

“Van Mitchell.” She looked up from where she was popping in liners. There had to be at least six tins on the counter .

“Second base,” I said, trying to remember what positions they all played.

“Left field, you’ll get it straight eventually.” She smiled at me and it warmed the room. “You should come to the party at Hilly’s tonight. It’s a sports diner off campus. I’m going down early to decorate with Zoey and Cael.”

I had almost declined, but the opportunity to see him gnawed at me.

“That would be nice.” I smiled. “I should get to it, wouldn’t want to keep the Captain waiting.”

“He’s cranky today.” Ella laughed, grabbing something from the cupboard. “Take this.”

I stepped back into the kitchen and grabbed what was in her hand. “A chocolate chip muffin?”

“Trust me.” She smiled, and it crinkled delicately at the edges of her scar. “A favor for a favor.”

“Thank you , Ella.” I waved it in the air and made my way through the house to the sitting room where Arlo was sitting on his phone in a dark Hornet’s athletics t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

“Mr. King,” I announced myself as I rounded the corner into the room and held out my hand to him. He stood, slipping his phone into his pocket, and laughed, looking down at the muffin in my palm.

“Did she say I was cranky?” His thick eyebrow raised, and mischief danced across his dark brown eyes. “I’m not cranky!” He hollered back over his shoulder and I heard Ella laugh in the kitchen.

“You two are cute,” I said as he took the muffin and shook my hand. “I’m Mary Matthews, we met briefly at dinner yesterday.”

“I don’t recognize you from any channels,” he practically interrupted, waiting for me to sit on the couch across from him before he settled back down.

“Am I not famous enough for The Arlo King ?” I smiled and grabbed my book from the bag at my feet.

“That’s not what—” He stopped, his brows furrowed. I could tell he wanted to ask the question, so I remained quiet and gave him the chance. “You know the family then? Is that why you took the job? ”

“The Codys?” I said, as if there was anyone else he could be implying. He nodded. “I do. But I’m not here for them. I was sent here to interview the team on their win. Starting with their Captain.”

He waited a moment, staring me over with his lips pressed into a thin line, and then plastered on a smile that could only be described as a ‘Press Smile.’

I hit record on the tape.

“Congrats on the win. It was hard fought, and many people didn’t believe you could make anything out of the team last season. Your last season.” I said, and he narrowed his eyes. “From the very beginning, the Hornets were at a disadvantage.”

A tight, frustrated form of rage flickered over his face.

“At any time, did you question their ability as a team to take them to the World Series?” I asked him and, without hesitation, he ripped out a chunk of muffin and tossed it between his teeth.

“Their ability? Never.” He said carefully, leaning back on the couch, and he seemed relaxed. “Did I question my leadership? Regularly. A team is only as good as every working part. I…” He paused and thought about his words. “Unfortunately, I had been working at half speed the last few years.”

“What changed?” I asked him.

“Everything.” He was quick to answer.

“Are you comfortable elaborating?” I brushed a piece of my hair behind my ear and shifted on the couch as the air in the room became dense. “That felt personal .”

“That,” he pointed at me, lifting his hand from the back of the couch to snap, “right there is the problem.” He nodded. “Reporters all separate the game from the emotion when in reality, the emotions drive the game. If you aren’t feeling everything, you aren’t playing the game as hard as you can.”

“Interesting.” I nodded, urging him to continue.

“I’m not going to pretend I’m perfect, I’m not.” He sat up. “I let my anger fuel most of my decisions until,” he looked over his shoulder toward the kitchen, the movement smooth and almost involuntary, “I was given a new outlook on the team and on myself.”

“Behind every great man.” I smiled at him .

“Exactly,” Arlo sighed. “We all had growing to do, and we did it together. The team is on the right track to continue those wins.”

“So you are leaving?” I asked.

He swallowed hard and set the half-eaten muffin on the table in front of him. “I am.”