Play with Me (With Me in Seattle, #3)(47)

“What do you want?” I ask more clearly.

“Well, honey, what do you think I want? You have a new rich boyfriend. I want money.” Sylvia’s voice is raspy from too many cigarettes and heavy with bitterness and just plain mean.

“I just sent you money,” I murmur to her and Will’s scowl deepens.

“Yeah, well, you can afford to start sending me more. What you send me barely covers my bills.”

I close my eyes and run a hand down my face.

“I’m not sending you more money, Sylvia.”

“The f*ck you’re not, you ungrateful little bi-“ I hang up on her, turn my ringer off and throw my phone back in my bag.

“Your mom?” Will asks, hands on his hips, watching my face.

“Yeah.”

“Wants money?”

“That’s all she ever wants.” I start to walk away from him, but he grabs my arm and holds me in place.

“So, we’ll send her money.”

“Hold up.” I face him, square on, and refuse to back down on this. “We aren’t giving her shit. Ever. She found out that we’re seeing each other and thinks she can milk it, but I’ll be f*cking damned if she’ll ever get a dime out of you, do you understand?”

His eyes are narrowed stubbornly, and I grip his upper arms in my hands, trying to get my point across. “Will, seriously, I don’t want you to give her money.”

He exhales, his mouth set in a grim line. “Okay.”

“Promise me.”

“No, I can’t promise you that. But I hear you, Meg.”

“Will…”

“I f*cking hear you. Trust me to respect you and do my best to protect you.”

His face is fierce, and I know he won’t bend on this.

“Okay.”

“So, what’s her deal?” he asks as he takes my hand in his and leads me back in the direction we were heading.

“She’s a junkie, and she thinks I owe her.”

“Why in the hell do you owe her anything?”

“Because she gave birth to me.” I shrug and try to think of something else to talk about. “You know, I’m not wearing any underwear.” Desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Yeah, we’ll get to that. Why do you owe her, Meg?”

“Because after I was taken away from her, I told the cops that she did drugs and sold herself for money and she was arrested and went to jail for a while, and she’s never let me forget that it’s my fault. She’s always been able to find me. Always. So, I give her the money each month and it keeps her in Montana and away from me.”

“Fuck,” Will whispers.

“Look, it’s no biggie. It’s not a lot of money. I don’t need it.”

“That’s not the point. She’s a f*cking bully, babe. Tell her to kiss your ass.”

“It’s just easier this way.” I shrug again and stop him when he tries to argue. “I don’t want to fight about her. She’s not worth any of our time.”

He takes a deep breath in frustration and pushes his fingers through his hair. “Fine.”

“Let’s go check out one of the above ground cemeteries.” I bounce up and down in excitement and he can’t help but laugh at me.

“What is it with you and the dead? And why am I just now learning this about you?”

“It’s N’Awlins, Will. Don’t be a spoil-sport.”



*



“Damn, you can pack away the food. Where do you put it all?” I ask as we enter our hotel suite. More accurately, the penthouse of an old, gorgeous hotel. The furnishings are grand and sturdy and the tapestries are thick and old.

I feel like we’ve stepped back in time each time we walk inside this vast room. It’s beautiful, and way more space than we need, but I know that Will wanted to make this week special.

And he has.

“Meg, as a football athlete, I have to consume almost four-thousand calories a day to maintain enough energy to train the way we do.”

“All the time?” I ask, stunned.

“During the season. In the off season, it’s closer to three-thousand.”

“Holy shit,” I murmur and feel a little bad for constantly tormenting him about the volume of food he eats.

But then I look at him and remember how he laughs when I tease him, and I don’t feel bad anymore. Teasing him is fun.

“There’s something I want to show you,” he murmurs and pulls me to him.

“I’ve seen that before, stud muffin.” I grin up at him and glide my hands up and down his chest as he throws his head back and laughs.

“Not that. Well, not yet, anyway. Come on.”

He leads me out of the room and to the elevator, but instead of pushing the button for the lobby, we go up to the roof. I look up at him in surprise, but he just smiles smugly down at me.

“What are we doing?” I ask.

“You’ll see.”

The doors open to reveal a beautiful rooftop patio, full of plush furniture, large, ornate gold planters boasting cut-leaf rhododendrons, Spanish moss falling down ledges of the balcony, and the tops of banana trees from the courtyard below. We can see across to similar patios on similar hotels, although it’s small enough up here, and the foliage is plush enough that it feels private.