Page 65 of Loathe at First Sight

At least that’s what I’m going to tell myself until the cows come home.

By the time I’m done for the day, I’m feeling much better. It’s amazing what some hydration, a hot shower, and some aspirin can do. I feel almost human again. As much as I don’t want to apologize to Jack, I know that I have to.

It’s amazing that I found someone that I have something in common with around here, and I manage to ruin any fun we could possibly have together.

Story of my life—alienate everyone who could possibly give a shit about me.

Okay, enough of the self-pity. Time to get this over with.

I’m happy it’s not a long walk to the auto shop since I still don’t have my car back. The door is unlocked even though I’m pretty sure it’s after hours.

“Hello?” I call when I walk inside. I see my car in the corner, all taken apart and looking so sad. It doesn’t look quite so sleek and sporty in this condition.

No one answers me, but I hear some music coming from a door to my right. Maybe I should just leave, but I’d rather get this over with. So, I walk to the door.

When I crack it open, I see a staircase leading to a basement. The rock music thumps through some loud speakers. I take my chances and head down the stairs.

When I reach the bottom, I stop and stare. Jack is lying on a weight bench and lifting a large, weighted barbell off of his chest. My eyes stay fixed on his large arms which are fully visible in the tank top he’s wearing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen his arms much above his elbows since he’s always in t-shirts or long sleeves.

His veins snake up his forearms in ropes and disappear beneath all the tattoos on his biceps—the biceps that bulge with every lift of the weights.

I’m not normally one that goes for the big-muscled type, but those arms of his are doing something to me. I can feel the feminism disappearing from my body every time he lifts the barbell.

When he finishes up, he sits up and spots me.

“Liz? What are you doing here?”

“Can I talk to you?” I practically shout over the music.

He stands up and walks over to press pause on his phone.

The music stops, and he says, “Alright. What do you want to talk about?”

“I came to apologize.”

He walks over to grab a towel and wipe his brow. “For what?”

“For last night. I was pretty awful.”

“Well, I wish I could say I disagree with you, but I won’t.”

I let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, I deserve that. It’s not an excuse, but I think the alcohol coupled with everything I’ve been keeping bottled up, I just exploded. Thank you for getting me out of there when you did.”

“Liz, I know what it’s like to carry around a lot of rage. That’s something I understand far too well. But one thing I had to learn was that it’s not healthy to keep all of that with you. You have to let it go, or it will eat you alive.”

I look down and pick at my fingernails. “Yeah, I’m starting to realize that.”

“Liz, why are you so angry?” He walks over to a tiny fridge in the corner of the workout room, pulls out two bottles of water, and hands one to me.

There’s a chair not far from the fridge that he grabs for me to sit down on. Meanwhile, he sits down on a giant rubber workout ball.

When I don’t immediately respond, he asks, “How long are you going to let all of this consume you?”

I take a deep breath before beginning to speak. “I just never thought I’d be back here. It’s not that I hate this town. That’s not it. But when I was younger, I always dreamed of leaving and conquering the world. I wanted to make a name for myself. I went to college and decided to start my own realty business.”

I sip the water before continuing. “I started small—just selling some condos here and there, but finally, I started to branch out. A friend from college came to me, offering to be an investor. He’d always talked about having family money, and the way he carried himself, I never doubted it. We eventually became partners. I was the face of the company, but he did a lot of the work behind the scenes. I showed the houses, and he did the paperwork. He told me that he never wanted me to give up any creative control, so everything in the business stayed in my name. I thought I had the perfect gig.”

“But it wasn’t,” Jack interjects.

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