Page 48 of All Twerk, No Play

“You were in a rush to get back to the office,” he said before his smile turned playful. “You were so pissed at me that day.”

It took me a minute to recall before I defended, “You waited until the last second to check out!”

“That breakfast was delicious.”

“It took forever to drive back. You took the Bay Bridge for some stupid reason,” I said, weirdly nostalgic about the traffic. “So we didn’t even have the Golden Gate view to enjoy while we sat in the car for hours.”

“You tortured me with your mopey bitch playlist, but refused to sing.”

“Too annoyed. You didn’t earn the right to my voice.”

His smirk fell with a sigh. “Geez, we fought so much.”

I cocked my head in surprise.

“You don’t remember? If we weren’t working, we were fighting. What to eat, when to leave for work, how to fold socks—”

“Balling them up is not folding,” I said, not for the first time.

He grinned at my familiar scolding. “Things between us got so much better when I moved out.”

“I probably just slept better without your snoring. Poor Grace,” I teased, relieved she was the one dealing with his imperfections.

“She made me get a CPAP for my sleep apnea.” His blue eyes lightened like the sun breaking through a cloudy sky. “She helped me dream again.”

He reached for the corkscrew, opening another bottle. “I got so focused on making partner, I lost sight of my dream. When I applied to law school, I wanted what my dad had: a small business that gave him the flexibility to be at my baseball games and Nick’s plays. I wanted a house that felt like a home, my family nearby, and my own family. Now I have the woman I love and our daughter safely asleep inside, with plans to foster more kids. My dream was always about my family.”

His unspoken words hung heavy—and I know that’s not what you want.

“Even choosing Stanford was about being closer to Nick. That’s why I kept sending him the job postings for summer theater near us. And why I hated when he moved to New York City, then landedThe Twelve. His decisions were right for his career, but I …” Alexander’s voice cracked.

I stiffened, barely masking my discomfort. “When did you get so in touch with your feelings, anyway?”

“Falling in love with a social worker has that effect,” he said, making my gut clench. “Made me an optimist too, believe it or not.”

“Rookie mistake,” I scoffed, staring out at a copse of evergreen trees in his yard, looking like they'd been there for centuries.

“Why'd you go to law school, anyway?” he asked, pushing on a bruise he didn’t recognize. “You were already in business school.”

“I’ve told you this,” I snapped, remembering those generic ‘why do you want to be a lawyer’ icebreakers during orientation.

“Did you?” his head tilted, eyes curious but voice bitter. “Or did you just expect me to figure it out?”

I tightened my hold on the stem of my wine glass, feeling a chill run up my spine that had nothing to do with the late winter air.

“I wanted to protect myself,” my voice came out stern, pushing through the lump in my throat. “After Spencer.”

His expression softened. He tugged on his lower lip, a movement that meant he was composing his thoughts. He surprised me when he murmured, “I’m sorry. I could have handled that better.”

My laughter was so strained, it sounded like a seal barking. “You think?”

He shook his head. “To be fair, you could have prepared me better.”

“Wouldn't have mattered. You met my family, then you dumped me.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“Don’t try to rewrite history,” I said, twisting in my chair to point an accusation. “You didn’t even unpack your suitcase.”

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