Page 22 of Fun at Parties
My surveillance activities gave me cover not to interact with him. But now I’m done, and a little carsick from so much screen time. We have three hours left on the road, and I need to make conversation and try not to stare at his soft gray eyes tracking the cars ahead of us, or his hands and forearms—lightly muscled and dusted with golden-blond hair—as he grasps the steering wheel. Why is that so hot? Like,Ooh, this man is in complete command of this wild, powerful steed, this crossover SUV with blind-spot monitoring and remote parking assist.Teenagers have it right. Hormones are completely embarrassing. Especially since I know I don’t affect him the same way.
“How’s work?” I ask, the safest, blandest question available since I’ve already commented, “That was a weird plant,” three times.
“Summer was good. Busy. All our groups were full, plus we had waitlists.” He pauses. “This year I got to implement some of my own ideas, and I think they’re making a difference, which is cool to see. Plus, I’ve been trying to learn more about the financial side of the business from the owners, so I basically worked nonstop.”
“Does work know you might be leaving?”
An odd look crosses his face. “Yeah. Yeah, they know.Everyone there is supportive, so I didn’t have to hide it or anything.”
I feel a twinge of envy, for these faceless coworkers who got to know that Nate had a dream before I did.
Ambitiouswas never a word I’d use to describe him. Once, during the month I stayed with him in L.A., I’d asked what drew him to the job there. Presumably, there were lots of places he could’ve worked as a camp manager. “I guess you didn’t want to run First Cove?”
He gave me a strange look from the other end of the couch. I was stretched out, my ankle grazing his thigh, as we ate bowls of homemade peanut chicken stir-fry. “It’s not like I had a bunch of options. This job fell into my lap, and I needed distance from Seapoint. Besides, running First Cove wasn’t on the table. The Forresters never asked.”
“You could’ve asked them.”
He huffed. “I was fine with being an instructor. I like teaching kids to swim. It’s not like being a fancy doctor or a famous fitness coach, but it’s a good thing.”
I ignored the edge in his voice. “Of course it is. I’m just saying. I’m glad you moved here, but don’t sell yourself short. They wouldn’t be flying you back to run things while Mr. Forrester recovers from his knee replacement if they didn’t respect you.”
His cheeks had turned pink. “That’s only because they’re desperate.”
Nate didn’t think much of himself then, but he clearly wants more now. Which means he finally sees his own worth.
“I’m happy for you,” I say. “This is huge.”
He assesses me, gauging my sincerity, then ducks his chin in a reluctant nod. “How’s work for you?”
“It’s great.” I force a smile. “We’re focused on growth right now, so that’s exciting. The company’s made some changes to give us a boost.” Those statements are true. CycleLove wants us to thrive, and I can’t let myself forget that, no matter how stressful the adjustment has been.
“What kind of changes?”
“They streamlined things by getting rid of the in-studio riders, so now we can focus completely on the riders at home. And Tracy’s given each of us a specific focus, to keep things simpler and more consistent for everyone.” I can’t bring myself to use the phrasedeepening our nicheswith Nate. His eyes will roll straight out of his head and into the desert like a pair of tumbleweeds.
“A specific focus, like hills or intervals?”
“Broader than that. Like the overall experience we provide. Since I’m generally an upbeat person, my rides are light and fun.”
“And you like it?”
I’ve loved spin since I worked at a studio in college. I loved it enough to teach in the mornings and evenings after I got my sales job. Now what I like most is knowing I’m giving a ton of people an experience that’s just for them, that makes their day a little better. Even if I can’t see them anymore. “I’m so lucky,” I say. “People would kill for a job like mine.”
He looks at me. Only for a second before turning back to the road, but in that second, he pierces through my façade to the emptiness underneath. He knows I dodged the question. I had to do it, because I’ve never been goodat lying to Nate, and if I tried to answer him directly, I don’t know what would come out of my mouth.
He doesn’t push it further, but I can practically hear him reading me, judging me, in his head.
A cluster of road signs come into view. “We should stop here for gas,” he says.
Tonopah is an old mining town full of mismatched, flat-roofed buildings of varying heights, like a messy set of teeth. There’s a Western apparel store and a couple casinos mixed in with the used bookstore and post office. Oh, and a clown-themed motel next to an old cemetery.
The rainbow-painted Clown Motel delivers on its namesake. It isburstingwith clowns, the largest of which is two stories tall, wearing a blue-and-pink-striped vest and polka dot pants, flashing the double peace sign and a huge red smile. The open space past the parking lot is dotted with gravestones and crosses. I press my face against the window. “Oh my god. Can we take five minutes to check it out?”
Nate shivers. “There’s no five minutes. If we stop there, they’ll never let us leave. For therest of time.”
I spot a name tag and shriek. “The clown’s name is Jolly!”
“He has murder in his eyes.”
