Page 46 of Overtime
Sure will. I won’t miss a single detail.
I bend down to leave my bag on the entrance floor with less difficulty than before. Maybe the blow to my head sucked in all the pain my body is able to produce, which is why my uterus is starting to cooperate. I shimmy out of my coat and turn it around to inspect the back. The vibrant emerald I so love hasturned into gunky, brown splotches. Even worse, I can perfectly see the shape of my butt in them.
Ugh. I’m going to have to dry clean it. And if that doesn’t work, I may cry. It’s my favorite one.
But then something else occurs to me. “Aran, tell me the truth.”
His response is to grunt, but he keeps washing his hands as if I haven’t spoken.
“Is my hair a cakey, slushy mess?”
“Why do you think I’m washing my hands?”
I expel all the air in my lungs. Great, now I’ll have to wash my hair tonight, even though I wasn’t planning to wash it for another couple of days.
“This day really is the worst,” I mumble as I climb onto the barstool.
Aran chooses to latch on to my words and asks, “Why?”
“You mean aside from how I showed an elite hockey athlete my abysmal skating skills?”
“I would not call that skating.”
It’s as if a dam breaks, and I explode into laughter. It’s either this or bursting into a fountain of tears. Aran watches me in impassive silence as he dries his hands with a cloth towel.
“Okay, I will reveal all my secrets to you, Aran Rodriguez. I’m walking funny because I’m on my period and it hurts. Like someone’s trying to shovel their way out through my womb.”
I keep snort-laughing. If that’s not enough to formally friend zone myself, I don’t know what else would.
“Then I had to go to the first dress fitting for my sister’s wedding. Which is great. Don’t get me wrong! I’m super happy for Meg and Justin, but super miserable for myself because it means putting up with my mom as she criticizes every inch of my fat body. Like critiques alone have the power to smooth it all down to a perfect size four or something, you know? Oh! Andthat’s excluding the veiled mockery about how I can’t even find a plus-one for the freaking wedding. It’s only two months away, Mom! Where am I going to find a boyfriend that quick? I’m busy getting ready for my book release!”
He hangs the towel back on the oven handle and slides over to the fridge, where he starts grabbing stuff to put on the counter by the stove.
“And that whole torture should’ve lasted, I don’t know, a couple of hours, max?” I expel an exaggeratedhahand continue. “Of course not. Five hours. Five freaking hours of trying on one hideous dress after another, because apparently, if you’re of a certain size, you deserve to be punished with ugliness. And then?—”
Aran sets a large bowl on the kitchen island across from me. He blinks up, as if surprised that there’s more.
“I was supposed to meet with one of my students. But he canceled, because guess what? Apparently, he doesn’t need tutoring anymore, which, good for him, I guess, but now I’ll have less income. Which is just exactly what any student not on a scholarship needs, am I right?” I throw my hands in the air. “All I want is to write my silly little hockey romance without much drama—I mean drama in my life. The book will have plenty of it. Is that too much to ask?”
Aran presses his hands against the counter, which moves him a smidge closer to me. Even though there’s a whole slab of granite between us, it feels like he’s too close. I clamp my mouth closed. Heat spreads across my cheeks. It’s half embarrassment at my outburst and half because of his sheer physicality.
This must be what I feel when I glance at him. It’s not a crush. It’s good old-fashioned attraction. The biological kind you can’t help but feel when a superior specimen of your desired sex flaunts in front of you.
“I know you’re vegetarian, but do you have any food allergies? Intolerance?”
“Um, no?”
“Is that a question or a statement?”
“A firm no.” I scratch my head and wince.
“I can help you with some of your problems,” he says as he grabs a yellow bag and opens it carefully, without spilling any flour. “Ibuprofen for the pain.”
“Oh, yes. Actually.”
“And also with the hockey romance.” We both remain suspended in silence for a moment. Then he blinks real slow. “With the hockey part, I mean.”
I sag a bit.
