And here we go.
“I’m not being a dick about what happened eight years ago.”
“You still haven’t read the emails I sent you!”
“What difference does it make?”
“If you read them it might change everything.”
Exactly.
I have nothing to say to that.
“You are such a scaredy-cat,” she says, matter-of-factly.
“I’m not.”
“You are. You’re a scaredy-cat who’s scared of baby cats and the woman who knows you better than anyone. Which is me, by the way. You’re being a stubborn ass, and it’s boring.”
“Oh, is it?” I guess those nachos she ate were a little spicy.
“Yeah. Did you read the book I gave you yet?”
“I mean, it’s only been a few hours, but yeah, I read a couple of chapters.”
“And? What’s your asshole review?”
“The kitten was not impressed by John Green’s prose.”
She snorts. “I haven’t read any of it yet.”
“Well, I’m not going to wait for you to catch up.”
“Well, I’m not going to wait for you to catch up either,” she says, languidly turning her head in my direction.
I turn onto her street and pull up outside her house. Put on the parking brake. Close the app. Leave my phone on the dashboard mount. I don’t unlock the doors. Her house is cute. I like it for her. She’s left the porch light on. I wonder if she thought she was going to bring some random guy home tonight or if she has it on a timer. “You’re home,” I say.
“I know.” She looks straight ahead when she sighs and then says, “Look, I don’t believe in playing games. I really don’t.” She sounds so rational I almost believe she’s sober. “Cindy told me not to play games with you…” She looks over at me again. “But I think you want me to.”
Uh-oh.
“The thing is, Bradley, I feel good. I spent three months feeling bad. Years, maybe, even. And I feel good again. I feel good in my body and I feel good because I’m with you. Even though you’re being a stubborn ass, I’d rather be with you than with someone who isn’t being a stubborn ass. I wasn’t sure if Icould ever find my way back to myself—the part of myself I lost after you left. But I feel that spark again, and it’s because of you, even when you’re being a dickhead.”
“I’m glad you feel good, but I can’t date you, Vivian. I don’t date my training clients. It’s gym policy.”
“Jim who? Let me talk to him.” She smirks, but there’s sadness in her eyes, and I can’t look at her.
“It’s a strict gym policy that I expect my employees to adhere to and that I myself have been adhering to.”
“Easy fix. You’re fired.” She unbuckles the seat belt, maneuvers the seat back a few inches, and turns her body to face me.
“Your sister hired me.”
“Then I quit.”
“I still won’t date you.”
“So what you’re saying is you want me to date other guys?”