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Zak shakes his head at me as he finishes off his drink. Then he rinses his cup before putting it into the dishwasher.
See? Such a great catch.
Although him doing his own dishes in his own house isn’tthatimpressive.
I shake the thought away, because heisgreat.
He breezes by me, making his way to the couch, and turns the TV on to CNN. I follow after him and sit on the arm of the black leather chair so that I can face him.
“Just for fun,” I say, “whatwouldbe the worst-case scenario with Genessa?”
Zak lets out a dramatic breath. “I’m not cheating on you, Meg. She’s just a friend.”
Yay!
…I guess. That’s the answer I’ve been looking for, but something about the conversation unsettles me.
“Okay. I believe you.”
“Gee, thanks,” he mutters under his breath.
Unfortunately, I’ve never been good at quitting while I’m ahead, so I press on. “It’s fine that you have women that are friends, but…”
Zak stares at me with so much annoyance, I hesitate before finishing.
“...It seems like you guys are really tight, and I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that.”
“Really tight? You made that assumption based off of…what? A single phone call?”
“No, a text. She said she’s excited to see you and wants to make plans with you. And her picture came up when she called. I don’t have pictures of my guy friends on my phone.” I actually don’t have any guy friends, but I don’t think now is the time to mention that.
Zak turns the TV off and drops the remote onto the couch next to him, like he can’t believe he has to suffer through this conversation. “The picture isn’t a big deal. I snapped it one day while we were working out.”
Yes, her hot pink sports bra was a good indicator of that.
“But, yeah,” he says. “I guess we’re tight. We work out together, and sometimes after CrossFit we grab breakfast at the protein place by our gym.”
“You go out to breakfast with her? Alone?”
“Sometimes.”
“Why would you want to go out alone with another woman? There isn’t another man that I’d want to spend time with besides you.”
I realize I sound completely clingy, but I can’t help it.
He rests his arm over the back cushion, raising his fingers up as he talks. “I don’t know. Things are easy with her. There’s no pressure like there is with you.”
Bam!
His words are a Rocky Balboa knockout punch. I’m essentially lying on the ground with the referee leaning over me, counting to ten.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
“Wait,” I say, refusing to let the fight be called. “Why do you feel pressure with me?”
