Page 60 of My Cosplay Escape
Chapter Eighteen
I still don’t do well with rejection, and I think tonight I might have broken the rowing machine.
Now it’s early-morning hours at the gym. My Catstrike suit is buried under my towel and shower flip-flops, and most of the sane world is sleeping. I, on the other hand, am swearing up a storm at the rowing clips that have my sneakers in their unyielding grip.
I wanted to kiss Adam since he took me back to his place and let me cry myself to sleep on his couch. And when I woke up, sure, I felt panic, but I also felt that warmth. That radiating, cozy, safe feeling only grew—that wasn’t because I was eventually wearing his hoodie. It was first-kiss energy, the chemistry, the build-up, the understanding, the communion.
Maybe not communion.Communionis a fudged-up word.
But the feeling was there. And why the fudge didn’t I do something about it then? Why did I wait until we were shouting at each other in his car, and Adam thought I was a different woman?
I licked Nightbat Adam (if it even was Adam) because I was cosplaying and fooling around. I kissed Adam tonight because—
That slow, warm creep starts up again inside me. It’s the kind of feeling that comes from watching too many happily ever afters and hoping that someday it’s going to be you nibbling on Prince Charming’s bottom lip. Fudge brownies. I wrestle my sneakers out of the foot clamps and stumble over to a treadmill, where I punch buttons until it beeps back at me.
Tony hits the emergency stop button. “No. Not that treadmill. That one’s scared of you.”
“It’s a treadmill,” I say. I should have said,Leave me alone if you value your life, but that would have meant more words. Fudge words.
“It is a treadmill—one that you’ve worn the belt out on. Twice. Move to the next one and pound it into submission.”
I do what Tony says and start my run at a sprint. The better to clear my mind. The harder I work my body, the easier it is to let the dangerous thoughts slip away and realize I’m mostly angry with myself.
Tonight, I got carried away by cosplay yet again. Simple as that. Adam and I aren’t anything, and I certainly don’t have any real feelings for him. That kiss was adrenaline and latent comic book fantasies. Being acquainted in real life has nothing to do with it. So we know each other, big deal. We can keep things in the friend zone indefinitely. My rules allow for the friend zone.
It’s four thirty a.m., and the sky is already lightening when I head home. My phone rings.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Hey, Sarah. How’s it going?” Holy blast from the past. It’s my ex-husband.
I groan. This night…
“Listen,” Daniel says, and his insufferable voice, honeyed with arrogant privilege, makes me cringe. “I’m writing my memoir.”
“Your memoir?”
“Turns out I have a lot more life experience than our peers. You know, having been both a husband and a father. I have you to thank for that.”
I am speechless. But not in a good way.
“Listen, my dad seems to think that I need your consent to publish this. He asked me if I’d run it by you. Always thinking like a lawyer.” He laughs, but my blood freezes and throat constricts. The first time I met Daddy Ray, he told me all about the surge in custody cases his enormous, well-respected law firm had taken on. He described in detail how simple it is to bend facts to grant a father full guardianship of a child when the mother outright refuses to marry.
“He drafted some papers that you need to sign. You don’t mind, of course.”
He presses on before I can say anything. “I already wrote the first two chapters, sent it off to Molly. She’s an editor, friend of the family. Molly loved them. Wants to see more. Says she can’t wait for my Africa chapters.”
“I thought you were in China,” I say.
“Yeah, but Africa is on my radar.” He sounds exasperated.
“Daniel,” I say. Nothing gets his attention like his own name. “Why can’t you do what everyone else does and change the names and call it a novel?”
“Authenticity, Sarah. The unauthentic life is not worth living. I learned that from you.”
Is that supposed to be deep?
“Listen, my dad drafted up some waivers and stuff, basically just saying you’re cool with everything. He sent them to me to sign, and now I have to mail them to you for your countersignature. When you get them, I need you to sign both and then send the original back a-sap.” There’s a pause and then snickering. “You can keep the other copy for your legal team.”
