Page 15 of My Trainer Neighbor
I should have said no.Should have gone to my own apartment, ordered takeout, and spent the evening reworking the Carleton campaign.Should have done anything except stand there staring at this man who'd been starring in my inappropriate dreams.
"Can I come in?"
He stepped aside, and I walked into his apartment.It smelled like whatever he'd been cooking, something with garlic and herbs that made my mouth water.
"Have you eaten?"he asked.
"I had a protein bar for lunch."
He gave me a look that suggested protein bars didn't count as real food."I made pasta.There's plenty."
"You don't have to do this."
"Nicole."How he said my name made me stop mid-sentence."When did someone last cook for you?"
There it was again.That question that kept revealing how empty my life had become.
"I don't remember," I admitted.
"Then sit down and let me feed you."
The command in his voice made something flutter low in my stomach.I sat at his dining table and watched him move around the kitchen, serving pasta into bowls and opening a bottle of wine.
"Tell me about this bad day," he said, setting a plate in front of me.
I took a bite of the pasta and nearly moaned.It was better than anything I'd eaten at the expensive restaurants I sometimes went to for work dinners.
"My boss thinks I've forgotten how to feel," I said, then immediately wished I'd kept my mouth shut.
Shawn sat down across from me, his green eyes serious."What do you think?"
"I think he's wrong."But even as I said it, I wasn't sure I believed it.
"When did you last cry?"
The question caught me off guard."What?"
"Cried.Over anything.Happy, sad, frustrated.When did you last let yourself feel something strongly enough to cry about it?"
I opened my mouth to answer, then closed it again.When was the last time?Not when Richard broke up with me, because I'd been too shocked and then too angry.Not when my grandmother died two years ago, because I'd been too busy handling the funeral arrangements.
"I don't cry," I said.
"Everyone cries."
"I don't."I took another bite of pasta, hoping he'd drop it.
He didn't."What about laugh?When did you last really laugh?Not polite business laughter, but actual, genuine amusement?"
I set down my fork, feeling exposed."Why are you asking me this?"
"Because I'm trying to figure out what happened to you."
"Nothing happened to me.I'm exactly who I've always been."
"Bullshit."The word was gentle but firm."Monday night, when I was working on your back, you relaxed.For maybe ten minutes, you let your guard down and just felt good.And you looked surprised by it, like you'd forgotten that was possible."
My face burned at the memory."That was just the massage.It felt nice."
