Page 36 of Drilled (Dad Bod Contracting 2)
She shakes her head, sighing, and waves a hand to cut me off. “It’s fine. You know how I feel, and I know how you feel, and there’s just no point in talking about it. I’m sorry I brought it up. I won’t do that anymore.” She shrugs. “You’re gonna do what you’re gonna do—and if you’re happy with your flavor of the day, month, week, year, or whatever, that’s your business. I’m your best friend and I’ll love you no matter what, regardless. Even if I think you’re being stupid.”
“There’s no flavor of anything, I’ll have you know,” I snap, a little too testily.
“What about going back to your endless parade of empty, meaningless, casual sex?” she asks.
I eye Jesse, knowing whatever I say will most likely get back to Franco.
He holds up both hands, scooting away from Imogen’s arms and heading for the backyard. “There’s…um…I left a tool in the backyard.”
When he’s gone, I look back at Imogen. “There’s no parade,” I tell her.
She seems surprised, and I can tell she’s still annoyed. “No? Why not?”
I shrug. “I just…I don’t know. I’ve been too busy.”
She frowns. “And I call bullshit.”
“I’ve been working thirteen hours a day, and I’ve had meetings all over the state the past few weeks. I’ve been busy.”
She just snorts. “Don’t forget, I knew you in college. You worked a full-time job, took sixteen credit hours, and still managed to find time to party, study, and hook up. So…sorry, honey, but I don’t buy it.”
I sigh. “Sometimes I wish you didn’t know me so well.”
She gives me a long look. “You can’t do it, can you?”
I lift an eyebrow. “Can’t do what?”
“Make yourself sleep with anyone else, now that you’ve been with Franco.” She points at me. “You’re hung up on the man. You just can’t admit it.”
“No, that’s not it!” Instead of looking at her, I fiddle with my phone, and then the strap of my purse. “I’m just busy.”
She just laughs. “You can lie to me all you want, Audra. I’m still calling bullshit, but I’m not going to push it because, in the end, you can’t lie to yourself.”
“So supportive,” I drawl, wryly.
She just shrugs again. “Yeah, well, supporting you doesn’t mean I have to like or agree with what you’re doing.”
“I have to go.”
She hugs me. “I love you, always, forever, and no matter what.”
“I love you too, even when you’re wrong.”
She laughs. “I’m not the one who’s wrong, you are!”
I make my escape before either of us can say anything else.
I have a fitness/Crossfit/personal trainer seminar in Chicago the following weekend. I’m staying in a really nice hotel with an amazing view of Lake Michigan. The seminar is an all-day thing and, fortunately, that translates into staying mentally occupied the whole time, so that I can’t and don’t even try to think about anything but work all weekend. I finally get a little downtime after the seminar has ended on Sunday, and I end up at the bar in the event hotel, sipping red wine, watching the crowd, and trying not to let myself think about anything in particular. I nurse my wine, since haven’t been interested in heavy drinking since my bender a couple of months ago.
When my glass is nearly empty, a big male body comes to sit in the seat next to mine. I look up, and see that it’s one of the speakers from the seminar, a self-proclaimed Crossfit expert. Having watched several of his videos online, and participated in his workshop workouts at the seminar, I can’t really say he’s not an expert. His name is…Matt? Matty? Matthias? Something like that. He’s sexy, all right: six-something, dark hair, dark eyes, clean shaven, tattooed all over his chest, arms, hands, and legs, pierced ears—a real bad boy rock star look. Plus, he’s absolutely shredded, a fact he’s obviously not shy about sharing with the world, since his videos are all of him in low-slung shorts without a shirt. Even now, he’s dressed like he either just came from the gym, or is about to go, despite the fact that I know neither is true—black shorts cling to his butt and show off his thighs, a tight, sleeveless muscle shirt with his brand logo on it, which is cut to show off his arms, chest, and abs. Overall, the package he presents is visually appealing, but more than a little vain, if not downright egotistical.
He smiles, showing off perfect, blindingly white teeth. “Hey, I’m Matty.”
I shake his hand. “Audra.”
“Nice to meet you, Audra.” His smile widens, and he leans toward me. “You’re at the seminar here, right?”
I nod. “Yeah. You’re one of the presenters.”
He all but preens at being recognized. “Yeah. Matty Corcoran. I run the Shred-Ninety program.”
I nod again. “Nice. I did a few of the workshops this weekend. Good stuff. Really smart programming.”
