Page 53 of Before We Came

Ugh. Less charming.

Nate: I promise I’ll be funnier in person. Text you later?

Me: Yup. Thanks for all your help today!

I return to the condo and lay out the paperwork, notes, and meal plans. I need to come up with a menu and schedule. I go through his home and away dates and create a calendar. Before I know it, I’ve got a menu set up for each day for the next eight weeks, along with my grocery days and a program for meal planning prep. Go me. I take out some chicken from the fridge to grill it for an asparagus pesto pasta dish I think he’ll enjoy.

When the elevator dings this time, I do a much better job of extinguishing my excitement. He comes behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, leaning down to rest his chin on my shoulder. We haven’t spoken since last night.

“Hey.”

Sensing he’s about to apologize again, I steer the conversation in a different direction.

“I finished coming up with a menu for the next eight weeks. Ready to take a look?”

“Let’s see it. How much are you going to punish me?”

“It won’t be a punishment. Just because you’re following a dietary plan, doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy what you’re eating. That’s why you hired an incredible chef, remember?” I gesture to myself like a showcase model. I’m not sad at all.

“Oh, is that why?”

“Yeah. Now, pay attention.”

I go over his away week schedule and his one for home. The lunches we’ll be starting off with, baby steps to ease him into a better diet without crashing his GI system. He leaves tomorrow for four days while they play in Colorado, so I also discuss which foods he should look for on menus when he goes out to eat with the team.

Something catches his gaze, and he grabs my legal pad and slowly pulls it out from under some of the other papers. Pointing to Nate’s note and phone number, his jaw tics. I forgot about that.

“What’s this?”

I sigh, not wanting to discuss it. “He asked me out for a drink. It’s nothing.”

“Poor guy, what did you tell him?”

I shrug. “I’m considering it.”

His face contorts like I’ve handed him a bag of cat food and said,Enjoy your meal.

“What is there to consider?” He angles his body at me as I walk to the fridge and grab a drink. “Tell him you’re not interested.”

That pisses me off. I don’t like being told what to do in my personal life.

“Are you serious right now?” I scoff. “You have women dropping themselves at your feet every night—sometimes they even deliver themselves to your living room. And who said I’m not interested? Maybe I want to escape for a good time with someone who doesn’t look at me with pity so I can forget I missed out on so many years with all the people I love. Just because my life is a mess, doesn’t mean I don’t still have needs—I have to live with some autonomy.”

He stalks toward me and steps into my personal space, but I refuse to back down to his intimidation.

“Then you tellmewhat you need. Come on, let’s hear it. Tell me what you want. You had no problem doing it the other night!”

“Don’t patronize me. You don’t get to tell me how to live my life because you think you know me.”

“You don’t give anyone a chance to know you! And Ineversaid you were weak. You are far from it. Giving control doesn’t mean losing autonomy. No one can control you unless you hand over the reins and let go. But for the record, I get the impression you like when I boss you around a little, and I know personally you’re strong enough to take it too.”

This motherfucker.

“You have no clue what I want.”

It’s a lie. I want all of that. My blood pressure is rising. Despite my attempts to push him away, he keeps pushing back. Why won’t he give up already? Even in the face of my anger, I want to feel his hands and lips all over my body, grabbing, squeezing, and yeah, I get off on him telling me what to do. That pisses me off even more.

I’m aware this fight has become an outlet for all the frustration mounting over the last few weeks, but I can’t stop yelling. It feels too good to get it all out.

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