Page 53 of Two to Tango

I raise my head at her vulnerability, her breathless begging. Her sass is gone and she’s just here, with me, stunning, wanting this as much as I do.

I hoist her higher, my eyes closing. And in my darkness, I come to my senses a little.

‘Fuck, Izzy, I don’t have anything.’ I break the contact of our upper bodies and drop my head back in frustration. ‘I can’t.’

‘What?’

I lower her legs to the floor and run a hand over my wet face, trying to think with my head and not my hard-on.

‘You have no idea how much I want to, Izzy, but I can’t.’

‘I’m on birth control.’

I grimace, wanting her so much I could burst, but… ‘It doesn’t matter. I can’t, Izzy. It’s double or nothing for me when it comes to this stuff.’

She turns off the shower, but her eyes still fill with water. I’ve hurt her. Or embarrassed her. Either way, I’m so freaking sorry. But I tell her again, ‘I just can’t.’

She barges past me, leaving me standing alone in the cubicle. Shit.

When I leave the shower, I find my wet shorts and pull them on before unlocking the door to the pool. The energy I had moments ago is gone. I retrieve my T-shirt and pull it over my head as I move into the main changing area.

Izzy is already half-dressed. I stand at a distance behind her, afraid to move closer. ‘Izzy…’ I have no idea what to say to her.

She meets my eyes through the mirror, then turns her back on me. Outside the changing room, there’s no sign of the reporters. I trudge up to my office and change into dry jeans and a clean T-shirt. I don’t care what time it is; I’m done. What the hell was I thinking?

In reception, I tell Charlie, ‘I’m going home.’

Her brows scrunch as she checks her watch. ‘Is everything okay, boss?’

Her words fall on my back as I leave.

I walk home via the convenience store and pick up what I need for one of Izzy’s salads.

It was the right thing to do, I tell myself. Since Cady, I’ve been careful with every woman. I’ve always had backup contraception. Her covered, me covered. The one time I didn’t do that was eighteen years ago. That didn’t work out so well.

But the look on Izzy’s face. I’m not sure I’ll ever forget it.

Hours after the shower incident, I’m eating my salad alone on my sofa with my guitar next to me. It dawns on me that I miss her. As crazy as it sounds, I even miss arguing with her. I wonder if there’s any part of her that’s missing me too.

19

BROOKS

Day 4

Rather than eating breakfast alone, I have Angie rustle up my green shake in the bistro. There is no sign of Izzy all morning. I keep checking between my PT sessions, and when I have half an hour to myself, I find myself sitting at my desk, staring at the empty chair next to me.

At lunchtime, Angie makes me a garden salad and I eat on a stool, talking to her both for company and for distraction. I miss Izzy. I don’t know how or why but I do. You know the phraseI’ve missed you like a hole in the head? It’s supposed to mean, you wouldn’t miss a hole in your head, therefore you don’t miss the person you’re talking about, right? Well, suppose you did have a hole in your head. It’s painful as hell most of the time but one day it closes up. The ache is gone and it feels like something that has become a part of you has disappeared. That’s the only way I can describe the peculiar way I wish Izzy was here. I miss her like a hole in the head.

At two thirty, the agreed-upon time for our Saturday salsa session, I head up to Studio A. The number of reporters is fewer by half today, no doubt because it’s the weekend. I have no idea whether Izzy will show, so I have no idea what to say to them. I just stand in the middle of the room, waiting. Feeling exposed and ridiculous.

After five minutes of standing around, my legs seem to lose their energy and I sit on the floor in the middle of the room.

‘Where is she, Brooks?’ Steve Sitwell asks.

‘I really don’t know, man. Sorry.’

After ten minutes, I lie back on the wood floor, my knees bent. Two reporters leave. I don’t care. I just want to see her and say I’m sorry.

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