Page 44 of Mr. Big Shot

“Should I expect a plus-one?”

“When’s the last time I brought a woman home to meet you?”

She doesn’t even have to think before she replies, “2004.”

“Right.”

I’ve been in relationships since then, but none I felt were worth bringing in front of a family audience.

“Well I just thought I’d ask. Here, connect me to Lucy and I’ll get the real answer.”

“Don’t interrogate Lucy about my love life.”

“What love life?!” Lucy shouts back.

I really need to get better about closing my door.

“Just me,” I confirm to my mom.

“All good.” Her voice softens. “I can’t wait to see you, kid.”

“Same here. Love you.”

“You too.”

I was going to rely on fate to bring Scarlett and me together in the gym, but with this closing, I end up emailing to let her know I won’t make it down to work out until close to 9. I figure she’ll beg off. Just because it’s a hard week for me doesn’t mean she has to be in the office that late. The snow has picked up again; everyone wants to be home, cozy in front of their fire.

Her email comes back right away.

See you then.

I stare at those three words, trying to quell the pure elation. Then my phone rings. Someone with questions about the closing, no doubt. I click away from the email and answer it before the second ring.

As I expected, the gym’s a little less crowded than usual when I arrive. Scarlett and I will have the back corner to ourselves while we train. She’s already on the treadmill doing her warm-up; she sees me in the mirror but doesn’t smile or nod. We play chicken with each other, seeing who’s going to be the one to cave first.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m working through a series of bench presses when she leans up against the railing nearby to watch me.

“Don’t…interrupt me,” I say, focusing to push the weights up. I went heavy tonight because I’ve got energy to burn. I’ve been stuck at my desk all day.

“I was just saying hi,” she remarks, all innocence.

“See? I lost count.”

“You were on twelve.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s too embarrassing to admit.”

I laugh and then holster the heavy weights before I accidentally send myself to the hospital because I’m too distracted by Scarlett. I sit up and wipe my hands on a towel, taking my sweet time before I give in to the urge to look at her. I’m sure I look cranky, but she doesn’t even balk.

She’s wearing an electric blue workout set tonight: skintight leggings that thank the lord are high-waisted and a scoop-neck sports bra that doesn’t do enough to conceal her cleavage. I haven’t seen the outfit before, and I know that for a fact because I catalogue everything she wears to the gym in my mind for future reference. If HR had access to my thoughts…oof. I’d be fired ten times over.

“Almost done?” she asks, propping her hands on her hips. For a second, I imagine her hands are my hands. I wonder what she’d feel like, how smooth…

“No,” I bite out brusquely.

She frowns. “Well too bad. I’m ready for you.”

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