Page 35 of Nanny for the Damaged Ex-SEAL

"Which is what you've been doing. You stay out whenever you know I'm home and only come back with Ethan."

"Why would I do that?" she asks again.

"Was the sex bad?"

"Oh my God!"

"It's a question that you need to answer."

She eats the last of her cereal and walks over to pour the left over milk into the sink. "I don't have to answer any question I don't want to answer," she responds as she washes off her bowl and spoon.

I swing the stool around to face her. "Well, you have to answer this question, because it has to do with me."

She arranges the bowl in the rack. "Are you always like this?"

"Like what?"

"Difficult."

"How am I being difficult? Just answer the question. You're the one being difficult."

"What question? What does my going out have to do with you? Am I not allowed to spend my time however I please? I do my job, right? I take good care of Ethan, so what does me going out have to do with you?" she says with one hand on her hip.

"You’re deflecting. I'm not questioning the fact that you spend your time how you please," I say, drawing air quotes with my fingers. “All I'm asking is why you're avoiding me."

"So, I have to be avoiding you to stay out and do whatever I like with my time?"

I sigh and get off the stool. "You keep answering questions with questions. And that just shows you’re guilty. You're avoiding me and you know it. If the sex was that bad, just say it," I say as get off the stool and move closer to her.

She backs away and goes to grab her bag off the dining table. "You're acting like a jealous boyfriend. And you're not even my boyfriend. It was a mistake. Let's just pretend it never happened, okay?" she snaps her bag off the table, slings it over her shoulder and walks out.

She leaves me standing there with a dent to my ego. Jealous? Jealous? A mistake? Okay, maybe we shouldn't have had sex. But insisting it was a mistake means I'm a mistake, right? It means I'm worth nothing. So wanting to know if I'm a bad lay now translates to me being jealous? Why would I be jealous? What I'm feeling isn't jealousy. Not in the least. I'll show you jealous, Aria.

"Don't slouch. Yes, straighten up your back. Yes, like that," I say to one of my clients at the gym.

"It's so hard. Slouching makes it easier."

"Slouching gives you bad form and causes injuries. We don't want that. And while pushing back up, thrust your hips forward."

"Oh my God. It's so hard! Can't we fast forward so I can get to the part where I look like you? I just want muscle, I don’t want to work out all the time."

"That's not possible. It takes consistency. I worked hard to get this body. Well, genes helped me too."

He throws down the weight. "You see, you lucked out. My genes are shit," he says, breathing heavily.

"They're not. You can better your body. Let's go another round. Come on."

He picks up the weight reluctantly and starts the squat again while I count.

"Connor."

I turn to see what's up. My colleague, a fellow personal trainer, is walking toward me with a woman in tight pink leggings and a pink sports bra.

"Connor, this is Miranda," he says when they reach me.

I reach out my hand. "Nice to meet you, Miranda."

"Hi," she says. She takes my hand and doesn’t let it go.

---