Chapter Twelve Inclined to Jealousy
Chapter Twelve
Inclined to Jealousy
Dani
Simone Clarke asked me to dinner in front of Amy on purpose. I respected the strategy and hated the result.
It happened after my Thursday, June twenty-sixth, conditioning class.
Simone taught high school history, ran fast enough to make hills look optional, and carried the confidence of someone who could leave any room without needing approval.
She was also attractive. That had never been a problem before Amy.
“Great class,” she said, toweling her face.
“Your lunges got lazy.”
“History remembers whoever writes the textbook.”
I laughed. Across the studio, Amy packed her resistance band into her bag. She wore the blue shorts and had listened to the exchange from the first word.
Simone followed my gaze. “So the relationship is real?”
“We are in the challenge.”
“That did not answer me.” She lowered her voice without making the conversation private. “I have been thinking about asking you to dinner.”
Before the challenge, I might have accepted. Simone was funny, direct, and unlikely to require emotional excavation. Now the idea felt like stepping away from something I had already entered.
Amy lifted her bag. “You should go.”
Simone’s eyebrows exposed the mistake.
“Should I?” I asked.
“It is your decision.”
“Do you want me to?”
Amy straightened. “The agreement protects your private romantic life.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the available one.”
Simone looked between us, increasingly entertained. “I can ask another time.”
“No,” Amy said.
“Probably,” I said at the same moment.
Simone laughed. “Healthier than dating apps.”
I made the choice before Amy could retreat further. “I am going to say no.”
“Because of the challenge?” Simone asked.
“Because I am not available.”
The distinction landed with both women. Simone accepted it without injury.
“Offer expires respectfully.” On her way out, she complimented Amy’s shorts, told her I had good taste, and left Amy rearranging the same towel twice.
“You were free to accept,” Amy said.
“Yes. She seems compatible with you.”
“She runs?”
“And she is confident.”
“So are you.”
“Not socially.”
“You announced a marathon at an engagement party.”
“That was emotionally intoxicated judgment.”
I smiled despite myself. “We should cool down.”
“We should not discuss this further.”
She climbed onto Geraldine and set the recovery run to three-percent incline.
“The plan says one,” I said.
“The range allows adaptation.”
“Not jealousy adaptation.”
“I am not jealous.”
She raised the incline to four. I stopped the belt.
“You ended the workout.”
“You are not running angry on a recovery day.”
“I am not angry.”
“Then say Simone should ask again.”
Amy opened her mouth. Nothing came out.
“Rule four,” she said.
“No jealousy.”
“Yes.”
“Rules exist because something might happen.”
“This will not.”
“You are standing on a stopped treadmill at four-percent incline.”
“That is evidence of poor judgment.”
“Tell me the truth.”
Her hand moved toward the watch, then stopped. “I did not like it.”
“Her asking me out?”
“Yes.”
Relief moved through me, dangerous and immediate.
“Why?”
“I do not know.”
“That is honest.”
“I dislike it.”
“You do not have to know yet.”
“That sounds like something you say while avoiding answers.”
Fair. I kept my hands on the console.
“Should I have accepted?”
“No,” she said quietly. “I am glad you did not.”
No cameras. No audience. No emergency kiss. I wanted to touch her and did not.
“Thank you for telling me.”
Amy restarted Geraldine at one percent. I took the treadmill beside her.
“You are running too?”
“Easy twenty.”
She glanced at my watch. “According to your plan?”
Her question reminded me she had begun tracking my mileage. I had increased it quietly—not toward a marathon, I told myself. Only enough to prove I had not stopped being a runner.
“Yes,” I said.
We ran side by side without discussing what unavailable meant. Our reflections moved together in the windows. At the end, Amy reduced her speed before the timer forced her. I did the same.
I told myself the Simone incident had clarified things.
Amy did not want me dating someone else.
I did not want to date someone else. This did not make the relationship real.
It made the temporary boundaries more efficient.
That reasoning survived until Saturday. Saturday was the challenge’s community open house, where each couple led a short activity for new gym members.
Amy and I had been assigned a beginner treadmill demonstration.
Blake called it “full-circle storytelling.”
I called it proof that management enjoyed psychological warfare. Amy wore the coral shoes, blue shorts, and bright blue top. The complete outfit. My heart had no professional response. She stood beside Geraldine explaining treadmill safety to six new members.
“The emergency clip attaches to your clothing and the machine,” she said.
I leaned toward the group.
“She learned that through field research.”
Amy did not look at me.
“Failure to connect both ends renders the system useless.”
“A historic day.”
“One error does not define a person.”
“Character growth.”
The members laughed. Amy pressed the incline button harder than necessary.
We demonstrated starting speed, walking posture, and safe transitions.
She was good. Clear without being intimidating.
Careful without overexplaining. When one woman appeared nervous about stepping onto the moving belt, Amy slowed the machine and stood beside her.
“There is no correct speed except one you can control,” she said.
The instruction was mine. Not word for word, but the meaning. Pride rose in me. Amy noticed me watching.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re smiling.”
“You’re a good teacher.”
For once, no joke followed.
“Thank you.”
Blake filmed the interaction. The clip would probably become content.
For once, I did not care. After the demonstration, Amy went to the café for water.
I remained behind to reset the machines.
When I finished, I found her near the front windows with Evelyn.
Evelyn stood close. Too close. One hand rested lightly on Amy’s forearm. The touch was polite.
Friendly. Possibly accidental. My body interpreted it as a declaration of war.
I stopped beside the café entrance. Vanessa was nowhere nearby.
Evelyn said something I could not hear. Amy shook her head.
Evelyn’s hand remained. I knew Amy could handle her ex.
I knew I had no right to interfere. I knew rule four applied in both directions. I walked toward them.
“Amy,” I said.
She turned. Relief appeared on her face. That justified everything that followed. I put an arm around her waist and kissed her temple. Level Two. Context dependent. Verbal confirmation when practical. It had not been practical.
“Baby,” I said, “Blake needs us.”
Amy went rigid. Evelyn’s eyebrows rose. Baby had been a mistake—not because it was affectionate, but because it sounded good. Amy recovered.
“Now?”
“Urgent treadmill issue.”
Evelyn looked toward the cardio floor.
“No one appears injured.”
“Emotional emergency.”
Amy’s hand settled lightly against my chest. The touch could have been restraint. Or performance. Either way, I felt it everywhere.
“Evelyn was asking about coffee,” she said.
“With you?”
Evelyn smiled. “A private conversation.”
I kept my arm around Amy.
“Sounds fun.”
“It is professional,” Amy said.
Evelyn looked at her. “Partly.”
There. I disliked partly.
“What’s the other part?” I asked.
Amy’s fingers pressed into my chest. Warning. Evelyn’s smile cooled.
“History.”
“Thought you taught marketing.”
“I do.”
“Then history seems outside your subject.”
Amy looked up at me.
“That is enough.”
She did not say my name. Worse. I released her waist. The absence of contact did not improve my mood. Evelyn turned to Amy.
“Tomorrow at eleven?”
Amy hesitated, then nodded.
“Bellweather.”
The proposal café. I set my jaw.
“Great,” Evelyn said.
She glanced at me. “Good to see you, Dani.”
“You too.”
The lie was obvious. Evelyn walked away. I waited until she passed the doors. Then I turned to Amy.
“Baby?”
She folded her arms.
“I panicked.”
“You do not call me baby.”
“I know.”
“You have never called anyone baby in my presence.”
“I improvised.”
“Poorly.”
“She was touching you.”
I said it. Amy’s expression sharpened.
“So?”
“You interrupted a private conversation because my ex touched my arm.”
“You looked relieved.”
“I was surprised. That does not authorize territorial behavior.”
“I wasn’t territorial.”
“You put an arm around me, kissed me, and called me baby. In context, it was a flag planted in disputed land.”
“Baby is not possessive.”
I almost smiled. Her face stopped me.
“You’re right,” I said.
The apology did not calm her.
“You criticized me for reacting to Simone.”
“I did.”
“You demanded honesty.”
“I did.”
“Were you jealous?”
The directness hit. The café was too public, and Blake stood at the front desk pretending not to watch.
“Can we discuss this privately?”
Amy nodded once. We moved into the consultation room. She closed the glass door.
“Were you jealous?” she asked again.
I could make a joke. Say I distrusted Evelyn. Say I was protecting the public premise. All partly true. None complete.
“Yes.”
Amy’s grip on the door handle eased. The anger had become something less certain.
“I didn’t like her touching you,” I said. “I didn’t like that she asked for a private conversation. I especially didn’t like partly.”
“That does not justify what you did.”
“You’re right.”
“Then why?”
“Because I wanted her to know you weren’t available.”
Simone’s words returned: I’m not available. Amy looked down.
“I am available,” she said.
Hope rose before I could stop it.
“According to the agreement,” she added.
“Right.”
“Rule four exists to prevent this.”
“Rules aren’t prevention. They’re documentation.”
“That is my line.”
“I listen.”
The noise around us thinned.
“I am meeting Evelyn because she says she has information about a promotion,” Amy said.
“Professional.”
“Yes.”