Chapter 10
Jarvis
Fun fact about me: I've never rated Jim Carrey. The over-the-top facial expressions, the lack of subtlety; he's the poster child for overacting. And, in my humble opinion, not even that funny.
Fun fact about Anson Palmer: he makes Jim Carrey look like an Oscar-worthy nominee.
From the moment I arrived, he's been stiff and robotic, alternating between gawking at me then avoiding me entirely, fidgeting with his distracting, oh-so-talented fingers at the table. Like, just keep it cool and act natural, man.
I have a sneaking suspicion my younger brother either didn't tell him I'd be joining them or he left it to the last minute because given proper warning, I'm sure Anson would be doing a better job of not blowing our cover.
We make it through lunch, and when Robbie pointedly urges Dunlop to help him clear the dishes, it gives Anson and me our first moment alone.
He makes sure they've gone inside then leans in and whispers even though there's half a mile separating us from the kitchen.
"I'm sorry. I'm doing a terrible job of this, aren't I? "
"No, you're not." I lie because the last thing I need is him getting self-conscious and butchering things even more.
"You haven't said anything to Robbie about what we did, have you?"
He's still whispering, which is low-key cute and total-key unnecessary, so I whisper back. "Oh, I totally did. First thing I did when I left your place was tell him his father-in-love fingered my b-hole and made me come in his sauna."
I have never seen someone's face go red so fast in my life. It's like someone doused him in ketchup. "I'm kidding. Geez. Relax, Anson. We got this. Just…stay cool."
"Yeah, okay, okay." He drags his hand through his long hair and leaves it there, tugging at it like he’s trying to think his way out of something.
"And stop doing that," I say. "You're acting sus. They can still see us."
"Shit. You're right." He drops his hand so fast the whole table rattles from the impact.
I'm almost afraid to ask but do it anyway. "Did that hurt?"
"Yeah." He grimaces. "But at least I'm a good actor, right?"
Oh, boy. If we get out of this alive, Anson and I are going to have to have a proper chat at our next session.
Anson opens the front door, leans against it, and smiles. "Hey, Jarvis. Good to see you."
It's very good to see him, too. After miraculously making it through lunch without our cover being blown, it crossed my mind that Anson might have second thoughts about continuing with our training program. The guy looked positively stressed out.
Unlike now.
He's effortlessly put-together in faded jeans and a coffee-colored linen shirt, sleeves pushed to his elbows. But despite his delicious appearance, my heart sinks. He's not in workout clothes, which means my suspicions were right, and he's about to end this.
"Hey," I say.
He opens the door, and I step inside. Of course he's the kind of man who likes to have difficult conversations face-to-face rather than just ghosting and blocking someone online like guys my age are prone to do. As messed up as it is to admit, I'd almost prefer that to this.
I knew I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up. As if an awesome, successful, charismatic man like Anson would be remotely interested in a thirty-three-year-old mess like me who's only just starting to get his life together.
Doing my best to hide the disappointment burning a hole in my chest, I ask, "So, what's the plan for today?"
He gestures toward the living room with a big smile to where an episode of JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure is queued up on the giant flat screen. "I thought we could watch an episode then maybe do a light workout and grab some food after?"
I'm torn. That sounds nice, but is he just delaying the inevitable? If that's the case, I'd rather rip the Band-Aid off sooner rather than later.
I squeeze my eyes shut, huff out a breath, and force myself to look at him. What greets me isn't the face of a man about to break things off. "I-I'm confused."
"What are you confused about?"
"Are you going to stop these sessions because it was supremely weird at lunch with Robbie and Dunlop on the weekend?" The words rush out of me, fast and messy.
His smile deflates. "Is that what you want?"
"No. Not at all. But…" I sweep a hand in his direction. "You're not wearing workout gear, and I have a bad feeling you're using Jo Jo to let me down gently."
His sturdy fingers splay across his chest. "I would never use anime against you like that."
A smile slips out, despite my worry. "You wouldn't?"
"No." He edges in, closing the distance between us. "And what are you talking about, letting you down gently?"
"I saw the way you were at lunch."
"I thought you said I was doing great?"
"I lied to save you from spiraling any more." Sighing heavily, I add, "It's obvious you don't want things between us to continue."
He inhales deeply and breathes out slowly through his nose, and as much as I was bracing for it, I'm fighting off an avalanche of worry when he says, "Let's sit down and talk, shall we?"