Chapter 6 #3
Is she sure she’s in lifestyle journalism and not psychology?
I shake my head. “I don’t think that’s what’s going on.”
She chuckles. “Okay, keep thinking that.”
* * *
“Do you really, in all honesty, like that picture?” she asks as she stares at a piece of art hanging in the dining area. The dark blue paint has been smooshed into the canvas. There’s no rhyme or reason to it, just a bunch of texture.
I shrug. “It does the job.”
“And what job is that?” she asks while picking up another piece of pizza and dabbing the grease off with a napkin.
“Aesthetic. Brings color into the space.”
“Is that what you think, or is that what your interior decorator thinks?”
I take a sip of my water. “Who says I used an interior decorator?”
Her lips fall to the side in disbelief. “Please. Sure, this might be the nicest place I’ve ever been, but I’m not stupid. Your decor screams professionally done. Nothing in this space is personal. Your apartment could really be anyone’s home.”
“I know,” I say. “There’s a reason for that.”
“What’s the reason?” she asks.
“Everything I had that was remotely personal involved Sarah, and I didn’t want that in my new space. I wanted a fresh start.”
“Ah, that makes sense. You wanted to eliminate her from your life.”
“Exactly.”
She studies the space again. “Well, you could use a picture of yourself here or there.”
“Why would I want to look at a picture of myself?”
She shrugs. “You’re hot. Don’t you want to look at the beauty of your body?”
That makes me laugh. “Do you have pictures of yourself in your dorm?”
She nods. “With Ross. I also have some items from my childhood home that I brought with me. Little treasures I couldn’t part with.”
“Like what?”
“Like . . . a box full of Polaroid pictures from high school. My scrapbook. A few significant decorative items I had growing up that remind me of my childhood. Just simple things.”
“Anything really sentimental?” I ask.
She wipes her fingers on a napkin. “I have a blanket my grandma made for me. I keep it in my closet because it’s fragile, barely holding together.
It provides zero warmth, but it’s always been with me, so I keep it close.
On occasion, I bring it out and just look at the faded quilt blocks, running my fingers over the hand stitching. ”
“Were you close to your grandma?” I ask.
“Yes, I was. My dad was always tough on me, and my mom didn’t have much to say. She was loving, but she let Dad take the lead on discipline and life in general. My grandma was the one I could go to and just hug. To escape the pressures from my dad.”
“When did she pass?”
“Right before I graduated from high school,” she answers.
“I still don’t think I’ve fully recovered from losing her.
A piece of me died with her. She was honestly the only person I’ve felt was 100 percent on my side.
She was tough but so, so kind and helped me believe in myself.
I’ve missed that over the past three years.
” She lets out a soft sigh. “Anyway, she would have thought this whole arrangement was hilarious and would have encouraged it.” Ollie looks up at me. “And she would have loved you.”
“Really?” I ask.
“Oh yeah. She had a thing for guys with toned muscles. She would have hit on you for sure.”
That makes me laugh. “Your grandma’s type. Maybe that’s why you zeroed in on me at the bar. Runs in the family.”
“You were the only guy in the bar who was alone, that’s why I zeroed in on you, but it’s cute that you’re trying to make more sense of it.”
“Have you always been a ballbuster?” I ask her.
“Yes. It’s the reason I’ve only ever had one boyfriend, was never asked to prom, and why boys never tried to take me out. I was too much for them.”
“Seems like they missed out, then,” I say.
“Aw, look at you buttering me up.” She flips her ponytail over her shoulder.
“No need to. I know they were all losers. Anyone I date needs to be manly enough to deal with my strong personality and all the intricacies that go with it. Yonny wasn’t that guy.
It doesn’t make our breakup any less hurtful, but I know he wasn’t the one for me. ”
“Strong personalities are sexy,” I say.
“This coming from a real man.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
“You should,” she says, her eyes meeting mine. “See, look at us. We have all the potential to crush this fake dating thing. We have a mutual appreciation for one another. That’s the first step to a successful business relationship.”
“You think so?” I ask. Fuck, she’s entertaining.
“I know so.” She winks. “They’ll use us as the model couple. Just wait, you’ll see. Books will be written about us.”
Got to love her enthusiasm.
* * *
“What got you into working out?” I ask as I finish cleaning off the dining room table.
“Jamie Terrance.”
“Who’s that?” I ask. “An influencer or something?”
She laughs and shakes her head. Sitting across from me at the bar, she watches me work around the kitchen, putting away the leftovers and washing the dishes.
“No, Jamie Terrance is my nemesis from high school. She was a rotten bitch with a shit family, so instead of trying to make the best of the people around her and be positive, she did the opposite. She would make fun of me all the time for having . . . as she put it . . . rolls.”
“Fuck off. Are you serious?” I ask.
“Yup, she would walk by me in the cafeteria and say rude things about what I was eating. Unfortunately, I let it get to me. I started going on one-mile runs around my neighborhood early in the morning before school started. I walked half of it, but I felt good doing something to combat the negative thoughts in my head. And the more I started to enjoy the feeling of working out, the more I pushed myself.” She sighs.
“I hate that it started from a place of negativity, but I’m grateful I found the love of working out. It truly helps me when I’m stressed.”
“How often is that?” I place our plates in the dishwasher.
“With this internship, more often than not.”
“Is there a reason this internship is so important? I know it’s for a grade, but why do an internship in a place that stresses you out?”
“It’s the company name,” she says. “If you have Alan Roberts on your résumé, anyone will pick you up. The jobs flow right in, and the last thing I want to do after I graduate is go back to my hometown to live with my parents.”
“Didn’t like it there?” I ask.
“I did, but I made a big deal about leaving and never coming back. You know, dramatic teen stuff. Now that I’m a touch older, I see how stupid it was, but this girl has pride, and I’ll be damned if I have to go back there and eat my words.”
I chuckle. “I can feel you on that. I was the same way with hockey. Bound and determined to make something of myself, I wouldn’t stop until I did, even if that meant practically killing myself in the process.”
“Well, you made it,” she says while drawing a circle on the counter with her finger.
“But the real question is, are you happy that you made it? Because even though this internship has opened many doors for me, I’m anything but happy.
I just keep telling myself there are days we’ll be unhappy to obtain the happiness we want.
So . . . have you obtained that happiness? ”
Am I happy?
I think maybe from the outside looking in, it could seem that I am. I have the car, the house in the woods, the penthouse apartment, the glory, the fame, the championships. Yet . . . I find myself acting like a dick more and more.
Happiness eludes me.
Never feeling settled.
Not feeling adequate enough for anyone . . .
Fuck.
“Yeah, maybe we shouldn’t talk about this,” I say, not wanting to dive deep into my feelings, especially with Ollie.
“Ah, right, that would make you vulnerable, and you don’t do vulnerable.”
“Right,” I say as I close the dishwasher. I grip the counter and stare at her. “Do you feel like we have our story straight?”
She doesn’t answer right away but tries to study me.
I can see her wanting to ask more, to bring up the vulnerability thing and dive deep into why I’m so guarded, but I refuse.
There’s no need to get into that with her.
Our relationship is surface level. Business.
We don’t need to delve into deep-rooted emotions.
“I think so,” she finally says. “Met at a bar, you hit on me because you’re a horny bastard and couldn’t control yourself—”
“Didn’t think we added the horny thing in there.”
“And when I finally gave you the time of day because I felt bad that you were drooling while looking at me—”
“Also, not something that happened.”
“That’s when you made a move and told me you admired my beauty and strength and wit and that it reminded you of Hermione.”
“That’s not something I would say.”
She presses her hand to her chest. “And I thought . . . wow, this guy. He’s clearly trying far too hard to make an impression. Maybe I should give him a chance. So I let you buy me a drink. You ordered Shirley Temples—”
“Oh fuck off,” I say while laughing.
But she continues. “It was a bit of a turn-off, watching a man slowly sip a Shirley Temple with utter delight in his eyes, but I decided to give you a chance since you seemed like you needed friends . . . or rather attention.”
“It’s amazing how much this story has grown.”
“Just spitting out facts.”
“Yeah, if you want to spit out facts, why don’t we just stick to the actual truth that you attacked me with your lips out of desperation?”
She stares up at the ceiling, giving it some thought. “I think my story is better.” She hops off the stool and heads toward the entryway. “Well, thanks for the pizza and the key.” She holds up the key I gave her so she could work out here. “It’s appreciated.”
“Just wipe down when you’re done. I don’t need your sweat all over my equipment.”
“I don’t sweat,” she says while she slips her shoes on.
“Everyone sweats.”
“Not me.” She slides her backpack on and heads toward the door. “Keep me updated on what you need from me, and if I could have your schedule, that would be ideal. I’d prefer to come here when you’re not around.”
“You’re such a good girlfriend.”
“I know.” She throws up a peace sign. “See you later.” And then she takes off, just like that, without another word.
My life had order and structure a few days ago. Same place to live, same friends, same job. Now? It’s been somewhat upended.
Where the hell did Ollie Owens, the pint-sized ballbuster, even come from?
* * *
Pre-workout drink in one hand and a protein bar in the other, I head down the hallway toward the locker room, knowing I’ll have to face the boys today.
They were dead silent last night.
Not even a text to warn me they’ll have questions today, which is even more nerve-wracking because now I have no idea what to expect.
I would have preferred the guys not find out about Ollie like that last night. I wasn’t prepared, and now I feel like I’m walking into the lion’s den as a giant piece of raw meat ready to be torn apart.
Bracing myself, I open the door to the locker room and then pause at the entrance as I spot Hornsby, Pacey, Holmes, and Posey all sitting in chairs around my locker.
Super.
Head hanging, I walk toward my locker, knowing what’s coming.
“There he is,” Pacey says. “The guy we’ve been waiting for.”
“He looks fresh. Doesn’t he look fresh, boys?” Hornsby asks.
“Very fresh,” Posey says before biting into an egg and sausage sandwich. “Fresher than ever. Don’t you think, Holmes?”
“I don’t want to be a part of this,” Holmes replies as he folds his arms across his chest.
“That’s because you don’t want us to treat you the same way when it comes to your crush,” Pacey says, pointing out the obvious. And because Holmes doesn’t ever want to engage in whatever shenanigans we have going on. He prefers to stay silent.
“Back to Taters,” Hornsby says. “I would say he is the most fresh we’ve seen in a while.”
“Can we cut it with the fresh shit?” I say as I sit at my locker. The guys waste no time closing in on me.
“So . . .” Pacey says, “care to tell us what the fuck happened last night?”
Yup, getting straight to the point.
“Not much to talk about,” I say. “My girlfriend came over, we ate some pizza, and we talked.”
“Why haven’t you ever talked about her before?” Posey asks. “That’s shitty, man. We’re your boys.”
“Because I didn’t need you butting in on my life like you do all the time. Like right now, the four of you, breathing in my space.”
“Oh, so it’s okay for you to do it?” Hornsby asks, knowing full well I gave him plenty of shit when he got Pacey’s sister pregnant. “But the moment we give you any sort of shit, you try to shut it down?”
“Glad you can see it that way.” I pat him on the shoulder. “Now, get the fuck out of here so I can get ready.”
“Uh, do you really think that’s going to work on us? You didn’t even tell us where you met, how long you’ve been dating, or what she’s like,” Hornsby says.
“Well, seems like you have something to look forward to, then,” I answer as I stand and tear my shirt over my head so I can get ready for weight training this morning.
Pacey stands, puts his hand on my shoulder, and pushes me back onto my seat.
“Nice try. You’re not leaving this room until you answer questions.”
Hell.
“How long have you been dating?” Hornsby asks.
“A few weeks,” I answer.
“Where is she from?” Posey asks.
“Portland,” I say, glad I know that answer.
“She’s young,” Pacey says. “Just how young are we talking?”
I swallow. “Uh, twenty-one.”
“What the fuck?” Hornsby says as all the guys shift back.
“Dude,” Holmes says with a shake of his head.
“I know, okay? I don’t need shit from you four about her age. I didn’t know she was that young at first. It doesn’t seem like it matters, though. You can’t even tell.” Lies. Going to her dorm makes me feel like some sort of creepy pervert. I don’t belong there.
“Is it serious?” Hornsby asks.
“Very,” I answer and then stand. “I’ve answered enough of your questions. Now leave me the fuck alone so I can get my training done.” Clothes in hand, I storm off toward the bathroom, where I’ll get changed to avoid them.
That could have been way worse, although I don’t think it’s over.