Chapter 31
CHARLIE
Declan is in my apartment. And his hands are kneading my shoulder muscles. The leathery scent of his cologne is going to leave traces of itself on my couch cushions so I will still smell him after he leaves. And he just asked me if I use my massage gun as a vibrator?! Is this really happening?
My head is telling me that I am losing ground professionally.
That I am showing every facet of my weakness to someone who was hard to impress in the first place.
Now he is seeing me at my worst, only a few days after I fumbled our mission.
I should act like everything is fine. I should put on a professional face and refuse this massage.
My heart and my sore muscles tell my brain to shut up. I close my eyes and relax under his touch.
Gently, his hands pinch and knead my shoulders.
His grip is perfect; it’s the right amount of pressure.
My muscles are grateful. But beyond this my skin hums under his touch.
My arms and lower back and neck are all crying out, wanting his hands there as well.
My thighs clench at the thought of his hands working over other parts of my body.
“That’s good,” I breathe. My voice is deeper than I expected, a seductive tone I wasn’t aiming for.
The soreness he is working on is deep in my bones.
The run the other week. Lifting equipment on site in Kalispell and Key West, because that’s what you do at a new job.
You pitch in. Traveling to Copenhagen and back in one weekend.
And the gluten. All that delicious, delicious gluten.
It was one too many drops in the bucket.
One too many “it’s just this one little thing” on the scale. And now my body hates me, I think.
I’m mad at myself. I know better. Yet I gave in to my temptations. And, like a hopeless fool, part of my brain is still wondering if this is normal muscle fatigue and tiredness.
“We’re a team. I’m happy to help.” Declan’s hands stop for a second as he says this.
I turn my head. Our faces are so close. He could close the distance between our mouths. I could too.
“If the massage is helping, then it probably is the good kind of muscle ache,” I offer with a smile.
I move my gaze from his lips; his eyes are serious, focused.
And I’m a chicken. Because if I said nothing, he would have kissed me again.
Maybe. Instead, I finish the thought. “I hate that I can’t tell.
That I couldn’t tell before. It’s like I can’t trust myself. ”
Declan sits back, putting more space between us, breaking whatever spell we were just under. “If it makes you feel any better, I trust you.”
“Oh wow. We need to call the New York Times. Stop the presses. This is headline news,” I say as I playfully reach for my phone.
I have it in my hand when Declan’s arms circle my waist and pull me back toward the couch.
The casual touch, the way I am longing for the next and the next and the next, has me smiling.
I’m fully leaning back onto him, his hard muscles flat against my back.
I look down and see a notification. I hadn’t heard my phone chime. I sit up to check it.
Ana Alonso
Do you happen to know where Declan is?
Celine has stopped by twice asking me.
I’m not his keeper.
I pull my lips tight together and turn the screen for Declan to see it. He gives a grunt and releases his arms from my waist.
I tap out a response:
Charlie Ross
I can neither confirm nor deny
that he is here checking on me.
I put my phone face down on the coffee table and look over at Declan.
I want to resume the exact moment we were just sharing.
His arms on me. Our bodies close. I realize what I’ve told him about my condition is the ultimate test. We aren’t a couple.
We aren’t dating – Declan doesn’t do that.
We kissed. It was fantastic. But if he can hear all this and still think he would want to kiss me again, then maybe my crush isn’t hopeless.
I chide myself for allowing any glimmer of optimism.
Who would want to be with me? Who would want to sign on for this?
“Well, I guess I need to get back,” he says. The disappointment in his voice has me thinking wildly optimistic thoughts. “Or –” his tone turns mischievous – “I can pull up the live feed for the Tour and I can stay to help you and watch for a bit?”
This is a surprising, if not unwelcome, suggestion.
Declan, being a cyclist nerd, is clearly eager to watch the Tour.
But he has two monitors in his office; he could watch it while working at his desk.
My foolish longings are going to read too much into this.
“Is it to help me or to watch the Tour?”
“Can it be both?” He stands to take off his blazer and then sits back down, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and rolling them up.
“Mr. Work and Responsibility slacking off to hang?” I ask playfully.
“Don’t tell anyone and ruin my street cred,” he says with a twitch of his eyebrow.
“I wouldn’t dare. Now I have leverage over you. Isn’t that what spies do?” I turn back to my phone.
I have a new message from Ana. It is a long string of exclamation points and question marks.
I send Ana back the shrugging-shoulders emoji.
I’ll have to fill her in on everything soon.
I didn’t know how to tell her about the kiss with Declan without disclosing the mission.
But the kiss and then this impromptu house call and hangout session is something.
Right? I need some girl talk to sort it all out.
Declan stands and finds his way into the kitchen before returning with two ice waters and snacks. I set up the livestream of the Tour to play on my TV. After a few moments of quiet snacking, Declan glances over at me.
“Is it hard to watch this? Or to think about watching the World Games?” He is very insightful.
I consider his question. The answer used to be a clear yes. I didn’t want to watch any endurance sports. But it’s faded over time. “Not so much anymore,” I tell him.
And it’s true. The year I had to give up my spot at the World Games, I couldn’t watch.
When the day came to make the announcement, I was numb emotionally.
All those hours in the hospital describing my symptoms didn’t prepare me for emotionally dissociating from the call.
My dad dialed; I was on speaker. Talking to the head of the US track and field committee for the World Games.
Saying the necessary words in order to quit and give my spot to the next runner in line.
My dad took over the logistics. And then it was done.
A lifetime striving for a dream, a magnificent record-setting race to earn it, and one call to end it.
“The pain was worth it,” I say. Something I’ve always known deep down. I turn and look at Declan, his deep chocolate eyes meeting mine. “It was worth all of it.”
“Glory always is,” Declan adds. And I know he gets it. He gets why I kept pushing, why I ignored the warnings from my body, why I was willing to risk it again. Because he’s an athlete too.
“So you know you’re probably not supposed to run, but you did it anyways?” Declan asks, recalling the morning run I mentioned last week.
“Yeah,” I admit sheepishly.
“That’s a good kind of stubborn, though, right?” Declan asks.
I smile at him, a man who knows a thing or two about being stubborn.
My brain is spinning up a fantasy that he will lean in and kiss me, giving me more of what we sampled on Saturday. Giving me a rush of endorphins and the touch I so desperately need right now. “Yeah,” I say with a nod, and we both turn our attention back to the screen.
After thirty minutes of watching lean men in a tight peloton race through the hills of France, Declan gets a call from Oliver.
“Time to go back in, I guess.” He stands to leave. “Can I heat you up anything to eat before I go?”
I stand and shake my head. “Nah, but thank you for making sure I wasn’t locked in my own home.” I pause. “And for listening.” I get the idea Declan doesn’t have many people open up to him like I did. I don’t want to take it for granted.
“That’s what friends are for,” he says and walks out my front door. My health and the ongoing missing weapons were freaking me out. Being with Declan helped me forget about that fear, that worry. Even just for a short while.
I close the door and I’m both heartened and crestfallen.
Declan, who used to be a thorn in my side, who seemed to give no one any patience or care, came over to check on me. He is watching out for me. He is a friend.
I’m still new in town. Having another friend is a good thing.
It also hurts. Because I know – I have known – that I like him as more than a friend.
That kiss in Copenhagen sealed it for me.
And now I have to either pine away for him in this interminable friend zone or find someone who thinks of me that way.
After telling him about my medical issues, there is no way he would ever consider me romantically.
Who would? My personality may be low maintenance but my body is the opposite.
So long, friend. See you at work tomorrow.
Yeah. Friend.