Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I awaken alone on the boat, and the realization of what happened last night settles on me like early morning mist.
Oh no. No no no no. I squeeze my eyes shut and push myself deeper into the sleeping bag, until even my face is covered.
This proves it. I am the worst life coach ever. Not only did I just have sex with my client, but I also let him completely see what a mess I am. I opened the curtain and put all my issues on display.
What on earth was I thinking?
It was the phone call. Casey accusing me of not letting anyone in. Uptight, precious Lauren. Too scared to return a romantic gaze. Too rigid to let anyone be comfortable around her. I couldn’t bear to live another day as her. Another second, even. I wanted to murder her.
Now, I’m left with the repercussions of my crime of passion.
There is only one thing I can do to fix this, which is call Belinda immediately and confess, then move to New Zealand to start a new life as a sheep farmer. It may be easier to just suffocate myself with this sleeping bag.
Or … I can go out there and face the music. I sigh and unzip the bag.
Danny is shirtless on the sand, deep in his fluid tai chi practice.
He moves the air with his hands as if he’s choreographed the movements to the swaying fog.
God, those hands. The way they were in my hair.
All over my body. My lips and chin raw from his attention.
A new swell of tingles shimmer through me.
What am I going to say? What can you say to a client from whom you requested a sex lesson the night before? A client who delivered said lesson, like, really well. Twice.
Danny finishes with a bow to the glassy lake. He turns and his expression lifts when he sees me.
“Finally awake,” he says, grinning. “It’s nice to see you sleep in for a change.”
“Danny, I—”
“And before you say it—before you even think it—the answer is yes. We can start over on a professional footing.”
“I quit,” I say softly.
“You don’t quit.”
“Fine. Then I resign. I’m not sure I’m qualified to coach anyone at this point.”
“Before you continue your self-flagellation, can we at least have breakfast first? Coffee and pastries? Well, a sad wheatberry muffin for me.”
I nod numbly, and he tugs my arm as we walk up to the main house.
“We need to talk about last night,” I say quietly. “That was not the professional behavior you should expect from your life coach. I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be,” he says, his face relaxed. “Believe it or not, you are human, Theranos. Even if you like to pretend not to be. The moments where you act like one are kind of motivating. Makes me realize what you said is true.”
“What did I say?”
“You can’t confuse someone’s behavior with their identity. Behaviors can change.”
“You may have Stockholm syndrome,” I say, entering his grandmother’s sienna-tiled kitchen. I sit at the island while Danny busies himself at the espresso machine. “This kind of thing happens with therapists all the time.”
“Does it?” he asks, his tone amused.
“Don’t get me wrong, your lesson was very … thorough. And the cunnilingus was lovely. It’s been years,” I admit. “But—”
“Cunnilingus?” He laughs. “Are you always this clinical?”
“Yes.”
“Look, I don’t regret anything about last night. But if it makes you feel better, then just consider it part of our deal. A deep dive into the art of hedonism. It doesn’t ever have to happen again. I mean, not unless you want it to.”
He hands me my coffee and a cinnamon pastry and all the blood rushes to my cheeks. Hopefully he can’t tell how much I’m wanting it to happen again. Like, tonight, for example. Tonight would be good.
“Besides,” he says, making his own cup next, “do you honestly thing Gracie or Bill would want you to resign?”
I consider this. Gracie has been chuffed with my work so far. Not that she comes right out and says it, but I’ve overheard things. I was leaning up against her office watching Topher and Danny spar and overheard her recent phone call with Bill.
“I don’t know what she’s doing to get through to him, but hopefully she can keep it up until fight night,” the trainer said.
“His weight is on point, his defensive moves are strengthening, and his cardio has never been better. This may bite me in the ass, but I’m starting to think this time he just might do it. ”
It was delightful to hear, especially since Belinda had dialed in for the call and was absorbing every word.
But now, everything has changed.
“I don’t know what to do,” I say, putting my head in my hands. It’s throbbing, a hangover not from alcohol but from poor judgment.
“Do what feels good in the moment. And do your job. I’m learning the two aren’t mutually exclusive.”
“Yeah, right. Because I’m doing so well at my job so far.” I take a large bite of the cinnamon pastry, sinking my teeth into its buttery crust. Then I take a sip of coffee, enjoying how the flavors elevate each other in my mouth. “I stopped doing my job the second we baked bread at midnight.”
“So, we reel back the hedonism stuff a bit.” Danny places both hands on the counter and leans in. “It was never my intention to make you uncomfortable. Quite the opposite.”
My heart pounds in my chest, and I can’t help but trail my eyes across his massive arms, the strands of hair falling into his eyes. I still can’t believe the reaction my body has to him. It gets so aroused on its own accord, regardless of what my brain says. It’s insubordination, really.
“We’ll scale it way back,” I say, “but you still must stick to your macros and do everything I say until the fight.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you have to be my plus-one at my friend’s going-away party on Sunday.”
“I love parties. Which friend?”
I pause. “Casey. The one who didn’t have any limes.”
Danny looks surprised. “Oh. You never mentioned he was moving. Where to?”
“California.”
Recognition flickers in Danny’s eyes. He blinks.
“But not where I’m going,” I say quickly. “He’ll be south. Like, way south of Malibu. I probably won’t even see him.”
Danny’s face is passive. He shrugs. “OK.”
“I haven’t even told him that I might be down there, too, since it isn’t a sure thing. I mean, it probably won’t even happen at all. It’s all dependent on—”
“On whether or not I win my fight.”
I chew on my lip. Shit. I hadn’t meant it to sound like that.
“Not that I think you won’t win—”
“It’s OK, Theranos,” Danny says, grabbing my plate. “You should be apprehensive, considering my history. It’s no secret that I’m a bit of a fuck-up.”
I push back my stool, which scrapes loudly on the tile.
“You are not. You’re a gifted fighter, a thoughtful grandson, a …
generous lover.” I swallow hard. “And I don’t give a damn about your past behavior.
The only thing that matters are your choices from now on.
So, choose right. Train hard. Prove that you are the once-in-a-generation fighter that everyone knows you to be. ”
Danny turns his back to me, scrubbing the dishes. “I guess we’ll see.”
Tutu drives us to the train station in her old Jeep. Danny gets out of the car and wraps her in a big bear hug. “Bye, Tutu. See you next month.”
“Bye, my boy. Don’t let that angry trainer with the braid go too hard on you, or I’ll have to teach her a lesson myself.” She puts up her dukes.
“I don’t doubt it,” he laughs. “But Gracie is just doing her job. Fight’s coming up quick, and I’ve got to be ready.”
“Lovely to meet you, Lauren. Come visit me anytime,” she says, bringing me into a fragrant hug. “You and my grandson make a good team.” She looks at me with shining eyes and winks. “Maybe in more ways than one.”
“Goodbye, Tutu,” I wave, hoping my blushing isn’t too obvious.
We board the train and find our seats. Danny is quiet next to me, staring out his window as the train lurches forward. He closes his eyes, and his jaw flexes.
“We’ll get back to the gym just in time for sparring,” I note. “Hopefully Gracie won’t be too angry we spent the night.”
Danny doesn’t answer. His back is rigid-straight, his hands on his knees.
“I can’t believe you take the train to see your grandmother every month when it has this effect on you.
” I set down my book, a sexy thriller I picked up at the station.
Normally, I’d never read something so unserious in public, but if Danny can proudly read books with corsets on the cover, then I can indulge too.
“I’d drive, but the train is so much quicker.”
“Have you ever tried the 54321 rule?” I ask. “It really helps. I do it when I have heart palpitations.”
Danny’s eyes fly open, instantly focused on mine. “What’s wrong with your heart?”
“No, nothing. I’m just a bit sensitive to adrenaline, so if someone drives too fast or I think stressful thoughts, my heart skips beats. It’s not dangerous, just uncomfortable. But grounding helps.”
Danny wipes his hands on his knees. “OK. I need that. Ground me, please.”
I turn to him. “List five things you can see. Really notice them—their shape, their color.”
Danny looks around the train car, his eyes scanning his environment.
Then I come into focus, and he tilts his head slightly to the side.
“I see eyes,” he begins. “Gray around the edges, like an outline keeping in the ocean blue. I see lips, carnation pink and bowed at the top. I see hair, the color of golden hour when every photo turns out perfect. How many is that?”
I temper my breathing. “Four, if you’re counting each eye individually.”
“And I see your neck, which I know is smooth and soft and sensitive, hidden under that fabric, and how it makes you shiver with a simple touch. What’s next?”
Oh dear. I swallow hard. “Four things you can touch.”
“I can touch your hand,” he says quietly, “so much smaller than mine, making me feel like a protector.” He interlaces his fingers in mine.
“And I can touch your thigh, long and lean, remembering how secure it felt wrapped around my lower back.” His other hand finds my thigh, rubbing it with perfect pressure.
My abdomen tightens. “And your delicate jaw, perfect to place my fingers on when I kiss you. And the last ones I won’t mention, but they are bouncy and perky and tipped in the same exact shade as your lips, and I can’t keep my mind off them. ”
I feel something stirring in my chest. No one has ever complimented my breasts before. They’re on the small side and therefore don’t often get the attention they’d like. But that’s not the case with Danny.
He continues to rub small circles on the top of my hand with his thumb, and it may as well be a full-body massage for how it’s turning me on.
“This is working,” he says. “I feel better already.”
“Next is three things you can hear.”
Danny dips his head so that his ear rests on my chest. “I hear your heartbeat. Your soft breathing. And the sound of your swallow.”
I swallow hard again, unable to help myself. “Now two things you can smell.”
He lifts his head and leans in to me, until his nose is pressed just under my ear. “Lavender and honey, which are now my two favorite scents on earth.”
“And finally,” I say, my voice wavering, “one thing you can taste.”
His honey-colored eyes flick down to my lips. “I know what I want to taste, but I don’t know if I’m allowed to anymore.”
“Maybe just one last time—for grounding purposes, of course.”
“For grounding purposes,” Danny agrees with a small smile, and takes my jaw delicately in both hands, leading me to the playground of his mouth, where I spend the entirety of the train ride kissing, nipping, swirling, and caressing, both of us grounded in each other’s arms.
Three hours later, the train has come to a stop, and people are queuing to get off. “We’re here,” Danny says, kissing my forehead.
“Oh,” I say, straightening. “I’m usually not such a deep sleeper. I need to check my vitamin B levels.”
“Maybe I relax you.”
“You definitely don’t relax me. I can’t even look at you without my palms going sweaty.”
Danny slips his hand into mine, as if to verify they are, in fact, sweaty. “Then I’ll have to work harder at finding out what makes you feel content.”
“It’s not that extravagant of a list. I like opening the window to let in the cold air and getting really cozy on my couch with a bunch of blankets, and putting on a realistic dramatization of women snapping and murdering their cheating husbands. Bonus points if there’s wine.”
Danny laughs. “I’ll have to remember that.” He stands and enters the aisle, grabbing both of our bags. “We’d better head straight to the gym. Gracie’s probably already on the warpath.”
“I’ve been thinking about what to do about her methods,” I say, sliding out of my seat. “Maybe I can talk to her.”
Danny stops in his tracks. “Please, don’t. It will only make her worse. Gracie needs to work through something. If punishing me is helping her do it, then so be it.”
“She’s just so mean. And scary.”
“She has to be tough. It’s the world we live in as fighters. And first impressions are always unfair. Like, when I first met you, I thought you were a superficial ice queen.”
“When I first saw you, I thought maybe the bar was having some drywall hung and you were on your lunch break.”
He squeezes my hand twice. “And here we are, both different than expected.”
“Very different,” I say.
“So, have I proved it to you yet?” he asks as we exit the train, pulling me under his arm. “That you aren’t alone in the world?”
“Not completely,” I say, considering. “The real test will be at my friend’s party.
He’s usually my date to everything, which was fine, because you aren’t supposed to take sand to the beach anyway.
Not that there’s ever any sand. Usually when I go out, it’s just big dumb married rocks as far as the eye can see. ”
Danny laughs. “Well, I like the idea of being the sand you take to the beach.”
“Me too.”
We lose ourselves in the bustling crowd, like any other couple walking with their heads tipped close, paired up and secure, lost in their own world.
And I only slightly let myself panic, for exactly the count of five Mississippis, because no matter how pleasurable it feels to be tucked under Danny’s arm, our training will soon come to an end.
And that will make me feel more alone than ever.