Chapter 5
Tessa
"Four more ladies, let's go!"
"No!" Brooke shouts back, still bending at her knees.
"Here we go! Squat… hips… jump… chest pop."
She rolls her eyes. "I'm gonna pop her if she says that one more time."
I let out a breathy laugh, swirling my hips to the beat. "What's your deal? You love this one."
"I know," she groans, her toes barely leaving the ground at that part of the sequence.
"But the Gators had a game yesterday afternoon, then I ran right to the rink for Drew's, and by the time I finished batching this weekend's content, I barely made it to bed in time to sit up all night contemplating if a maroon wall in the living room would be moody or obnoxious. "
I stare at her rather than squatting again, picking the motions back up at the chest pop. "That's a lot to unpack, B."
"Two more! You got this!"
"I'm just tired," she says, giving this jump a little more effort. "I'll be a much nicer person once we're fully moved in. Did I tell you I think we're having a housewarming?"
I fake excitement. "You mean I'll finally get to see the bed where Drew Anderson sleeps?"
"Yeah," she says. "With me."
She winks, and I wiggle my brows. "Can't wait."
"Last one! Finish strong!"
"How'd your interview go?" She does indeed finish strong—almost too strong—thrusting her chest forward so hard I'm surprised she doesn't bust through her top.
"Oh my God, I forgot to tell you."
The song fades out, and Brooke throws her hands to the top of her head, gasping for air. "What?" she struggles to ask.
I turn around to grab my water bottle and take a long sip. "It was horrible."
"Stop, there's no way," she argues between breaths.
I pull one arm across my chest, stretching out my shoulder from all the popping it just did. "Oh, but there is."
"How? Liam's like the easiest guy on the planet to talk to."
I shake my head. "Well, there wasn't a whole lot of talking considering it was supposed to be an interview."
I take advantage of the fact that she's completely spent and not pestering me for more details and pivot. I'm not ready to admit out loud how I blew it in a matter of minutes. Especially when I'm still trying to figure it out myself.
"Trevor took my car," I offer.
Brooke sits down and stretches both her legs in front of her. "Like borrowed it?"
"I feel as though borrowed implies permission," I say, sitting next to her.
"No."
"Yep."
She shakes her head, then whips it in my direction. "Wait, what does that have to do with the interview?"
A slight panic creeps inside my chest as she circles back. "I was late because I didn't have my car."
"No," she repeats.
"Well, and because my friend messed up the time."
Brooke tilts her head side-to-side, her eyes turned up toward the ceiling. "But mostly the car thing."
I laugh, nudging her elbow with mine, then groan, reaching for my toes. "Men," I say boldly.
She scrunches up her face, and I can't tell if it's because her hamstrings are tight or she's holding back her response. "B…"
"Mhmm." She avoids making eye contact as she folds her legs back in.
"Brooke, what is it?"
"Oh, come on, Tess."
I look at her, waiting, my eyebrows high.
She sighs, then pulls on her shoelace and begins to retie it. "I don't think that's men. I think that's just Trevor."
I scoff playfully, but a pit settles in my stomach. "You mean Drew has never done something like that?"
"Taken my car when I needed it without asking?"
"Well, to be fair, he didn't know I needed it, but yeah. He's never… I don't know…"
"Sure, Drew leaves the toilet seat up occasionally or uses the last frozen banana without offering it to me."
I hold my hands open. When her eye contact doesn't waver, and her tongue runs over her top lip suspiciously, I sigh. "But…"
She sits forward, ready to say whatever it is she's about to say with an eagerness that tells me she's been holding it back for a while. She looks at her hands in her lap, then locks eyes with me, parting her lips.
After searching my face, she slouches slightly. "He's good to you, right?"
I freeze, caught off guard by the question. "Yeah, sure." Good enough.
She nods, then lets out a playful laugh. "There haven't been any more dates where he ignores you and you end up sharing ice cream with a dog?"
A heavy heat washes over me that has less to do with her insinuation and more to do with the fact that I've been trying to put that run-in out of my mind.
It was there before—an interaction with a stranger that seemed to stay with me, but it's been lingering even more since my and Liam's proper meeting two days ago.
"No," I say, laughing it off.
"Good." Brooke brings both her feet together, butterfly style. "What did he say about the interview?"
I mirror her pose and lean down until my muscles start to burn. "Oh, I didn't tell him yet."
She looks at me curiously, then pulls her collarbone-length hair out of the claw clip that's been holding it up, running her fingers through the sweat-locked roots. "Why?"
I shrug. "I don't know." She waits for me to continue, and I realize the only other thing I have to offer is the truth. "He didn't ask."
"Alright, ladies, another great class. We'll see you next week!"
Brooke's eyes dart to mine. "On Saturday," she emphasizes jokingly.
I force a laugh, dragging my mind back to the moment and away from where I went trying to interpret my realization.
Brooke slides her black puffy bag over her shoulder and throws her sweaty arms around my neck. "Ya know, I'm glad we've gotten so close recently."
"Me too," I say genuinely.
She tips her chin down. "Are you though?"
"Yeah." I laugh, sweeping the end of my ponytail off of my shoulder, still fighting myself on asking her to explain what she meant about Trevor. "I think I am."
My jaw ticks as I choke down a sip of the second beer in my flight. "Oh, God, no. Definitely not this one. It tastes like stale bread."
Trevor rolls his eyes and laughs. "It does not. You're so dramatic."
My brows shoot up as I lift the small glass and hold it out to him. "You try it and tell me that isn't week-old Wonderloaf."
He takes my cup and downs the last two inches of lager with a straight face. "Delicious."
"If you're into moldy carbs," I mumble, picking up the third glass. The first one was decent—a citrus cider I could force down if I had to. But I'm not holding out much hope for this hazy IPA.
"That's one of my favorites from here," Trev says as I smell the amber liquid. He takes a gulp of his twenty-four ounce Pilsner, waiting for my reaction.
I bring the glass to my lips, allowing half a sip to slide between them and immediately slam my lids shut. "Nope," I blurt, sticking out my tongue.
"Oh, stop."
"So bitter," I struggle to say, reaching for my water.
He chuckles. "That's the hops."
I shake my head, savoring the cold water as it washes away the taste. "No." I set the beer back in its slot on the wooden board in front of me. "That's disgusting."
"Unreal," he mutters playfully under his breath.
I peer up at him and squint. "You know I hate beer."
His eyes grow wide in defense. "You said you were cool coming here."
"That's because you like it, and you name-dropped this place like ten times this week."
His mouth turns down as he shrugs one shoulder. "They have a good happy hour, and the games are always on."
"Yeah, hold on a second." I take another sip of water before continuing, the sour flavor still taunting my tongue. "What's that about, anyway?"
Trevor lifts his glass to his mouth. "What's what about?"
"The sports thing."
He hesitates before taking a large slug of his beer. "I've always been into sports."
"I guess." I lift the fourth and last glass from my flight and take a sniff. "But you've been obsessed recently."
"Is that a problem?" he throws back.
"No, I like sports too. You've just never been such a massive fan."
Trev wipes at the condensation that's built up on his glass. "I've thrown a couple bucks on some big games these last few weeks. It's just something to do."
"Oh," I say. "I didn't know." A faint tinge of something close to resentment coats my words, but if Trevor notices, he doesn't comment. Instead, he drains half of what's left in his glass and pulls out his phone.
I bite my tongue, stopping myself from pointing out that this is exactly what I'm talking about. He's always on his phone watching some game or scrolling on what I could now guess are betting apps. That or texting—who? I don't know.
If that's how he wants to spend his time and money, who am I to stop him?
The timing isn't great, what with me worrying about my next paycheck, but that's not on him. He pays his bills and his half of the rent. Honestly, what stings isn't the money at all. It’s realizing how excited he is about something I didn’t even know he cared about.
But that’s okay.
That’s normal for us.
I’m not the girl waiting around for a fairytale.
I’ve never needed fireworks or some all-consuming love.
If we get along, the sex is fine, and our time together feels good enough—that’s more important to me than some big, sweeping romance.
Practical, comfortable, predictable—that's what's best. It might sound sad or strange or crazy even, but I’ve never looked at Trevor Elliot and seen the great love of my life.
Brooke’s comment this morning did knock me off balance though.
He’s good to you, right?
The way she asked hit deeper than I expected. But the more I sit with it, the more I realize that what we have… works. No, we aren’t head over heels, but right now, I don’t have room for another part of my life to fall apart.
"I had an interview a few days ago with Liam Montgomery," I offer.
His head pops up as he sets his phone down on our picnic-style table. "What? Why didn't you tell me?"
I huff out a laugh meant more for the irony of his statement than anything else. "Because it was horrible. It was the day you had my car, so I showed up late, and—"
"That was who you needed the car for? Shit, Tess, you should have told me."
My eyes flick from him to the beer garden around us. "I kind of did," I say as they return.
Trevor holds up a finger. "You didn't tell me you were late for an interview with Sunshine Montgomery."
"No…" I blink away the nickname. "But I said I needed—it doesn't matter. I'm not sure showing up on time would have changed much. He didn't really seem to like me."
"What?" he spews, nearly choking on his beer. "How is that possible?"
A glow grows in my chest.
See, he's okay.
"I don't know, but he seemed pretty pissy."
"Are you sure we're talking about the same Liam Montgomery? Every sports outlet calls him Sunshine."
"Seems to be a common theme from everyone, but that's not who I got."
He tilts his head, thinking.
"What?"
"How pissy are we talking? Like blow your game this weekend pissy or…"
"Oh my God, Trevor, seriously?"
He scoffs and looks to the ceiling. "Tessa, I'm kidding." A ding saves me from having to respond, my siblings group chat going off. He picks up his phone as I check mine. "Tell everyone I said what's up."
"Sure thing," I say bitterly, not missing how quickly he drops the conversation.
W.W.T.D
Margot
If you were interviewing with The Walker Group, would you go pencil skirt or pantsuit?
I gasp, partially from the excitement and partially from the twinge of jealousy that twists in my stomach.
"What?" Trevor asks, looking up briefly.
"Oh, nothing."
No way, you got a callback from TWG?
Owen
Definitely the pencil skirt.
Jo
Now that I'd kill to see. Hell yes, MarGOAT.
Margot
I go back next week! Tess, what would you wear?
"Hey, do you want another round?"
I glance down at the three glasses still half-full in front of me, then look up at him. "I'm good."
Trevor pushes out his chair and walks toward the bar.
What are you most comfortable in?
Margot
Probably pants.
Then go with that. You'll perform better if you feel good.
Grant
That's what she said.
Jo
Go to class, G.
Owen
You walked right into that one. Gotta go, y'all—hot date.
Jo
Poor girl. What's everyone else up to?
I sit with my phone in my palm, a handful of different emotions running through me.
In one sense, I'm so happy for my sister.
This is what Margot has been looking for since she graduated early from college in January.
But the pit I've had in my stomach since losing my job grows bigger.
That feeling that was replaced with hope—even if only for a minute—when I went to Liam's.
I also contemplate Jo's question, my natural instinct to hide my relationship resurfacing as always.
It's not that I'm ashamed of Trevor—that's not the right word.
But I know my siblings, and they'll pry and beg until they have every detail about him.
Ones I'm not entirely thrilled to share. Ones I'm not sure matter.
Before I can answer, a hand settles on my shoulder, then drags across my back as Trevor rounds the table. "Hey, you wanna grab some food? I'm starving."
"Oh, sure," I say, my phone buzzing in my palm. "Just give me a second." He nods, slurping at the top of his beer, as I read the incoming text.
Grant
Out.
I laugh at my little brother's thrilling response, then type my own.
Grabbing food. Speaking of… got an alert today, Jo. Watch it… I'll catch up with you guys later!
Placing my phone face down on the table, I beam up at Trevor. "Alright, what do you want to eat?"