I realize that I’m slowly becoming addicted to hearing him talk about the people in his life, and I crave to know more. I can’t help but wonder, how many of these stories I’ve heard before and how much I knew about him. But I was the one who suggested the start afresh rule and It still feels right to try to stick by it. He talks about his friends for a little while longer, nothing specific, just how they like to horse around and how he’s happy that they’ve found some really wonderful women to be with. I could sit and listen all day; he’s funny and animated and makes me feel like he’s known me his whole life.
He makes me wish he has.
Somewhere in the middle of his story, I feel a yawn coming on and try to stifle it, but it takes on a life of its own and a hand over my mouth barely hides it.
“I knew it, I’m boring you.”
“No,” I say, although my mouth is still half open and my jaw locking. “I’m just so full from the amazing lunch. I guess I could use a nap.”
“I was actually, er, I was hoping you could help me with something.”
“Sure. Anything. Unless it’s eating.”
“I was actually wondering, would you come to my PT appointment with me?” He glances at clock on the wall. I notice he’s not wearing a watch on his wrist. “It starts in a few minutes.” I don’t know what to say, I’m so touched that he’d want me there. “You don’t have to, of course…”
I shake my head and jump to my feet. “Are you kidding? I’m… yes. I’d be happy to come. Just let me freshen up a bit.”
“Yeah, go ahead, I’ll meet you at the elevators in five minutes?”
“It’s a date,” I say, before I can stop myself, and I close the bathroom door fast behind me before he can see my face flush beet red.
Stupid! Why did I say that? I run my fingers under the tap and flick them on my burning cheeks.
Because he licked your lip, you giddy school girl. And now you have to sit on your hands in case you rip his clothes off.
I can’t help it. There’s just… there’s something about him that just makes me utterly and completely alive. Feminine, sensual… and understood. The way he looks at me when he talks, never breaking eye contact, like it matters that I listen to every word he says. And when I talk, he does the same, his head tilting to the side, his face breaking into smiles or concern depending on what I’m saying.
And the few times we’ve touched, it just makes me crave him more. It’s been a long time since I felt a connection with anything other than my recovery, but he makes me feel like this is just temporary, and that I can’t wait to get back to my life. A life I want him to be a part of.
So yes, I said it’s a date.
Because he wants me to be there.
And I want to be there for him.
And already, in the space of a few days, I care more about this mystery man’s recovery than I do about mine.
I run my palms over my hair, glad that I’d taken the time over my appearance today and open the door to meet him.
JEZ
“You really should make up some new business cards. They should just say one word on them. SATAN. Glossy red on a pitch-black background. And flaming devil horns over the font. I’ll hand them out for you.”
“Are you done?” Brian, my PT, says, hands on his hips.
I think about it for a moment and then nod. “For now.”
“Then hurry up with the bicep curls.”
“See what I mean?” I say to Noemie, who’s sitting next to the exercise station, stretching out one of the elastics between her hands. She’s making it look so easy, it’s making me almost regret asking her to come along.
This isn’t the Jez I want her to see. I want her to see the Jez benching 300 at the gym and barely breaking a sweat, not one complaining about doing a simple bicep curl with something girls use to tie up their hair. But I did ask her. Surprising myself. I just didn’t want my time with her to end. Of course, I’d prefer it to be with us sweaty, naked, her legs around my waist and her calling my name in the absolute throes of passion. But considering where we are, having her here with me during torture hour is the next best thing.
“Not at all, I find Brian utterly charming.”
“That’s because he’s not performing torture on you.”
“Is he always like this?” Brian asks her.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, to put it in professional medical terms, a whiny baby.”
“Oh that. Well,” she touches her temple as if thinking, and I glare at her. “I can’t say I know him that well or for that long but, I would have to say, yes, yes he is.” She nods her head up and down emphatically.
“What? Get out!” I say, pointing to the door, and then grimace as a sharp pain shoots up my arm.
She laughs, throwing me a wink, her eyes lighting up. “This one time, he came barging into my room and was like, ‘Oh, why don’t you remember me, how come you don’t know who I am?”‘ And she faces Brian, pausing for effect before delivering the punchline, “I have amnesia!”
Brian looks at me, his jaw dropping open. “Dude. Nice going.”
I growl at them both, should’ve known that they’d gang up on me. “I didn’t know she had amnesia! She looks so normal and sweet. Who knew that she was in cahoots with THE DEVIL?!”
“Oh, hush and do your exercises,” Noemie says, flicking the elastic band at my head.
“Ow!” I yelp, rubbing the back of my neck.
“Whiny baby,” she shoots at me, and sighs, shrugging her shoulders dramatically.
Brian gets up laughing and leads me over to sit a table. He hands me a small foam ball and I hesitate before taking it.
“Come on, Jez. You can do it. I know it’s hard.” He pushes his hand closer to me.
I lean away from it, like it’s made of cyanide. “It’s not hard, mate, it’s almost impossible.”