“See ya, Carlie,” he says, the soft click of the phone echoing in my ear.
Michael’s still hovering, an apology half-formed on his lips.
With my phone clutched at my side, I cut him off with a gesture to the plunger in my other hand. “You see this? It means I’m cleaning house, Michael. Starting with taking out the trash.”
How a plunger has anything to do with trash is beyond me—but it made sense at the time.
Thankfully, though, he gets the hint,finally, mumbling something about leaving as he backs away.
When he’s on the other side, I close the door with a soft click, leaning against it for a moment to collect myself.
I can’t help the giggle that escapes me.
Adam’s casual check-in, the absurdity of the situation with Michael, my insanely sore body—it’s all too much. I’m not sure what’s more laughable—the fact that my ex thought he could waltz back into my life for God knows what reason, or that the man I fantasized about last night is the one who saved me from the whole ordeal.
Shaking my head, I text Adam a quick thank you for his concern and assure him I’ll be back on the mat in no time.
As I hit send, I realize that my interactions with men lately are more fraught with comedy than the romance I write about.
But that’s life, isn’t it?
One big romantic comedy, minus the romance but with an extra helping of comedy. At least, in my world.
I chuck the plunger under the sink—my symbol of victory.
Today, I’ve fended off past mistakes and embraced my present—a present that might just include a too-caring personal trainer and a shower head that’s seen too much.
CHAPTER9
Adam
The gym feels emptier than usual this morning.
Maybe it’s the absence of Carlie’s laugh, which, despite our brief acquaintance, has become a sound I’ve found myself actually looking forward to.
I keep glancing at the clock, half-expecting her to walk in, apologizing for being late, but I know better.
After our conversation, it was pretty clear she had no intention of making her session today. For some reason, it disappointed me more than it should.
I get blown off all the time.
But after last night, I had hoped to continue whatever it is we seem to be building.
I don’t want to push it though.
If she’s sore or has other things going on, the last thing I want is to scare her off. I’ve seen clients bolt for less, and the thought of Carlie not coming back feels like it would hit different.
With an unexpected gap in my morning schedule, I head over to Dylan’s coffee shop for a caffeine fix and some light-hearted banter to lift my spirits.
The bell above the door announces my arrival, and Dylan looks up from behind the counter, his trademark shitty grin locked in place.
“Look who’s graced us with his presence,” Dylan calls out, already reaching for a large cup. “The usual?”
“Yeah, thanks,” I reply, sliding onto a stool at the counter. “And maybe some of that banana bread if it’s fresh.”
“You’re in luck. Stacy made a batch this morning. So, how’s life in the land of spandex and sweat?” he teases, slicing a generous piece of banana bread.
I shouldn’t even be eating the stuff—too many carbs—but I can’t seem to help it. It’ssooodamn good.