Page 34 of Every Move You Make

She fucking gets me.

“Cumeth!” my teammate barks from the car idling in the driveway. “Let’s go, dude!”

“Is he okay to drive?” she asks.

“Yeah, Woody’s always the DD. Hedoesn’t drink.”

“Good,” she exhales. “Can I get your number? We’ll probably be seeing more of each other, I assume,” she smiles.

“Oh. Y-yeah,” I say, pulling my phone out as we exchange information. “Let me know when you’re coming up to play against us.”

“I will,” she beams, then to my surprise, stands on her tiptoes and throws her arms around my neck. Instinctively, I hug her back, leaning down slightly. It’s nice. But it’s the way ruggers are—we're affectionate people. “Text me when you get home so I know you got there safe?”

“Sure,” I nod, and we break apart. “Maybe go put some ice on that black eye,” I tease.

A car horn blares over whatever she tries to say next.

“Nice to meet you, Robyn!” I call back with a wave as I jog to the car.

When we pull onto the road, I check my phone to see she’s already texted me.

Nice to meet you too

The rest of the ride back to New Jersey goes by faster than I imagine because Robyn and I end up texting the whole way. When I tell her I’m home safe, we spend another two hours texting until we both pass out.

Reality comes in like a freight train when my Sunday morning alarm goes off. And like every Sunday for the past year and a half, I get up, shower, dress, and pick up my girlfriend Jessica for church.

Chapter 14

Bad Kisser

Dell

“Two medium cold brews for Dell,” the barista calls, and I give them a nod before thanking them and heading into work down the block. I’m hoping this coffee brings back some sense of normalcy between Robyn and me this Monday morning. Something to root me back into what we were before our “dating lesson” Saturday night. Before I fucked it up with my selfishness.

What the hell came over me? It was my idea to help her in the first place. She should be able to trust me, as both her friend and personal trainer, not to cross any boundaries. But there I was, watching her lick dessert off a spoon mere inches away from me as my heart punched its way out of my chest. I need to get a grip on this ridiculous crush I have on her.

But as soon as she walks into my studio gym, looking like her usual barely-awake self, my hindbrain kicks in.

She’s so gorgeous. I wonder what she looks like when she wakes up in bed—no. Bad. Bad Dell. Look alive.

“Good morning, sunshine,” I smile, offering her coffee.

She grunts, and it’s like music to my ears. I love that this normally chipper and vibrant woman cannot handle mornings. She kind of reminds me of Isaiah in that regard.

See,I remind myself.They’re perfect for each other. Get the fuck out of their way.

Her cold brew is drained in seconds, and we start our session. It’s ten more minutes before Robyn’s responsesturn into actual words. I’m grateful for the normalcy, but there’s a niggling question I want to ask, and I can’t tell if it would be unprofessional or not. Do I address our date night? Or can I play this off as a friendly question? Is it immature to not talk about what happened?

Goddammit, I’m thirty-three years old and a business owner—why am I spinning with uncertainty? I should call my gram; she would know what to do.

Through our whole session, I war with myself while encouraging and pushing her. But there’s something she’s keeping close to her chest, I just know it. I can feel it. Maybe I’m projecting.

“Good job today,” I say as she dramatically drops to the floor before stretching.

“Thanks,” she exhales. “Can you stretch me?”

“Of course.” She lays on her back, and I bend her right leg until it’s nearly to her armpit. I’m on my knees, leaning my body weight against her.

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