Page 5 of Keeping the Score

“Okay. I’ll be there.”

“Thank you. Again. Are you done with your, uh, eye-strengthening exercises?”

“Yeah. But I’m going to practice some taekwondo patterns.”

“Okay.” She hesitates, her eyes dipping to my bare chest. “Okay. I’ll leave you to it.”

2

ANDI

In the divorce, I got the condo, the Le Creuset cookware, and Ford Archibald.

Yes, Ford is a person and can’t really be considered part of our divorce settlement, but in my mind, he’s mine. A friend. He wasourfriend, but now he’smyfriend. Unlike most of the other friends me and my ex-husband shared, who deserted me before the ink was dry on the final judgment of divorce.

Ford and I have known each other for a few years, since my ex-husband and I moved into this building and next door to Ford. Ford and Trevor are both pro athletes, Ford playing hockey, Trevor baseball. They connected over that, but because their seasons were so opposite, Ford was around more when Trevor was away on road trips. It was nice having someone close to help out when my bedroom doorknob broke or I needed help moving the stove so I could clean under it and Trev wasn’t there.

Now Trev is gone for good, having dumped me for another woman.

I go into my condo and close the door behind me. I was tempted to stay up there and watch Ford do his martial arts exercises, or whatever they’re called. I’ve watched him before—barefoot and bare-chested, wearing loose white pants that sit low on his hips, bare back rippling with smooth skin over tight muscle as he moves. And the intense look of focus he gets on his face is mesmerizing. Not only is he ripped, but he’s a very good-looking man, with vivid green eyes, carved cheekbones, and perfect dark beard stubble. He’s lean and powerful, and his workouts are an erotic show of control and sensuality.

My mouth goes dry remembering.

I’ve seen him kick a leg up so high and straight I winced with a sympathetic pull in my inner thighs. Once, I held pads for him to practice his kicking and ended up with bruises up and down my arms. That man can kickhard.

Anyway. I got my nerve up and asked him to be my date at the dinner. And he said yes.

I already told him I’ve been nominated for Best Branded Series Campaign by the East Coast Digital Marketing Association. I’m super pumped about it. I really want that award. I really want to show my asshole ex-husband and his new girlfriend how good I am and what he’s missing out on. I also want to show the digital marketing world that I’m succeeding at starting my own business. I don’t want to be at the dinner alone.

I still haven’t decided what to wear to the awards dinner. Elodie took me shopping the other day and I bought three new dresses. Three! Craziness. After my divorce, when she got tired of me shlepping around in joggers and old T-shirts, she gave me a makeover and I willingly participated since my self-esteem had taken a hit. I got new hair, new makeup, new clothes, and a new social life. As Ford alluded to earlier in his crude way.

It’s fine. Trevor was my college boyfriend. We got married young. I never really had relationships with other men and now I’m single, why not? I’ve been having fun learning how to flirt and hit on men. Men are fun.

Except Trevor. Bastard.

I open my closet and pull out one dress. This midnight-blue one-shouldered dress is sexy, but probably not right for a business function. Maybe I should just wear a suit. Nah. I don’t want to be that business-like. I can look alittlesexy.

This gray sheath is form-fitting and flattering. I really like it. It’s a safe choice.

This red dress, though… wow. Do I have the nerve to pull it off? It’s a lot more attention-grabbing than I’m used to wearing.

Trevor would be surprised.

But who cares about him? How about the guy I’ll be with… would Ford like it?

Phhht. Why am I thinking that? I don’t need to impress Ford. I should be worried about impressing my clients and colleagues and Haven fucking Gray. Or maybe I shouldn’t be worried at all about how I look. I should be more concerned with the smarts and skills that got me this award nomination. I could go to the dinner in a burlap sack tied with a rope and a boatload of confidence.

But a little help from a nice dress never hurts.

3

FORD

How did I get myself into this again?

Oh, yeah. Andi.

Here I am in a suit and tie ready to go to an awards dinner where I will know nobody, except Andi of course, and listen to boring speeches. And I’m edgy about not getting my cleaning done. I keep thinking about it. It’s important to get it done. Thinking about it makes my skin itch.

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