Page 44 of Exes Don't

“What about when you’re not working? What’s your favorite way to spend your time?”

I have no clue.

It’s the sad reality of my life. I truly don’t know what my own interests are these days. I do what my job tells me to do. I live in the deceitful bed I’ve made. I don’t even know who I am. I have no passions of my own. It’s a sobering reminder that I’m a shell of a person.

“I-I don’t really know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I don’t know,” I snap, trying and failing to keep my voice level. I’m not angry at Anton. I’m angry at myself. Why couldn’t I have come up with something? Said I liked yoga, or badminton, or making bread, oranything.

It’s because something about his presence chips away at the bricks of my carefully constructed walls.

I blow out a breath. “Sorry.”

He’s watching me closely. “You don’t know what you like to do these days? That’s what you’re saying?”

Tears prick at the backs of my eyes, but I blink them away like a champ. I will not break down about this. Not now. Not in front of Anton. If I can stay focused on my job, then I can keep this identity crisis at bay.

“I just…I don’t know. I haven’t done a lot in my free time lately, so I guess I don’t know how to answer your question.”Understatement of the century.“I’m mostly busy with the bookstore. And my freelance work.” Another cop-out answer. Shocking.

“I see.” Anton sounds like he has fifteen follow-up questions, but he doesn’t press. I’m grateful for that. “There’s my truck.”

I pull in next to it.

“Thanks for the lift.” He opens the door. “I’ll text you about getting together with me and the guys.”

“Great. Thanks.” I attempt to slip back into professional mode. “I’ll be around at practice tomorrow, the walk-through on Saturday, and your game too.”

He bends down so he can see me. The wind whips his hair, tossing it into his eyes. “You’re coming to the game this weekend?”

“Ned got me hooked up with a sideline pass and everything.”

Anton looks almost stricken, and I can’t quite figure out why. He plays in front of thousands of people in person every week—millions more, if you count the TV broadcast. What’s the big deal if I’m there? Is it a big deal to him? The thought makes my breath come in shorter bursts.

“Is, uh…that okay with you?”

Anton swallows. “Yeah. Sure. That’s good. Okay, then. ‘Night, Sam—“ He breaks off and clears his throat. “’Night, Rose.”

I’m so stunned by his slip-up that I almost don’t notice that we’re not alone.

17

Duke It Out

Rose

Ilet myself be lulled into a false sense of security. But I make up for it. I move fast enough to make freaking Usain Bolt look like a tortoise. In less than a millisecond, I’m out of my front seat and positioning myself between Anton and a figure dressed in black who materializes out of the darkness.

“Who goes there?” I hold up my hands, prepared to fend off this attacker—whoever it is.

Anton steps up next to me, and before I can shove him backward, he says, “Duke?”

“Duke,” I repeat, dropping my fists. “Like your cousin Duke?”

“I see my reputation precedes me.” Duke chuckles.

“Or at least your ridiculous name,” Anton chortles. “Good to see you, man.”

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