Page 4 of Let It Be Me

Brad leans a little closer, and a smile passes over his face. “So your friend Ruby’s pretty cool. Did she tell you we’ve been hanging out?”

I straighten up to put some distance between us and focus my gaze on the blue band in my hands. “She mentioned it.” Like eighty times.

“So you’re cool with me talking to her, right? She said you guys have been friends since you were little kids.”

“Cool with me.”

He glances over at the trainer, who’s still on the phone, then back to me. “So nothing ever ... you know, happened between you guys, right?”

An honest answer to that question would require a long, complicated explanation that White Bread isn’t entitled to. I shake my head. “It’s never been like that between us.”Except for that one brief minute when it was exactly like that between us.It would be so easy to sink this thing between him and Ruby. One word—one look—and he’d get the message that I can’t standthe idea of him groping my best friend. He’s not even halfway worthy of her, and if I cared about him at all, I’d warn him Ruby gets bored of most guys in a month. This snoozefest will be lucky if he lasts two weeks. But I don’t care about him. I care about Ruby and the way she can’t help but smile when she says his name. “Go for it.”

His face relaxes. “Cool.” I wonder whether he has any other adjectives in his vocabulary. “So summer’s gonna be pretty chill around here, huh?” There we go—chill.I knew you could do it, White Bread. He launches into a monologue about howpumpedhe is for achillsummer and how he’s glad I’m—you guessed it—coolwith seeing more of him since he and Ruby have plans to hang out all summer. I pretend not to hear the question in his voice on that last point.

I watch him as he talks, because even though his face is as bland as white rice, it’s still more interesting than the drivel coming out of his mouth. For the life of me, I don’t get what Ruby sees in this dude. Not for the first time, I think about how I ended up here, scouting out Ruby’s crush like this.

“Lorenzo!” Sara’s voice rings out. I turn around to find my trainer striding into the room. “Why are you chatting when you should be stretching?”

I turn away from Brad. “Yes’m,” I say with a tight salute and launch myself into an enthusiastic chest stretch.

Sara rolls her eyes. “If I was a man, you’d be doing that without a hint of sarcasm.”

“How does one stretch sarcastically?”

“You should know.” She pats the therapy table. “All right, hop on. How’s it feeling today?”

“About the same.”

“Are you doing the exercises?” She bends down so she can see my face. “Every day?”

“Yes, drill sergeant. Every morning and every night. I think I’ve exhausted the entire Netflix library, trying not to die from boredom midway through my eighteenth set of shoulder push-ups.”

Sara starts guiding me through some range-of-motion movements. “You haven’t had any pain? When are you seeing your doctor?”

“Today.”

“Good. Well, let’s get you moving.”

Off the table and moving through my usual routine, I furrow my brow, pretending to be absorbed in my eightieth rep of cross-body stretches, but I’m listening to Brad’s conversation with the other trainer. He talks a lot and way louder than he needs to. He keeps trying out these jokes that I swear are ripped straight from a stand-up comedy special I saw last month, but his delivery is terrible. Total cornball.

Ruby must be playing him for shits and giggles. This fool is the last guy on earth I see her going for. But maybe that’s it; the guys Ruby usually dates have gotten her absolutely nowhere. Maybe she’s finally changing up her game? I turn my back and try to tune out everything but my exercise.

My session is almost done when Brad thanks his trainer and nods at me. “See you around, Rossi.”

I wave and leave it at that, not wanting to lose count of my reps.

“Good luck getting the okay from your doc. Keep me posted, yeah?”

“Sure, man. Thanks.” Okay, so he’s a pretty decent dude. Still ... total white bread.

When I finish the set, I move into some stretches, and Sara walks over. “What do you think of that kid?” I ask her. Until now, Brad’s barely been on my radar. He’s a decent football player, no drama off the field. Outside of football, I hardly ever see him. Hepops up at the big football parties, but we don’t have much to say to each other.

“Brad?” She gives me a withering look. “Don’t even try. I’m a lesbian.”

“No, I’m not trying to play Cupid here. I just want your opinion. A bird’s-eye view.”

She purses her lips. “He’s nice. Polite. Likes himself a lot.”

I nod, satisfied she finds him as mediocre as I do. “Would you let your sister date him?”

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