Page 65 of Ellie Hayes and the Himbos
Diego lies on his stomach. He’s shoved the blindfold onto his forehead, and the band has bunched his hair into a bobbing black dome that gets a giggle out of me as he peers up, wide eyes fixed on the wallet in my hand as though it were a mace.
“I wasn’t going to throw itatyou,” I clarify. “I was going tothrow it somewhere toredirectyou. You were coming straight at me. I had to do something.”
“Ah.” Mollified, he turns and smiles at Mark, still partly under him, giving him a friendly pat on the knee. “Sorry for squishing you. Thank you for breaking my fall.”
We decide to end the game after Diego’s moment of flight, determining that it was as close to disaster as we were willing to get. And in the spirit of avoiding potential disaster, I give Ian my leave to take the destitute trio out. Ten minutes later, I’m still dazed. There was just so much of him all up against so much of me. The press of his hands. The feeling of his butt beneath my fingers…
“Hey, horndog!” Heather snaps her fingers to get my attention. I come to to find her and Mark watching me, trying not to laugh.
Heather rolls her eyes, “We going to watch a movie, or should we spend the evening recapping whatever was going on with you and Beefcake Mountain?”
“My vote’s for Beefcake Mountain,” Mark chimes.
“You’re going to be thinking about it, anyway.”
“Probably.” I sigh. “That was so much contact! Hands on parts—”
“Somany parts,” Mark agrees. “And when he wrapped his arms around you?” He fans himself. “Ellie, he got this look in his eye that was, like, I don’t know what! It was someme Tarzan, you Janepropriety.Bigprotective instinct. So hot.”
“Sohot,” Heather echoes.
“And your face said that you were into it,” he says. “So why in the hell haven’t you shimmied up that tall tree of a man?”
“Is it because he’s your boss?” Heather asks, skeptically.
I wave that off. “The gym is a paycheck gig. I have zero concern for an imbalance of power. It’s just…”
I frown. If my attraction to Ian were just physical, a fling with him would be perfectly in line with my six-month scheme. But I’m well beyond the physical with him. “He doesn’t feel like ‘break’ material.”
“Huh,” says Mark. He shares a look with Heather, and I very much wish I’d chosen to turn on a movie earlier.
“Does hehaveto be break material?” Heather asks too carefully. “I know you’ve only known him a few weeks, but if you’re into him, and he’s into you, and he’s the kind of guy who would parade shirtless to intimidate your ex—”
“You make it sound like he was peeing in a circle around me.”
“Except that he wasn’t!” Mark interjects. “You told us he did it because he recognized that someone who treated you poorly was the kind of trash who would be intimidated by shirtless parading, and that speaks volumes.”
“He isn’t Cole,” Heather says. Her voice is hard and direct. “He’s not the kind to bail.”
“I know,” I say. But that’s the problem.
My mind goes to the family photo, framed and wrapped and at the bottom of my gym bag waiting for me to get up the nerve to give it to Ian. I keep thinking about his mom and what she didn’t want for him. I know that it wasn’t fair of her, but she didn’t want to burden him with something he couldn’t control. I don’t want that for him, either. And if there’s a chance that what’s developing between us is more than physical for him, too, then telling him about my un-diagnosis will do exactly that.
That goes for everyone else I’ve invited into my “break” life. It’s not just that I don’t want them to see me as broken. I hate keeping this from them, but I’d hate it more if it weighed on them. If I could go back and spare Heather and Mark and my parents, I would. It’s hell knowing that the people I care about are worrying about me.
For anything with Ian to play out in real life, I’d have to let him in on this. It would weigh on him the same, impotent way. I refuse to do that.
Mark grins, wicked enough to pull me from my turbulent thoughts. “Twenty bucks says you don’t make it a week before you break.”
“Prepare to pony up, friend,” I say, and reach for the remote. “I am a pillar of restraint.”
24
I AM A WEAK,weak woman.
I haven’tbroken, thank you, but halfway through my workweek there are cracks in my resolve.
I can recall every time he’s touched me since Saturday. Monday, when his fingers brushed mine when he handed me a cup of coffee, and when his knee bumped me beneath the table when we sat down for lunch, we just… stayed put. Neither of us commented or made any effort to move, and we maintained the contact for the duration of the meal. I swear, I could feel the pressure of his knee against my thigh for hours after.
