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I scoff. “God, no. It’s only been a month since Brady and I broke up.”

“So?”

“So, I don’t need to be rushing into anything after ending a two-year relationship. Especially after being cheated on like that.”

She’s silent for a minute, then takes a bite of her ice cream before responding. “True. That fuck bucket deserves to burn in hell. Can we go, like, slash his tires or something?”

“Marie!”

“What?” She widens her eyes in feigned innocence. “I’m just saying, he deserves it.”

I laugh. “Well, yeah, he deserves it, but I’m not about to let you risk getting in trouble with the law.”

She rolls her eyes, but she knows I’m right and drops the topic.

As we finish our ice cream, I talk to her about her college prospects and her plans for the summer. I’m a little sad that she’s all grown up now, but I’m proud of who she’s become.

We make plans to go out again next week before we head our respective ways.

On my drive home, I don’t think about Brady, and I don’t feel sad for the first time in a long time. I definitely needed this outing.

One step at a time, things are getting better.

I’M TIRED AFTERwork on Monday, and I go home with plans to relax and put off the gym for one more day after not going over the weekend. But as I sit on the couch and scroll through my phone, I feel restless. It’s late—almost 9 p.m.—and I’m usually leaving the gym around this time, but it will still be open for another two hours. Plenty of time for me to get a workout in.

As I exit my car in the gym parking lot, I note how empty it is tonight. There are usually still four or five cars in the lot when I leave around this time, but tonight there are only two.I wonder if one of them belongs to James. . .

I’m not sure why I feel so nervous when I catch sight of him. Sure, we had an awkward conversation last week, and I had to rush out after I started crying,andI caught him staring at me more than once, but why do I care? I hardly know him.

James looks up from the desk as I walk in, gives me a quick nod, and returns his attention to whatever he’s doing on the computer. Business as usual. I breathe a sigh of relief as I scan my card and walk to the treadmill for a quick warm-up, noticing there’s only one other person in here aside from James. As soon as I pull my phone from my pocket to turn on some music, I realize that I forgot my headphones.Fuck. I guess I have to listen to the 2000s pop playing on the radio, which isn’t the worst thing, but I feel much less motivated without my regular playlist.

I decide to text my friend Elana to keep myself entertained for my 15-minute walk. It’s been quite a while since we talked, anyway; She texted me a few times after my breakup with Brady, and as much as I appreciated it, I was too upset to really hold much of a conversation. I send a quick message: “Hey girl! How have you been?”

She responds less than a minute later. “Final exams are coming up, so I’m stressed as hell.”A bubble pops up to show she’s still typing.“Sooo ready to get this damn degree.” I smile to myself thinking of how proud I am of her. I met Elana when I started college, and we stayed in contact even after I dropped out. She’s always been smart, and she’s done so well through her school program. Before I can type my reply, another message from her comes through. “But more importantly, how are you?” Elana is the type to split up one paragraph-sized message into 6 smaller, individual ones, so I wait a few seconds before I reply to make sure she’s finished.

“I’m actually doing alright now, but it’s day by day as usual. Thanks for being there for me.” I add a heart emoji at the end for good measure. I glance up as the other man who was working out walks out the door, and I catch James avert his gaze at the same second I glance his way. Okay, I cannotbe imagining this. Why does he keep watching me like that?

Maybe he pities me after seeing me break down the other day. He’s probably annoyed with me, thinking I’m some kid who needs to get her shit together. But one thing’s for sure: being around him makes me unreasonably nervous and awkward. I just don’t know how to interact with him. His emotions, if he has any, are almost entirely unreadable. I’ve never seen him be anything less than 100% professional.

My phone buzzes with another message from Elana that says “No problem, girl!” I wait, and another text comes. “Now that you’re okay, we need to get you laid.”

I snort and type back a reply. “Sounds like a lot of work. I’m perfectly fine with being on my own.”

“Whatever, you know I’m right.” Pause. “Want to FaceTime? I’m so sick of looking at these textbooks.”

Checking the screen of the treadmill, I see that there are only five minutes left. “Can’t right now. I’m at the gym. Maybe tomorrow?”

“I can probably squeeze in some time tomorrow.” Pause. “Glad you’re back in your element.” Pause. “Any hot guys there?” She adds with a wink emoji.

“That’s a better question for when it’s not past 9 p.m. It’s literally just me and the owner of the gym here. They close soon.”

She wastes no time in answering. “But is he hot?”

I roll my eyes but can’t help a small smile as I reply, “Intimidatingly so. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile, though. He’s also probably my dad’s age, soooo . . .”

“Soooo, he’s had enough practice in bed to know what he’s doing.”

Dear God, this girl just won’t stop. I’m trying not to laugh as I press the “stop” button on the treadmill and take a drink from my water bottle. I send her a reply that says “Workout time. Talk to you later,” which is sure to fuel her fire since she desperately needs a distraction from school. I set my phone face-down on the top of the leg press machine and do my sets before making my rounds to a few more machines before I finish. Without my music blasting through headphones, I easily get lost in my own thoughts. My mind wanders, and I think about what Elana said about how he must “know what he’s doing.” With how stoic and unemotional he usually seems, I can’t imagine he’s much of a player. But for all I know, he could have a wife or girlfriend. Even though he isn’t terribly outgoing, I’m sure he gets plenty of attention with just his looks. I take a peek at him across the room, thankful he’s not looking at me this time. My gaze lingers for just a moment, and I wonder how those full lips might feel against mine, or what it would be like to thread my fingers through his hair if his lips were further down . . .

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