The Fastest Way to Fall(72)

After she left, I pulled my phone from my pocket to find a text from Kelsey.


Kelsey: I’d still like to talk. Maybe more. Drink tomorrow?



I needed to shake Britta from my system, and even though any other woman in Chicago would have been a better distraction than my ex, I already felt gutted and a little reckless.


Wes: Sure.





43





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It may surprise you to know I read every comment left on these posts, and a few days ago, someone asked how I maintain my confidence while identifying problems with my body. I’ve been thinking about this. I try not to look at my body as problematic. It’s the only body I have, right? That said, I don’t think I maintain confidence—I question myself all the time—but I’m getting better at hearing the criticism and dismissing it for what it is. I don’t expect to run a marathon tomorrow, just like I don’t expect every first kiss to end in a happily ever after. That critic inside my head isn’t always tuned in to the possibilities.





* * *





THE DRESS I wore was the one I’d bought with RJ, and the bodice hugged my breasts before flaring out into a flirty skirt. Bright red, the color popped against my skin, and when I slipped into a pair of nude pumps, I felt like a supermodel. I snapped a selfie, sending it to RJ, and after a pause, I texted Wes.


Britta: Raccoon, my ass! [photo attached]

Wes: Wow.

Wes: And I never said I didn’t like raccoons.

Wes: Shouldn’t you be out with Norbert?

Britta: His name is Donovan, and he’s picking me up in ten minutes. What are you up to?

Wes: Followed your lead. On a date.



Uneasiness crept in. I’d actually been more excited to send Wes the photo than about the date. We’d mostly gotten back to normal with our routines, running in the mornings and going to the gym, but Wes was more careful of boundaries around me. Guarded. We didn’t hang out in the evenings anymore, and now he was out on a date, too. Maybe that was for the best. Maybe we were both moving on.


Britta: Stop texting me, then



He didn’t respond, and the buzzer sounded.



* * *





LATER THAT NIGHT, RJ settled onto the other end of my couch with a glass of wine. “So, what happened? This was the guy from work, right?”

I tucked my legs under me, the gorgeous dress abandoned for shorts and a T-shirt as soon as I got home from dinner. “Yeah, Donovan.” I sipped from my glass of the rosé my friend had brought with her.

“And yet, you’re sitting with me at . . .” She dramatically looked at her phone. “Nine thirty-eight instead of sitting with him, ideally on his face.”

I almost spit out my wine.

RJ shrugged, settling into the couch. “So, what gives?”

The date had been fine. We went to an Italian restaurant and chatted about work. Since he worked at Best Life, I could be honest about what I did. I’d catch myself wanting to tell Wes about an idea I had for a story or to share my outrage at some comments someone left. I could do that with Donovan, but my heart wasn’t in it.

When he excused himself for the restroom, I checked for a reply from Wes and was disappointed to find none, which was ridiculous. “It was fine. He was nice, cute—if a little boring.” Of course, the whole time I was worried because my trainer was on a date, too. Or already touching her. Or sleeping with her. Or falling in love with her.

RJ narrowed her eyes. “What are you not telling me?”

My cheeks heated. I hadn’t told her about my attraction to Wes, and I wasn’t sure why. In part, I didn’t want to put my crush into the universe only to have nothing come of it. More than that, I knew RJ would remind me how professionally dicey the situation was, and I didn’t want to face that. My best friend was many things, but hopeless romantic was not one of them. She held my gaze.

“Stop lawyering me.”

She took a large drink from her wineglass and settled back in her seat, expectant. “Spill it.”

I told her everything about working out with him, the shared looks and touches, and the morning in the blue room. I finally circled back to my date.

“Donovan was interesting and sort of funny, but when he held my hand, I felt . . . nothing.” He was the perfect antidote to Ben and Wes—smart, unassuming, and cute, but not too hot—and I should have been into him. Unfortunately, I was more interested in what Wes was doing than in the man holding my hand.

When I paused, she gingerly set down her glass. “Let’s forget for a moment that you’re on friend probation for not telling me this until now.” RJ stood, stretching her legs, and walked toward the kitchen, snatching my glass along with hers to refill them.

While I waited, I toggled back to the text exchange with Wes, knowing nothing had come in but looking anyway.

RJ returned with the wine. “Well, I’m here and we have wine. What conversation do you want to have?”

“What if we have no conversations and just drink more?”

She ignored my question. “Obviously, I want to know about the guy—and I know you’re checking your messages from him right now—but do you want to talk about him and what it means for work, or work and what it means for him?”