12 Days of Forever(41)

I pull up his name, my thumb hovering over the letters as if they’re able to be touched. As if he knows I’m thinking about him, a text pops up from him.



Xander: Did you make it home?



Just knowing he cares makes me smile and makes my heart hurt. It’d be so easy to give in to him and not look back.



I’m home, door is locked and my bed is screaming my name.



Xander: You were screaming my name pretty loud a few hours ago.



I don’t know how he does it, but a simple look from him and I’m a wanton whore, lifting my skirt in the car just so I can have one more time with him before I had to leave.



I know. I haven’t forgotten.



Xander: I meant to ask you earlier – when can I see you next?



My heart beats a little faster knowing that he wants to see me and is already asking. I just don’t know what the answer is. I think that if I leave the ball in his court, I’m not faced with saying something stupid or out of place.



I work five nights a week, but I can take time off. It’s usually no more than 2 days.



I press send before I can change my reply. He needs to know that my job is important to me even though I want to see him.



Xander: You know, I’ve been thinking… well, I’m just thinking! Good night, Tiny Dancer.



I stare at my phone, wondering if I should reply. Part of me wants to know what he’s thinking and the other part wants to be surprised, romanced. Xander is definitely someone who can romance me.





It’s been six-weeks since I dropped Yvie off at the airport for a second time and not a day has gone by where I haven’t thought about her. I can’t look at the weight bench without memories of that night flooding my mind and have thought about moving it into my office and replacing it with another. Even though I sterilized it, I cringe each time someone uses it, out of jealousy and for sanitary reasons.

It’s hard telling myself that Yvie and I are just friends and that we’re not a couple. From the outside, I’m sure that’s all we look like, but according to my phone bill over ninety percent of my calls, both incoming and outgoing, are with her. We’ve logged who knows how many hours on video chat and she’s my first and last text message of each and every day. It’d be stupid of me to try and push her to define what we are, though. My hope is that when she’s ready, she’ll tell me. My fear, however, is that when she says she’s ready, it will be with someone else. I have to find a way to get out of this friend zone and more into the “this is the guy I’m seeing” zone, even if we do live thousands of miles away.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve learned so much about Yvie James. I know her best friend, Lindsay, hates Oliver (secretly I do, too) and is encouraging Yvie to find a different production to perform in. She doesn’t ask for my opinion, and I’m okay with that. I can’t act like I’m jealous because she has to spend every day with her ex-boyfriend/producer douche, even though I am. It’s her job, just as my job as a personal trainer puts me in contact with a lot of very nice looking females. Those females don’t hold a candle to Yvie, though, and as many times as I’ve told her that, I can still hear the jealousy in her voice. It’s a hazard of both our jobs, and probably a hang up for the both of us. It’s definitely something we’d need to overcome if we were to make this official.

I want to make us official, but not while we’re living apart. I can’t ask her to move, and uprooting my life here doesn’t seem feasible. I’ve established a reputable business, not to mention my commitment to JD’s recovery. His recent scare with his chest pains has me concerned. Not that I’d share those concerns with him. Leaving here doesn’t make sense in my eyes, and Yvie moving here likely doesn’t make sense in hers. I’m afraid that she and I are both in limbo, hanging on by a thread in the friend zone.

As I look out, people are bundled up to ward off the mid-winter chill. Ice skaters move by café windows, showing off their talents for all those who sit inside and watch. My skates are on and laced up and my pea coat buttoned up. Jenna said I needed this coat and that my sweatshirt wouldn’t cut it if I’m going to try to fit in. I don’t want to fit in, but I don’t want to be an embarrassment either.

The horn sounds telling the ice skaters to leave the ice and my nerves start to take over. I’ve never done anything like this, something spontaneous and so forthcoming. I’m either going to walk away a happy man for a few days, or with my tail between my legs. Ask me last week and I could have assured you that I was doing the right thing. Ask me right now and I’ll tell you that my legs are shaking, and my knees are knocking together.