How to Fail at Flirting(48)
She rested a hand on my shoulder for balance, reaching back to stretch her quads. “You’re a badass, hot-as-hell, fucking brilliant doctor, not some insecure high school girl. Man up!”
“Do you know how rife with toxic masculinity the phrase man up is?” I challenged, mirroring her pose. “It implies that to be courageous is to be a man.”
“Do you know how annoying it is when you change the subject?” Her tone was smug.
“I’m just saying, we don’t need to insert men into every aspect of our language.”
“Okay, ovary up. Fallopian forward. Vulva with a vengeance.” She sighed dramatically, moving out of the stretch, and I stifled a laugh as I was reminded why we had been friends for so long. “Nay, you like him. Don’t tell me you don’t, and he sounds amazing—like unbelievable, and I’m kind of worried you’re delusional and making him up. So, woman up. Person up. Have the talk.”
“You’re right.”
“I know,” she answered. “Between taking care of you when you’re sick and what you’ve told me about his tongue, it sounds like this guy could teach a master class. Can you give Aaron his number?”
She looked over my shoulder and waved at the man jogging toward us.
“I’m sure Aar would love to hear you say that.”
“He’d get over it.”
“Hey,” the trainer said, holding out his hand to me. “I’m Wes. Glad you could join us.”
Felicia hadn’t been exaggerating—this guy was gorgeous, and I’d have been smitten if my sexy stranger weren’t in the picture. He was younger than us, maybe midtwenties, with broad shoulders and striking hazel eyes.
“Wes is amazing, Nay. I credit him with getting my body back after the twins.” Felicia shadowboxed near him, and he blocked her jabs.
I should learn how to do that. I made a note to ask Wes later about the self-defense classes Felicia told me he taught. I’d been thinking a lot lately about what I’d do if Davis came back for good. I wondered if knowing how to fight would make me feel stronger and more prepared to face him.
Wes blocked one final jab from Felicia and pulled a stopwatch from his pocket. “You never lost your body; you just decided to change it. All I did was make you do the extra intervals.”
“Wes, Naya is my oldest friend. It’s her first time, so you’ll take it easy on both of us, right?”
He laughed. “That’s not what you pay me for, but we’ll ease into things, Naya.”
“I can handle it,” I said, bouncing on the balls of my feet. “Hit me with what you’ve got.”
“Okay. I like you.” Wes pointed to a grassy area nearby. “We’re starting with Felicia’s favorite. Burpees.”
Felicia groaned, but we walked the few feet, and she said over her shoulder, “I knew you’d like her. I would have set you up years ago if it weren’t for that girlfriend of yours. Katie? Kendell?”
“Kelsey. Soon to be a fiancée, though, I hope. Bought a ring a few days ago.” As we congratulated him, color rose on the trainer’s cheeks, which was kind of adorable. His affection for the woman was evident. She was probably a nice, uncomplicated person. I wondered what Jake looked like when he told someone about me. If he told someone about me. And since whatever we were doing might end up being career suicide, would I want him to tell anyone?
Wes explained how we’d fall to a push-up, then jump back up to do it again with a hop. He demonstrated the move effortlessly, and Felicia gave me a quick raised eyebrow as she eyed his backside. Thirsty.
When Wes returned to his feet, he took a step back. “You ready?”
Felicia and I shifted into the position, and we started the workout, falling in sync and grunting as we got back to our feet, time after time.
“These are the worst,” Felicia huffed.
“If you complain again, I’ll add ten more.” Wes counted our reps, encouraging us.
“Tyrant.” Felicia only insulted those she loved—well, okay, she insulted everyone, but she was only this way with people in her circle.
I liked Wes, too, and I was already enjoying this workout. I ran every day, but with each push-up and every jump, I got a reminder that I was strong enough to do more. The grass under my hands and the moment of weightlessness when I hopped, the sweat running down my face—I wanted to bottle the feeling.
“I’ve got ten more in me.” I grinned through my breathless huff and ignored my best friend’s violent glare.
* * *
After an hour in the park with Wes and Felicia, I’d collapsed on my couch, exhausted in the best possible way. Wes had already sent me the information on the next self-defense class he was leading, and my friend forgave me for the extra ten burpees . . . eventually. I’m making plans. I’m going to be okay.
Naya: Dear Florence Nightingale: Did you make it home safely?
I glanced down at my phone, awaiting a reply to my text to Jake several hours before. Between anticipating messages from Jake and fearing new texts from Davis, each buzz and notification was a double-edged sword. Davis had contacted me a few more times, always with veiled threats or general creepiness, sometimes with a photo or just a reminder he had them. I hadn’t blocked him, worried he’d somehow retaliate, making things worse. I also couldn’t bring myself to add him to my contacts, so every unknown number gave me pause.