“You aren’t a corporate fucking lawyer, you’re a physical therapist. You should have worn sweats.”
“And the last time I checked, my daddy is back in Pennsylvania, not in this hallway.”
The nerve of him questioning me about my choices.
“I’m just looking out for you, Mia. The way I always have. The way I always will continue to do so.”
“Are we supposed to be keeping our friendship a secret?” I blurt out. There’s no need to beat around the bush.
“What?”
“Back there in the therapy room, I was so happy to see a friendly face, but you barely acknowledged your college acquaintance.”
I use air quotes.
“I never said the word acquaintance, and you played along with me.”
“I was just following your lead.”
“Well, you sold it well. Samuels seemed pleased.”
“Samuels? Listen, do you want me to quit on my first day? I’m feeling like this job is going to be a huge inconvenience for you and your… other life.”
Rush cracks the knuckles on his left hand. A telltale sign that this conversation is frustrating him, but I don’t care. I’m freakin’ frustrated too.
“What the fuck are you talking about, Bird. You’re talking in riddles as usual. What other life?”
“Your pro football life. The life where no one knows who I am or that I even exist. I’m supposed to be your best friend and not one of those men in there ever heard of me and neither has Miranda.”
“Miranda? Why would I tell her shit about the things or people who matter most to me?”
“Because you were sleeping with her?” I point and angrily whisper, remembering we are only a few feet away from her office.
“That doesn’t have shit to do with anything.”
“And that, ladies and gentleman, is what your problem is.”
“What’s my problem?” he asks through gritted teeth.
“You’re closed off and you choose to compartmentalize your life like you’re some sort of secret agent, never wanting one part to ever learn about the other.”
He cracks his knuckles some more but doesn’t respond.
“You have to let someone in eventually, Rush, and Miranda seems like a really nice woman. No clucker tendencies whatsoever.”
He walks closer toward me, and even though I’m relatively tall, he still towers over me by over six inches. His fiery eyes hold mine in rapt attention. His nostrils flare with emotion.
“Why do you keep talking about Miranda, Bird?”
“Because—“
“Do you want me to fuck her?”
“What?”
“I’m asking if it would make you happy if I fuck her, because I have no plans to.
The inside of my mouth feels dry and swollen, so I say nothing in response.
