The week dragged on. The producers were adamant that we wrap filming, and they were bugging me day and night for tweaks. In between redoing the sound track, I ran miles, logged a few more miles with Harriette, and obsessed over Charli.
I wanted more than anything to be back there in her apartment, rolling in her lavender sheets with her in her pink panties and glossed lips. If I concentrated, I could still smell her on my shirt, but it wasn’t enough. Still, I had a job, one I’d worked hard for, and she was doing her thing. It was what it was.
What would be enough?
I e-mailed her every morning and she usually responded right away because of the time difference. We’d only spoken twice, and planned to get together in two weeks. She was going to come here for Saint Patty’s weekend, which scared the ever-loving shit out of me.
Did she expect to meet my friends? They were pretty much all I had since my parents were older and lived in a nursing facility.
Weird, I’d never even told her that. Would she care? Would she think I was callous? Maybe that’s why I didn’t say anything. Would she think my friends were dorks?
The questions tumbled in my head as my feet slapped against the pavement. I would need a new pair of running shoes by the time she showed up in March at the rate I was going.
I dropped down on the grass in front of my place and did one set of twenty push-ups and then another, alternating with sets of sit-ups. It was my own version of boot camp adopted from my workouts with Ryan.
Sweat dripped into my eyes and I swiped it away before going after my push-ups like a man in prison and they were my only purpose of the day.
Charli had mentioned that her friend Janie wanted to meet me. What would she think? I was pretty sure she was the one who was involved with that whole rescue-me gig at Zao’s.
Christ, I was fucked.
I was back in high school all over again, plotting out some weekend party on the bleachers, and I hated it back then. What made me think I’d like it now?
