“Does your mom watch the videos?” I pop a chip in my mouth and wait for an answer.
“I wish—she died young. Breast cancer. My dad didn’t live much longer. Broken heart.”
“Aaack, I’m sorry to hear.” I slide my hand up his arm and give it a squeeze.
“I have one sister, but she’s living in Alaska. She shacked up with one of these traveling doctors, and they’re always heading somewhere remote, helping people. She does his paperwork and all that.”
“Wow. A nomad and a numbers guy. You two sound like a pair.”
“Ha! We are. We used to be pretty close, but now with the distance and neither of us having families of our own, we don’t get around to it much.”
“And now you’re stuck with my daughter going on dates with us.”
“I don’t mind, but she’s not here right now.” He leans in and brushes my cheek with a kiss. “Ready to finish our war?”
“You bet.”And even more ready for what comes after.
We finish, and Reid wins. I don’t even care. I’ve had the most fun I’ve had in ... forever. Shhh, I know it’s cliché. But in the middle of a sawdust-smelling old warehouse, drinking beer and throwing axes, I feel like more of a woman than I have in years.
“Thanks, Paul,” Reid says, tipping our instructor and winking at me. “Ready?” he asks me.
“Oh yeah.” Silently, I wonder if he will open another beer on my counter later.
Andi is laughing, singing to the song on the radio, and smiling.
I did that.I am man; hear me roar.
Something about this woman does me in. She gets me without us having to discuss it. I can’t explain it. She understands my blog, doesn’t judge me or whatever.
For all my life, I’ve been judged, which I get is weird with how I put myself out there with the blog. Still, if I wasn’t being made fun of for my passion for numbers, it would be for the damn blog. So, like I said, I don’t understand the unspoken acceptance between us, but it works for me.
“Want to come in?” Andi asks as I pull into a spot in front of her house.
“That okay?”
“Yeah, Gabby is apparently staying at Leona’s.”
“Oh.” I wink. “Convenient?”
Andi laughs it off because she gets me.
I don’t make it in time to open her car door. She’s out and bopping up the stairs before I beep the locks.Alrighty then.
We both hang our coats on the rack by the door, and she clicks on the recessed lighting. It’s a nice place, well-kept. I bet she’s done this all on her own for her daughter.
“What’s your poison?” Andi leans her ass into the back of the sofa and cocks an eyebrow at me.
“Beer?”
“I got you covered, but can you open it?”
I find it strange she asks this. Isn’t she some independent woman? Whatever floats her boat. “Where’s your opener?”
“You can just knock it off on the counter like you did at Lumberjax,” she says, busy pouring herself a Perrier.
“Not here. It’ll ruin your counter. That’s for places where it doesn’t matter.”
“Oh.” She looks disappointed, and I shrug it off as some womanly weirdness as she yanks a drawer and grabs a bottle opener.
