I laugh. “Yeah, let’s do it.”
“So, what is it?”
“Marina visited before the game.”
Cecily’s eyes meet mine with a spark. “She did?” she asks, surprised. “Why?”
“To wish me luck and… to ask me out to dinner.”
“No,” she mutters, stunned.
“Yes.”
“Wow. Did you say yes?”
I cross my arms, relaxing my ankle. “You think I said yes?”
“Yeah, sure. Why not?”
“No,” I shake my head. “I made up some bullshit lie that I had plans and told her to rain check.”
“Are you attracted to her? Is she your type?” she asks.
I stare into the distance. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Do you think she’s pretty?”
I shrug. “Pretty awkward. Pretty weird. Sometimes pretty annoying.”
She chuckles at that.
“How was your meeting last night?” I ask, changing the subject.
“It was good. Did you watch my Stories?”
“I was wiped after the game, so no.” I pull out my phone to watch them. The first is Cecily, in a mirror selfie video, talking about her morning routine. Then there’s a photo of her breakfast. It looks delicious. Then a photo of her green juice.
“No pulp in this one?” I ask, showing her.
She laughs. “No pulp.”
The following image is her at dinner with a friend—selfies, wine glasses, the sunset, and she’s dolled up.
“Looks like a romantic dinner,” I say, shoving my phone back in my pocket. “Were you drinking wine?”
She chuckles. “No. It was sparkling water.”
“Clever.”
She rolls off the treadmill and says, “It’s full body today, and you, sir, are not allowed to touch a thing.” She looks down at my ankle again. “Have you gotten it looked at?”
“Just by the PT. They told me to rest.”
“And I am telling you to rest, too. You should go home, Dylan.”
“Nah,” I mutter. “After you.”
She walks ahead of me, and it takes every aware cell in my body not to look down at her ass.
