I finish the final round and flop back onto the floor, panting slightly. My body aches with a nice burn. But not enough. “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. I never hesitate like this.”
“True. You always take action. As to what’s wrong with you, where to begin?”
I flip him off, knowing he can’t see it but also knowing he’llknowthat I am. I can all but feel the smarmy grin on his side of the phone.
“You know what’s wrong,” he says levelly. “It’s Pen.”
Sighing, I jump to my feet and grab a towel to wipe my face. “I fucked myself here, LB.”LB: little bro.It still shames me that I’ve had flashes of jealousy toward him. That particular tidbit, I will not be sharing.
“Sounds about right, BB.”Big bro.His voice turns dry. “When who you really should be fucking—”
“Funny.”
“It’s really not,” he deadpans. “Sexual repression is no laughing matter.”
“I swear, I’m about to hang up.”
“But you won’t. Not when you need to talk it out.”
I strap a set of weighted bands around my ankles and start with high steps. “I should have called Jan.”
March makes a scandalized noise of horror. “He’d just kick your ass. You know he thinks of Penny as his kid sister.”
“For the love of football, can you not twist it that way? I’m fucked in the head enough over this as it is.”
“Sorry. Sorry.” March adopts his business tone. “Look, neither of us have done much by way of pursuing women. We’re Virgin Pursuers, if you will.”
I give the phone, and March, the stink eye. “Never use that term again.”
“Eh, I kind of like it. Regardless, I gotta imagine it’s humbling not having Pen fall at your feet by this point in time. And, let’s be honest here, it’s been alongtime.”
“One day, LB, you’re going to be humbled. And I will sit back and enjoy the show.”
“Sure, sure.” He doesn’t sound remotely concerned. “Mypoint is, that as a VP, you’re not thinking clearly. Your virginal ignorance in the art of pursuit—”
“I swear to God—”
“—has you overlooking one very important thing.”
“What? And I warn you now, if you go on about popping pursuit cherries, I will fly out there and literally kick your ass.”
“So warned.” He clears his throat, and I know—just fucking know—he’s laughing up his sleeve. But he’s suddenly serious. “You’re forgetting that Pen is shy.”
My moving feet come to a stop as his words sink in. Frowning, I stare out at the skyline just beyond my house. Penisshy. I know this. But I’ve started to see her differently, haven’t I? She doesn’t act shy with me. For most things. But when it comes to romantic relationships? Maybe...
“Huh,” I say thoughtfully.
“Right,” March says. “Shy in that she doesn’t see herself properly. She thinks she’s second fiddle when she’s first chair.”
Little known fact: March played violin in the school orchestra from first grade to high school graduation.
“Not only that,” he goes on. “She tends to overthink things—like someone else I know. Which means she’s not going to view your sad attempts at flirting as anything other than you just playing around.”
I’ll ignore the “sad attempts” for now. Grabbing an energy drink, I sit on the bench and think. Because March is right on one big point: I haven’t been considering Pen’s lack of belief in her own appeal. She always laughs it off, as though I’m joking, when I say she turns me on.
“You’ve got to be crystal clear with her,” March says in the silence. “Tell her you’ve been a shortsighted, sexually confused—”
“That’s not how you use that term.”
