I shake my head, regretting having said anything. "Nothing to tell. Met a woman, had a good time, she left before I woke up. End of story."
"Except it's not, or you wouldn't be moping around your apartment getting drunk alone and looking like someone stole your favorite Bauers.”
"I'm not moping. Maybe I’m depressed about my tooth.” I pick up the kettlebell again, channeling my frustration into another set of swings. “Speaking of… How's Lena?"
Alder's expression shifts, his ears reddening slightly. "She's fine."
"Just fine? Not spectacular, amazing, life-changing?" I force a grin, grateful to turn the tables. "Still just roommates sharing longing glances across the breakfast table?"
"Fuck off."
"That's not a denial."
He throws a towel at my head. "We're colleagues. Roommates. Friends."
"Sure. And I'm Mother Teresa."
"You know it's complicated. She's the team dentist, I'm a player. There are rules."
I snort. "Since when do you care about rules?"
"Since I actually like my job and want to keep it," he says, but there's something in his expression—a softness when he mentions Lena that I've never seen before.
"You want more with her," I say, and it's not a question.
Alder stares at the ceiling, suddenly fascinated by the recessed lighting. "Maybe. I don't know. It's... different with her."
I understand more than he realizes. Something was different with Sloane, too—something I can't articulate without sounding like a lovesick teenager.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, saving me from having to respond. It's a group text from the guys.
Howie
Tiki boat. Today. 1 pm. It’s a paddle boat, so that’s exercise.
They don’t even pause for jet lag, I guess. They just got back stateside. However, it’s not like we aren’t used to constant travel. Immediately, the replies start flooding in.
Spinner
Already packed the cooler.
Rookie
I'm bringing the smoke show I met at Diesel last night.
Mayhem
No, you're not. Bros only. I'm not listening to you try to impress some rando all afternoon.
I glance at the time: 11:23 AM. Usually, I'd be the first to respond, the instigator of such plans rather than a recipient. Today, though, I hesitate.
"The children are summoning you?" Alder asks, nodding toward my phone.
"One of those tiki booze pedal boats."
"Sounds exactly like the healthy decision your liver needs right now." He stands, gathering his things. "I've got plans with Lena. We're sending manure to our cheating exes.”
“Wholesome,” I tease, but there's no bite to it. Part of me envies the simplicity of his day ahead.
