And after the third and final game, I relented to emailing her the way she asked me to.
I didn’t have anything new to say that day. I just wanted to see if I’d ever hear back from her. And via email, I finally did.
Thank you for the update. Best Regards, Reese Remington.
Best fucking regards.
I’m tempted to add yet another plate onto the squat rack because there’s a part of me that believes the frustration thrumming through me could help me set a new personal besttonight. But there’s no one here to spot me and though I may be irritated and want to take it out in the gym, I’m not an idiot.
With the bar balanced across my shoulders and my hands firmly wrapped in place, I lift the bar off the rack and power through my set of squats while watching my form in the mirror.
The music helps. The dark gym helps. But mostly, it’s the maddening question of what I did wrong that fuels me.
Maybe I shouldn’t have told Reese about Miller’s mom. Maybe it freaked her out that I haven’t dated anyone seriously in over twenty years. Or maybe I read it all wrong, and misunderstood what I thought was flirting all this time. Maybe she truly does just see me as her employee and I crossed a line with her.
I re-rack the bar before standing to my full height, taking deep breaths to try to calm my pounding heart.
That felt good, though. I could go all night. Pushing my body is a welcome distraction.
Pulling off my shirt, I use it to wipe down my face before giving my muscles a couple of minutes to recover before my next round. I stand behind the squat rack, leaning my arms over the bar to rest and catch my breath.
It shouldn’t bother me so much. I have too many other things to focus on. My kid. My kid’s kid. My team. Whether I’m going to have a job at the end of this season.
I should be concentrating on the future of my career, but instead, I’m too busy pondering if my boss knows I’m crushing on her and wondering if she ever felt the same. I thought you grew out of this phase after your early twenties, but here I am, smack-dab in my forties and wishing I could read that woman’s mind.
Get your shit together, Emmett.
I don’t hear the door open, my music is far too loud for that, but the light that reflects off the mirror in front of me, coming from the crack in the doorway, draws my attention.
Through the reflection, I watch as Reese walks into the gym.
She probably didn’t know I was in here with how dim I keep the lights, but as soon as she steps inside and hears the music, even though she’s wearing her own earbuds, she looks around the room until she meets my own waiting gaze through the mirror.
Reese stays frozen by the door, and I don’t move from my spot at the squat rack.
We simply watch each other through the reflection, not saying a word, once again in the same room after nearly a week.
I haven’t seen her since I ran into her in the dugout, and I assumed I wouldn’t until some point tomorrow during our afternoon game. I purposely avoided the top floor tonight just in case, and I didn’t check for her car in the parking lot because why would I? Why would she be here on a Friday night anyway?
Reese opens her mouth and says something, but when I can’t hear her, I realize my music is still blaring over the speaker system.
I push off the bar to grab my phone, lowering my music almost all the way down before turning to face her.
“I was just saying sorry,” she says, and for a moment I allow myself to believe she’s referring to the distance she’s kept this week. But then she throws her thumb over her shoulder toward the door. “I didn’t know you were here. I’ll go.”
That’d be for the best. My only hope of concentrating on the rest of this workout would be if she left.
I shrug casually. “You own the place. Do what you want.”
I find myself hopeful to hear one of her little quips. “You’re right. I do,” or “It’s always nice when you remember that.”
But instead, Reese stays silent, and I hate that more than any jab she’s ever thrown my way.
“Do your thing,” I continue. “I’m almost done anyway.”
She offers me this small, almost pitying smile and I decide I absolutely hate that too.
Reese grabs a yoga mat and lays it out on the floor in the corner of the gym. Unfortunately, that corner just so happens to be the one directly behind the squat rack, and I’m given a prime view of her through the mirror on the wall when I return to the bar for another set.
