Ally shrugs. “If you’re really burned out, your body’s not craving a salad or a run on the treadmill. You need primitive things, like sugar and sleep. Trashy TV. Sex.”
My brain does a strange sort of stutter-step. Did she actually say sex, or was that an auditory hallucination?
“When I was on the tennis tour, I’d be totally spent by the end of the season,” she continues. “I’d come home and spend a week on my parents’ couch, doing absolutely nothing productive. I’d watch trashy TV and read romance novels. And sleep. The only exercise I got was walking from the couch to the fridge.”
“Hmmm.”
“And after a week on the couch, I felt a lot better. It wouldn’t be a good long-term lifestyle, but it was what I needed at the time.” She looks at me. “I think you might be at that point. You need someone to chain you to the couch for a week.”
If you’re offering, I wouldn’t say no.
I know she didn’t mean that as an innuendo, but she’s killing me here.
“Drew?” she asks.
Right. The conversational ball is now in my court.
“It’s not that easy, Ally,” I reply. “I could take a vacation, but not for a couple of months. I’ve got people booked for surgery, and we make the call schedule three months in advance.”
Ally reaches up to pull the elastic out of her hair, causing her shirt to stretch across her chest. My mind flashes back to yesterday’s kiss, to the way her breasts felt against my chest. I imagine how they’d feel in my hands.
“I know you can’t cancel surgeries,” she says. “Or the clinic patients, but maybe you could delegate some of the administrative stuff?”
“Delegate some of the administrative stuff.” I can’t hide a smirk of amusement. “It’s not always easy, though, Ally. I recently had an admin assistant who was always nagging me to come to meetings.”
“She sounds like a real nuisance,” Ally says with a grin. “I hope you got rid of her.”
“Well, she’s not my assistant anymore, but I haven’t exactly gotten rid of her.”
“Shit.” Ally’s expression changes, and she rakes a hand through her hair. “And now you’ve got to deal with this fake relationship situation on top of everything else.”
“What?” I exclaim. “No, Ally, I was joking. I’m not trying to get rid of you.”
“Oh, I knew you were joking.” She blows out a breath. “But I’ve basically taken over your home office. I’ll start looking for another apartment?—”
“No!” It comes out more forcefully than I intended, and Ally looks surprised. “You don’t have to do that. The condo’s big enough that I barely notice you’re here.” It’s a lie, obviously, but what else can I say? “You might as well stay the three months.”
“Well, okay,” she agrees slowly. “But I was also thinking . . . you remember we agreed we wouldn’t date other people, while we’re pretending to be together?”
“Yes?” I steel myself to keep my expression neutral. If she’s about to tell me she wants to date someone else, I’ll have to pretend it doesn’t bother me.
“I just thought if you wanted to date . . . you know, to blow off steam . . . it wouldn’t be a problem. So long as you’re discreet about it, of course. If you wanted to bring someone here, I could make myself scarce.”
It takes me a moment to process what she’s saying. She’s offering to leave for an evening if I want to bring another woman back to the condo.
I swallow hard. “I’m not looking to date right now, Ally.”
“Okay.”
Does she look relieved, or is that wishful thinking? Maybe she’s just relieved she won’t have to vacate the condo so I can bring back a date.
“But will you at least try to relax more?” she asks.
“Relax more?” I echo.
“Yeah. Like, when you get home from work, lie on the couch and imitate a vegetable. Stay away from the gym. Eat refined sugar. And don’t work at home. Just for a week, but I bet you’ll feel better at the end of it.”
“I don’t know, Ally.”
