I know because Ruby complains, and so do a few others.
Enzo didn't even make the new phone weird.
And while a part of me might wonder about a kiss if I had flirted back, he didn't make the dinner anything but the sharing of food.
"No, the only one making it anything is you. Dumb, Lola. Real dumb."
Then I wonder, maybe his father has the answers. I doubt the man would ever speak to me, and I can't see me and him ever being friends in any way, shape, or form, but...if I can change my mind about Enzo, if I can make it so that I'm willing to hear what Mr. Marino might have to say, maybe the Marino family can change how they think of me.
I'm not my father.
And he is dead.
"Great," I mutter, "now I want to be friends with Enzo's family."
I don't, but turning pages is something I'm very much interested in.
While it is clear to me that my research skills, online and off, need real work, my efforts to squash frustration through exercise do not. I do a Pilates routine, followed by a kettlebell workout online that leaves me sweaty and feeling like I have accomplished something.
I shower, making it quick, not wanting to start thinking about Enzo in there again. After all, when it is all said and done, he is my boss, regardless of whether we once knew each other.
But I shut those thoughts down because I don't need to get a different kind of hot and sweaty, and I don't need to open up all those paths that lead to nothing but frustration about the fallout with our fathers.
I make a salad for dinner and go through the streaming service I have to find a movie to watch or a series to binge when my phone pings.
My heart soars and loops, and my libido throbs with energy.
Alex.
Alex
Hey.
Me
Hey back.
Alex
It is Saturday night, and you're in. Again.
Me
So are you.
Alex
I never said where I was.
I roll my eyes and type.
Me
Me either.
Alex
Sorry, Lola, you gave the game away with the "so are you."
