When she hangs up, she falls back against the bed with a theatrical sigh. “I did it. The world didn’t end.”
“Very brave,” I say with mock seriousness. “Very courageous.”
She elbows me lightly in the ribs. “Don’t make fun of me. This is a big deal.”
“I know.” And I do know. I recognize the weight of breaking a pattern—how it feels both terrifying and freeing at once.
We sit in comfortable silence, her body warm against mine.
“Thank you,” she finally says. “For coming when I called. For dealing with Matthew. For... this.”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.” She props herself up on her elbows. “Most people would have walked away when I called crying. Especially considering our history.”
I meet her gaze. “That was a long time ago. We were different people.”
“Were we? Or are we just seeing each other clearly for the first time?”
“I guess we are…” I flick her nose. “But I like what I see.”
“Me too.”
Jenna suggestswe watch something and order food, and that’s how I end up on her couch with a box of pizza between us and a movie neither of us is really paying attention to. She eventually changed into something more comfortable—sweats and a loose top—even though she made a whole point about how inappropriate that is around me.
Ididtry to fix it by telling her that sweats are basically my work uniform.
I’m not sure it helped, but since she did change, I’ll call it a win. I want her to relax, and honestly, she still looks… gorgeous. In that effortless way that somehow makes the situation even worse.
But I don’t usually do this. Junk food isn’t exactly part of an athlete’s routine. Our bodies are our jobs, which means clean eating, discipline, all that fun stuff. But it’s off-season, and like I told her, my brain deserves a break too.
Still, I make sure to sit at a very respectable, definitely intentional, distance from her.
For reasons.
“I haven’t watched anything that wasn’t a deposition video in weeks,” I say, taking a bite of my salami pizza like I haven’t just broken at least three of my own rules.
“That is very sad,” she says. “I could never. I love movies and tv-shows.”
“I can tell, I’ve never seen anyone have each streaming platform there is in the world.”
“Well, because you don’t know normal people.”
“Back to being feisty, huh? I guess that’s a good sign.”
While she navigates through streaming services, I take the opportunity to really look at her apartment. It’s nicer than I remembered, or maybe I was just too nervous the last time to take it in—high ceilings, large windows, brick walls, good natural light. But there’s something impersonal about it, like a display in a furniture store. No photos on walls, no personal touches except for a small shelf of law books and what looks like a college diploma partially hidden behind a tall plant that’s seen better days. It’s like no one cared to turn this place into home.
We eat and watch a movie she picked—I guess it’s a romcom, something easy to follow even if you don’t pay attention. I simplynodded when she asked if the one she picked was fine with me. But there’s an awareness between us… of the space where we touch and don’t touch, of the strange intimacy of watching something together in her apartment with Matthew so recently removed from it. I’m conscious of my size next to her, trying to make myself smaller, less imposing.
“You can relax,” she says after a few minutes, noticing my stiff posture. “I don’t bite.”
“In a courtroom, you bite very hard,” I reply with a small smile.
She laughs, and it’s a problem how much I like it.
“That’s different,” she says. “That’s work me.”
“Right,” I murmur, like that clears things up, which it absolutely does not.
