Naomi’s lips part, but I cut her off before she can speak.
“This isn’t up for debate,” I say. “I have nothing but good intentions with Faith, but even if I didn’t, this intervention would be insulting. To me and to Faith, who would be pissed if she knew you two were talking about her like she’s some kind of helpless idiot who can’t make up her own mind about whether I’m an asshat or not.”
Naomi and Maddie exchange a look, then duck their heads.
“There now, aren’t you sorry?” I ask after a moment. “Don’t you feel ashamed?”
Maddie nods, and after a moment, so does Naomi.
“You’re right. Sorry for meddling,” she mumbles. “Have fun. And say hi to Jake for me.”
“I will.” I move toward the door. “You two be good while I’m gone. And in the future, try to remember that not only am I a grown man and a decent human being, I’m also your tenant, and probably the only person in town who will pay to live above a place where people start banging pans at four a.m.”
“All right, we get it,” Maddie says. “I’ll take the nanny cam home today.”
“Good.” I back out the door having won the fight, but my victory’s a hollow one.
I talked a good game in there, but deep down a part of me wonders if Naomi and Maddie might have a point.
I’m not ready to start something serious right now—with anyone, no matter how awesome she is—but you wouldn’t know it from the way I acted on New Year’s. I threw myself into looking after Faith, kissing Faith, teasing Faith, holding Faith’s hand as we walked down the street with the enthusiasm of a guy who’s been trolling Cobb County Cupid looking for a girlfriend.
And not the casual kind of girlfriend, the kind you take care of when she’s sick, visit at work, text multiple times a day, and make plans with a week in advance.
It’s very possible I’m giving Faith the wrong idea, but I couldn’t hold her at a distance if I tried. I just feel so relaxed with her, free to be myself in a way I haven’t been in…
Well, in a way I might never have been, I realize with a start.
The thought stops me in my tracks on the sidewalk outside the fire station.
Until Bridget, I was awkward around girls who I liked as more than friends. For better or worse, I was a runt in high school and got a late start in the dating game. I had a lot of catching up to do during my first year of college, struggling to learn the rules everyone else seemed to have down pat.
And even in the beginning with Bridget, when things were good and I was happy, I never felt comfortable completely letting down my guard. It seemed like she was always in the midst of some crisis and needed me to be the strongest, most serious, most responsible version of myself.
Even before she became dangerously fragile, my ex was the kind of person who seemed to be in perpetual need of saving. Whether it was needing strong arms to build a bedframe she’d given up on or a last-minute study partner to finish the homework she’d neglected all semester, Bridget didn’t hold up her end of anything. Not even a serious conversation. Every time I tried to talk to her about something I’d like to see change in our relationship, she fell completely fucking apart.
But I had a role in that, too, I guess.
At first, being her hero made me feel important. Special. I confess I have a touch of knight-in-shining-armor syndrome. I like to help people; I like being needed.
But in the end, I just wanted Bridget to be strong enough to survive without me. By then I’d realized it was impossible to rescue someone who had no interest in saving themselves, and Bridget didn’t even want to try.
Now, I have no interest in playing hero. I’ve had enough rescuing damsels in distress to last a lifetime. And I’m not ready to fall in love again, even with someone great.
I heave a ragged sigh and drag a hand through my hair, willing myself to make a fucking call.
I can’t stand here on the sidewalk forever, torn between heading into the fire station and making a run for it.
I have to make a decision and get moving.
But before I can flip that mental coin, Faith steps out of a heavy gray door on the left side of the station and hisses, “Clear! We’re clear!” and my feet start jogging her way without my conscious permission.
She has that effect on me, this woman, which is probably all the evidence I need that our first workout session should be our last—no matter how good she looks in tight black spandex pants and a tiny red T-shirt or how damned happy I am to see her.