“I love your app. I was lucky enough to get in the beta group,” Iris says, accepting Quinn’s outstretched hand. “This morning it told me to put my wide ride in gear.”
Is this a good thing? My confusion must show because Banner chuckles and explains.
“Quinn developed a fitness app called Girl, You Better. It’s still in beta,” she says, pride shining from every pore. “It gives you messages like a Garmin would, but sassier.”
“It’s affectionately known as the ghetto Garmin,” Quinn pipes in with a laugh.
She, Iris, and Banner are chatting more about the app and Quinn’s line of workout gear when I leave to get the nachos.
Quinn really is a beautiful woman. Beyond her red hair and creamy skin, there’s a strength and power on the inside. It comes across. She has talked more than once about how Banner pursued her when she was depressed, suicidal in the hospital after she lost her leg. She wouldn’t be a multimillion-dollar empire if Banner hadn’t seen her potential.
Good for you, Banner.
She’s not like the rest of us. I knew she wouldn’t be, but I’m not allowing myself feelings. Elevation is at a crucial place in our development. If you’re not with us, you’re against us. And Banner is definitely not with us.
When I return with Sarai’s nachos, Iris is screaming at the refs as usual. August may have found a girl who loves basketball as much as he does. I sit . . . finally. Damn, I’m exhausted and still have to drive back to LA tonight. If I hadn’t promised August I’d stay with the girls until the game is over, I’d leave early. I’m also not used to being this close to Banner for any amount of time.
She’s fully engaged with the game when I return to our seats with Sarai’s nachos—or doing a great imitation of it and just ignoring me.
Probably that last one.
“How are you liking LA, Jared?” Quinn leans forward to ask. “Iris was just telling us you’ve only been there a few months.”
“Yeah. I’m getting settled.” I’ll stick to the personal stuff since Banner and my business should not mix. “Whole Foods and Starbucks are the marks of any great civilization. Long as I have those, I can figure out the rest. I’m looking for a gym, if you know of a good one.”
“Come to my gym!” Quinn clasps her hands under her chin. “It’s called Titanium.”
Banner almost imperceptibly shakes her head, widening her eyes at Quinn, a subtle signal to shut the hell up.
“Oh, I’ve heard of that,” I say, injecting my voice with more enthusiasm just to bother Banner. “I’d love to come.”
“I have guest passes,” Quinn says absently, squinting at Banner like she’s trying to decode the message her friend is sending. “I can leave them up front in your name.”
“Excellent.” I catch Banner’s eye and wink. “Then it’s settled.”
Exasperation skids across her face before she smooths it over.
“You’ll love it,” she says neutrally. “Seems like you’ll be everywhere I turn. My city. My gym.”
“It’ll be like old times,” I murmur, allowing just enough suggestiveness in my voice to maybe make her blush. Laundromat Banner’s cheeks would be flushed pink by now. This new Banner doesn’t even blink but stares at me like she’s waiting for me to come harder.
Come harder? I need to check my thoughts because coming harder shouldn’t be in the same zip code as this woman.
We retreat to our corners for the next three quarters, her talking and laughing with Quinn; me answering Sarai’s one million and one questions and helping Iris keep her entertained. How could someone so small be so much work? By the fourth quarter I’m convinced August deserves a gold medal. Even though we don’t exchange two words, I’m acutely aware of Banner beside me. I surreptitiously take in the changes she’s undergone. I never really paid attention to Banner’s weight before, ironic since that was ultimately what sabotaged whatever we might have had, but even I can tell she’s lost a significant amount. I glimpse flashes of toned thighs in the fashionably holey jeans. She’s wearing makeup, which conceals the seven freckles I know march across her nose.
At a break in her conversation with Quinn and mine with Iris, I lean toward her.
“So who you got?” I ask.
She does a double take, like she had forgotten I was even here.
Flattering.
“Oh, sorry.” She spares me a quick glance before turning her attention back to the court. “What did you say?”
“Who are you pulling for?”
“My client,” she replies cagily, full lips tweaking.