“Okay, so we have a history,” I admit. “We went to college together.”
“Oh my God.” She clutches her imaginary pearls dramatically. “To see that man in his prime.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s in his prime now,” I say, remembering how Jared looked last night. “This was pre-prime, and he was still kind of prime-ish.”
“So did you guys . . .” She makes a hole with two fingers and thrusts another finger in and out “. . . do the nasty?”
I heave a breath and close my eyes, not wanting the flood of curiosity and questions I know my answer could unleash.
“One night. We had a one-night stand my senior year, but it ended badly.”
Fuck the fat girl.
“Really badly,” I reiterate, focusing on the high shine of the studio floor. “And we haven’t been around each other much over the last decade. When we are, our interactions range from polite to awkward, but I suspect we have the potential for downright hostile.”
“
So in college it was hate fucking?” Quinn whispers hopefully. “’Cause that shit is intense.”
If there was a chair in here, she’d pull one right up.
“No, in college we were . . .” All the nights we laughed and studied and challenged each other in that laundromat invade my memory: Jared helping fold my clients’ clothes and teasing me about my bad knock-knock jokes. “We were friends.”
“Maybe you can be friends again,” Quinn says. “He seemed pretty cool last night.”
“I think it’s best to just leave it alone.” I grab a yoga mat for poses to end the workout. “We’re at rival firms, and if there’s one thing I know has not changed about Jared, he’s still ruthless. More now than ever.”
“And I had to go and give him guest passes.” Quinn adjusts my body in Kapotasana pose.
“Yeah, thanks for that.” I laugh at her chagrined expression. “It’s okay. Hopefully we can avoid each other.”
“And how was it last night after not seeing Zo for so long?” Her knowing look seeks to know more. “You guys fuck like savages?”
Never.
I chastise myself for the thought. We’ve been together six months, and I keep hoping for wild chandelier sex, but that hasn’t happened. It sounds crazy, but sex has never been as important to me as all the other things that make a relationship work, that make it rich.
“It was really good to be with him again for sure,” I say, neatly side-stepping her question.
The timer on her watch goes off, indicating that our session is over.
“When is he moving in?” she asks.
“The Titans will make the playoffs.” I grab my water bottle and bag from the corner of the studio. “I don’t anticipate them going too far, though. Not this year. He’ll come here after his last playoff game and plans to stay until he has to report for pre-season workouts.”
“Wow. That sounds serious.” Quinn smiles warmly. “He’s a good man.”
“The best.” I deftly shift topics. “I’m loving the Girl, You Better app, by the way.”
We chat about the app and how it might be improved until we reach the front desk. As soon as employees spot her, Quinn is pulled in several different directions.
“I gotta go.” She kisses my cheek. “Make sure to log your points.”
“Alright, Sarge,” I joke. “I will.”
I’m leaving, focused on logging my workout into my phone when I bump into someone entering the building as I exit. We somehow end up trapped together in a partition of the revolving door.
“I’m so sorry! I . . .”