Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Followed by a photo of Simon, lounging on a pillow, looking smug, saying Talk about wrapped around my paw.
It’s seriously cute watching her brain work.
“And now?”
Huh? Oh, shit. Leah’s talking to me again.
I snap my focus to her, “And now what?”
If a laugh could say busted, hers does. “And now are you thinking about it too? Or did you want to do one hundred Russian twists?”
I have to stop thinking about how every little thing Skylar does is magic. “Yes, ma’am,” I say, then drop down to the mat and start twisting my arms side to side while keeping my feet off the floor.
Corbin stretches his arms, preening like a peacock. “I did better than him, right?” he says to Leah.
“Would you like a gold star?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. My daughter loves those,” he says, a note of pride in his voice.
I jump on that—partly so the conversation doesn’t snap back to my distracted-as-fuck brain. “Better get some for her. Let her know how good you are at working out.”
“Yes, I’m sure a—what, fourth grader?—will be so impressed,” Leah deadpans.
“As a matter of fact, I was planning on giving her one,” Corbin says.
“Then I’d better go get some. Now join Captain Distraction,” she tells Corbin, then shifts her gaze to me, “who’s busy thinking about the next game.”
Her lips twitch in a grin, and she might as well point at her eyes and say I see you, because that’s exactly what she’s doing. But at least she’s not saying it out loud.
I’ll take that victory as my core burns on the way to one hundred.
When we’re done, Corbin heads off to fill his water bottle, and Leah gives me a chin nod. “Everything okay?”
I bristle. “Course. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Just making sure,” she says gently, but with a shrewd look in her eyes. “Life has a way of being busy.”
It’s said like some aphorism Yoda would drop while training Luke. I should probably take it as such. Still, I say evenly, “It can, Leah.”
“Finding balance is equally important,” she adds, not letting this go. “Are you doing your yoga?”
I snap my fingers. Fuck. She’s right. I skipped yoga this morning to make Skylar breakfast, then I had to rush off to practice. “Good point. I’ll get back on it.”
She gives a crisp nod. “Good. I’ll see you next week.”
After she leaves, I head to the cardio machines with a renewed focus, Corbin joining me. He’s chuckling at something on his phone.
“Anything good?”
“Just a note from Charlotte reminding me what time my game is,” he says.
“Your kid’s the keeper of your schedule?”
“She’s the keeper of everything. She’s set up a color-coded calendar for all our activities. I swear I don’t know what I did to have a child so organized. But I’m not complaining.”
As we claim our ellipticals, he tells me about the way she’s even set up digital stickers for completing tasks each day. For both of them. It’s sweet the way he talks about his young daughter, and the sticker for workout completed she sent him recently. I’m about to pop in earbuds and listen to an audiobook—a new one on improving your focus, which I definitely need—when Corbin gives me a very serious look.
He rarely breaks it out, but when he does, it lands. “What’s going on? You stressed about the season? You’re having a great one.”
It’s reassuring. Friendly. And totally off-base. But I’m not about to admit I’m too caught up in the woman I’m fake dating, even though it hardly feels fake.
“Nah, I’m all good,” I say. “Just an off day.”
But as I work out, the lie lingers—like the scent of smelly socks.
And it reminds me of the end of my marriage. The lies my ex told me.
Just took a nap.
Just out with friends.
Just an extra Pilates class today.
All to cover up the fact that she’d been spending time not-cooking with the private chef.
When I hop off the machine, the lies—by omission—I’m telling now gnaw at me.
As I push open the door of the gym, heading out on Fillmore Street, I turn to my friend, my gut still churning. “And the other thing is—this woman? The one I’ve been…”
I don’t even want to say fake dating.
But he gives me a reprieve by asking, “Yeah?”
I heave a sigh. “I fucking like her.”
Corbin claps me on the shoulder, his smile sympathetic. “Had a feeling.” Then he adds, “What are you going to do about it?”
I shrug. “That’s a very good question.”
I haven’t devised the answer yet, but that night I text her in bed, hunting for another answer.
Ford: Show me.
Skylar: You think I’ll bend that easily?
Ford: You love when I give you orders.
Skylar: In bed, Ford. In bed.
Ford: C’mon. Just a peek.
Skylar: Aren’t you supposed to be in bed? You have a game tomorrow. Get some sleep.