Tori
IT’S EARLY AFTERNOON, and Ben and Nate have summoned me to the gym on my day off. I’m in front of my computer staring at the reason why. Last night, while I was telling Carter I didn’t want to date him, an entertainment blog reported that I am dating him.
Eva nudges me to make space for her and reads the story over my shoulder.
With a carton of ice cream and a spoon in her hands, she draws back and pins me with a confused gaze. “When did he kiss you on the forehead?”
“He didn’t. That was the day he brought his family to the restaurant. I was upset about my dad, and he was wiping away my tears.”
“And they placed you in Aruba at the same time.”
I smack my forehead at that one. “I stupidly posted a photo of the beach on Twitter. Apparently, he’d done the same.”
Eva shakes her head and puts a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth. “Nate’s going to kill you,” she says with her mouth full.
“Yes, Mr. Stickler for Personnel Issues probably will. It’s his job after all.”
She jams the spoon into the carton and gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Want me to come with you?”
“No, I’ll be fine.”
“Well, all you have to do is explain how this was all taken out of context, right?”
“Yes,” I say in a soft voice.
Eva’s eyes narrow. “Right?”
I drop my head onto the keyboard.
“Oh my God,” she shrieks. “You had sex with him?”
“I did not.” I cover my mouth. Under my breath, I say, “But I might have given him an abbreviated hand job.”
She leans in and cups her ear. “Say again? What’s that now? You gave him a blow job?”
I push her away from me. “A hand job.”
“Oh, well, that’s qualitatively different for these purposes.”
I stand with all the feigned outrage I can muster. “I will not stand here and listen to this drivel.” Then I wave the ends of my robe like a matador and flounce to my bedroom.
Behind me, Eva laughs. “I love you, woman. Don’t change. And don’t be ashamed of that hand action.” With the carton still in her hands, she follows me into the bedroom and drops onto my bed while I pull out clothes from my dresser. “Remember when you said you wouldn’t be tempted by Carter because you didn’t want to end up on Page Six?”
I turn to her with several articles of clothing in my hands. “Yes, I remember.”
“You’re on Page Six. Not literally but figuratively.”
I tilt my head to the ceiling and let out a heavy sigh. “Your point, Eva?”
“If everyone’s going to assume you had sex with Carter anyway, why not actually have sex with Carter? That way, you get something out of this, too.”
Her mind works in depraved ways. It really does. But she’s planted the thought in my brain, and it’s growing like a weed. I shake my head as if to clear it. I must remain strong. I must. “Having sex with Carter would not help the situation.”
She shrugs. “Fine. But I’m putting a Google Alert on him anyway. Just in case.”
“I worry about you.”
She sticks her tongue out at me. “I worry about me, too. And I worry about my best friend.”
I drop the clothes on my chair and pull her up from the bed for a hug. She has my back. Always.
With her mouth at my ear, she says, “Can you at least tell me this: If you were to use an emoji to represent his penis, would you use a banana or an eggplant?”
I push her off me and roll my eyes. “Eggplant.”
She hoots. “Get it, woman.”
I pick up one of my tank tops and toss it at her. “Get out, woman.”
Her eyes are teary with laughter as she leaves. “I’m going, but report back later. Can’t wait to hear about Nate losing his shit.”
I’d happily wait decades for that.
IT COMES AS no surprise to me that a reporter is waiting for me when I arrive at Hard Core. She appears young, and she’s chewing on her lip as she scribbles furiously in a reporter’s notebook. She just might have more butterflies in her belly than I do. Still, she has a job to do, so I steel myself for the barrage of questions that are sure to follow her friendly greeting.
“Tori Alvarez, I’m Maisie Hunt from Philly Water Cooler. Could I have two minutes of your time?”
Hunt’s approach differs from the rapid-fire questions I’d anticipated. I’m inclined to listen to her, if only to prepare myself for any future harassment.
Mouthing hello to the front desk clerk, I hand him my ID and tighten my hold on my gym bag before I face Ms. Hunt. “Sure, I’ll give you two minutes.”
Her eyes startle. “Great, great. Well, uh, I just wanted to ask if it’s true that you’re dating Carter Stone.”
I motion for her to follow me to a spot away from the desk. “I’m not dating Carter Stone. I’m his personal trainer.”
“Um, okay. But Celebrity Watch Online is reporting otherwise.”
“That may be, but Celebrity Watch Online doesn’t have the facts. Plus, Ms. Hunt, the picture doesn’t show Carter kissing my forehead. He was wiping my tears, about something unrelated to him. Something you would have known had you contacted me before republishing unoriginal gossip. That was sloppy journalism. There’s no story, and your job is not to make one up.”
She fidgets with the pad in her hands. “I’ll correct that.”
“Please do. Anything else?”
“No . . . um . . . nothing else,” she stutters.
“Have a great day, Ms. Hunt.”
“You, too,” she says, a dazed expression on her face before she spins and walks away.
I have no control over what she writes, but maybe she’ll be more thoughtful about her reporting in the future. Now to deal with Ben and Nate.
I take back my card and shove it into my bag’s side pocket. I don’t attack the stairs as I typically do, mostly because I’m dreading the conversation I’m about to have. With my gut churning, I enter the office, where Ben and Nate are huddled together. They straighten when I collapse into my seat.
“Everything okay?” Ben asks.
I blow out a long, ragged breath. “A reporter intercepted me on the way into the gym to ask about my relationship with Carter Stone, but otherwise I’m doing splendidly.”
Nate and Ben both lift their brows and glance at each other.
“I detect sarcasm, Ben. Is that what you’re picking up?”
Ben nods. “Yes, it has a certain je ne sais quoi to it. Inappropriate sarcasm under the circumstances, maybe?”
Chin in one hand, Nate purses his lips and nods. “Yes, that seems right.”
Why are they joking around? I thought they’d be pissed. Now my knee won’t stop bouncing. I adopt an authoritative tone. “You asked me to come in, and I’m here. Before you berate me for making poor choices, I’d just like to point out that he is not kissing me in the photograph, and I went to Aruba after the Mason debacle, not with Carter.”
“Tori—”
“Also, we’re not dating. This is mostly fabricated by the gossip peddlers.”
Nate raises a brow again. “Mostly?”
I should just shut up, shouldn’t it?
Ben peers at me and drums his fingers on the table.
“What?” I ask him in a strangled voice.
As usual, Ben and Nate lob digs at me as though they’re playing volleyball with them.
“We knew you’d be upset about all this,” Ben says.
“Feeling guilty,” Nate adds.
“Thinking you betrayed us.”
“Ashamed.”
“Oh, the shame.”
Ben slices a hand across his neck, signaling to Nate that the comedy set is complete. “We’re not going to pretend we think what you did here was appropriate—”
“But we’re not dating—”
Ben raises a hand to stop me from defending myself. “Tori, give me a chance. Look, we don’t need to know anything as long as you tell us whatever is happening involves two consenting adults. If that’s the case, then this discussion is over.”
I stare at Nate. In the past, he’s argued that the gym should adopt a formal policy about relationships between clients and trainers. “You’re on board with this?”
Nate clears his throat. “Yeah, I’m on board.”
“That’s surprising,” I say.
“The longer I’m in this business, the more I realize nothing’s black-and-white. Sometimes we can’t help who we fall in love with.”
If I had any gauze handy, I’d spin around and wrap myself in it like a dummy. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. It’s mortifying. And I need to end it, so I tell them what they want to hear, which also happens to be the truth. “Whatever it is, it’s between two consenting adults.”
To sum up, celebrity gossip sites are reporting that Carter and I are dating, I’ve had to field questions from a reporter about my love life, and I’ve just had the most uncomfortable conversation in the history of conversations—with my bosses. Eva’s right. Not exactly in the way she put it. But maybe since my all-or-nothing approach to dealing with Carter hasn’t worked in my favor, I could try to bend a little and get something out of this, too.
So far, the media coverage suggests only a passing interest in our relationship status. We don’t have to announce to the world that we’re dating. We could just enjoy each other here in Philly in private, for as long as we choose. Take it slowly. Avoid the cameras in the meantime. Reassess as the need arises. Right now, I simply need to be with him.
I hope he’s ready.
Carter Stone, I’m coming for you.