Tori
AFTER MY FATHER’S party, I return to the apartment and tiptoe inside. Eva wasn’t feeling well when I left and passed on joining me.
I leave my shoes by the door and head straight to the bathroom, where I run into a body that’s not my roommate’s.
“Nate! What the hell?”
My boss is in my apartment.
Wait. What? Why?
The door to Eva’s bedroom flies open. She’s wearing a black nightie. “Oh, fuck,” she says when she spots us in the hall. “You’re supposed to be at your dad’s party.”
“You’re supposed to not be”—I point at Nate—“with him.”
Nate rubs his bald head. “I’m just going to get the rest of my stuff and head out.” He ambles into Eva’s room, and she looks at me wide-eyed before she closes the door, leaving me alone in the dark hall wondering how Mr. Stickler for Personnel Issues ended up in my best friend’s—and his employee’s—bed.
I’m still cackling when Nate emerges from Eva’s bedroom. She’s nowhere to be seen. You can’t run or hide, hussy.
Nate stops in front of me. “This is awkward.”
“That it is,” I say.
“I should explain—”
“No, you shouldn’t. She’s my best friend. I talk to her first. Always.”
He puts up his hands. “Okay, okay. Have you heard from Ben?”
“Ben? No, why?”
“Carter contacted us yesterday.”
The contents of my stomach are in danger of being ejected. “About what?”
“He thanked us for making you available to him for training. And he passed along a video snippet of your class, the one you teach at the community center. Said he thought we should reconsider our objections to the class. The guy’s obviously smitten.”
What video? I had no idea Carter had taken any video. And he gave it to them? Oh, my heart. “He did?”
“Yeah. Ben and I were impressed with it.”
“So you’re ready to let me teach the class?”
Nate leans against the wall. “No. It’s still not on brand.”
“Yeah,” I say, trying not to let my disappointment show. “I can see your point.”
“But we’d like to talk to you about investing in your studio.”
It’s hard to take in any air. “What? Are you serious?”
“We’re serious. You’re talented, and we think you’re on to something.”
“Wow. I’m floored. And I’m definitely interested in talking.” After I’ve digested this new information, I add, “Um, sometime down the road, I might want a studio out in California.” I can’t believe that came out of my mouth, but yeah, if I want to be with Carter, that’s likely where I’m headed. Or am I being too presumptuous? “Nothing’s definite,” I clarify. “Just a thought. Would that . . . be a deal breaker?”
Nate’s chin rises slowly, and he grins at me. “Well, all right. And no, that’s not a deal breaker. We’re investing in you, not a location.”
I glance at Eva’s closed bedroom door. “You should know, though. This isn’t going to color how I feel about you and Eva. I’ll take my cues from her.”
Nate pushes himself off the wall and salutes me. “I wouldn’t expect anything less of you, Tori. Good night.”
“Yeah. Good night, Nate.”
After using the bathroom, I get undressed and tumble into bed.
And, of course, I think about Carter until I fall asleep.
THE NEXT MORNING, I wake to discover Eva threading her fingers through my curls. I push up on my elbows and shake my head. “Goodness, woman, you’re a creeper. Did you snip a lock of my hair while I was sleeping?”
She shoves my shoulder. “I was admiring how your face looks when you’re not stressed out by life.”
I pull the sheet over my mouth to cover my morning breath. “That’s a thing? Not being stressed out by life?”
“A rare phenomenon that happens every seventy-five years or so, like the appearance of Halley’s Comet, or in your case, when you sleep.”
“I love that this stuff tumbles out of your mouth at six o’clock in the morning.”
She smiles. “Well, you’re going to love something else about me because I made you breakfast.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“Breakup therapy.”
“That’s a thing, too?”
She nods. “Absolutely.”
“What did you make? A smoothie?” I ask hopefully.
“Nope. Eggs, bacon, and toast. And coffee. So much coffee.”
I’d usually pass on the bacon, but doing this for us makes her happy. “I want all of it.”
We decimate the breakfast at the small table in the eat-in kitchen, and as we sip coffee, she leans over and places a hand over mine. “I have another surprise for you.”
“Stop being weird, Eva. I’m not even sure it’s fair to call this a breakup, but even if it is, I’m not going to shatter into a thousand pieces.”
“I’d never think that of you, mama, and my surprise proves it.” She stands and motions for me to follow. “It’s in my bedroom.”
“Is it . . . Nate?”
Then I laugh so loudly I’ll probably wake our neighbors.
She huffs. “We’re not talking about that now. Not yet.”
“Whenever you’re ready,” I singsong behind her.
At the threshold, she places her hand on the doorknob and turns to me. “Now cover your eyes.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Eva.”
“Just do it.”
I slap my hand over my eyes and wait. Eva grabs my other hand and pulls me through the door.
“Okay, open them,” she says.
When I do, I jolt, because there’s a freestanding punching bag in the middle of her room—and it has a photo of Carter’s face taped to it. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Punch it, pinch it, kick it, whatever you need to do.”
“I don’t want to punch Carter in the face, not even in jest.”
Eva tilts her head to the side and regards me with a quizzical expression. “So why aren’t you in California?”
I groan and bend over so my face is completely hidden by my hair. “I don’t know. I’m the worst. My brain’s one big stew of second-guessing my decision to see him again.”
“So take your frustrations out on the bag.”
It’s not a bad idea. Maybe it’ll help me to sort out what to do next. I rip off the photo Eva taped to the bag, crumple it into a ball, and toss it in the trash can. “Give me the gloves.”
Eva cheers and hands them to me. After I throw them on, she checks the laces like she’s a boxing coach and a championship match is set to begin after the bell rings.
“You hate that your relationship with Carter played out in the press,” she prompts.
Hitting the bag hard, I yell, “Yes.”
“You hate that he was photographed with another woman even though you know he has no interest in her.”
I punch the bag again. “Yes.” I’m feeling better already.
“You miss his eggplant-emoji-sized dick.”
I can’t help snorting. Dammit, that warrants two jabs and an uppercut. “Yes, yes, yes.” I resume my fighting stance.
“And you’re annoyed that Carter has his own hang-ups just like anyone else and that you have to work through them with him.”
I drop my arms. “No, no, that’s not true.”
“And your relationship with Carter is doomed because despite how you obviously feel about each other, you refuse to live the kind of public life that comes with dating a Hollywood actor.”
Leave it to Eva to pull my head out of my butt. I love the man. And even though he hasn’t said the words, I know he loves me, too. I’m wasting time being apart from him. So what if our life won’t be easy? He’s right. I shouldn’t chase after a trouble-free existence, not when the alternative is an imperfect but full life with the man I adore.
I give Eva a weak smile, pull off the gloves, and drop them on her bed. “Thanks for the entertainment. I’ve got to get ready for work.”
“I’m sensing a lot of tension,” she calls after me. “The punching bag will be here whenever you need it.”
“It worked, Eva,” I say over my shoulder. “You gave me the final kick I needed. I’m going to book a flight after I shower.”
Behind me, I hear her shout “Yes!”
Back in my bedroom, I pull out my phone and look up Maisie Hunt from Philly Water Cooler. The way I see it, she owes me for misprinting information about Carter and me. Let’s see if she agrees. Hopefully, she has a friend in California who can get me what I need.