Hard Rules

One case in particular has Shane ripping a page off the wall, while I insist he leave it in place, detailing the reasons I don’t think it’s high risk, despite a massive lawsuit ten years ago. He ends up repinning it to the spot on the wall, and when he sits back down, he gives me a scrutinizing look.

“LSAT score,” he says.

“I never said I took it.”

“Did you take it?”

It’s a direct question, and I know he’ll know if I lie, and the truth is that it matters to me. “I took it. I killed it.”

His eyes light with approval. “I had no doubt. You don’t need to be sitting outside my father’s door. You need to be in law school.”

“I’m getting too old.”

“When we touched on this the night we met, I had a feeling age was holding you back. Twenty-seven is not old.”

“Oh come on, Shane. For law school, it is. You know it is.”

“We’ll agree to disagree on that one. Why didn’t you go after you took the test? You had to have had offers.”

Regret over the many things that went wrong and can’t be shared leaves me with only one answer that I pray he accepts. “It’s complicated.”

He studies me and I am certain he will press me, but instead gives me a nod. “Understood,” he says, and I don’t think he is talking about law school being complicated, but rather, me not wanting to talk about it.

We slip past that moment easily though, and by evening, we’ve spent more time on work than Shane planned, but I don’t mind. I’m also not complaining about our move to the bedroom, where we spend more hours naked than not, and discover we both love Criminal Minds, which launches us into a Netflix marathon. We laugh and talk, but I don’t miss that after the LSAT conversation he’s cautious about pressuring me for more personal details. I’m both relieved and sad at the limits I’ve placed on us, but still my phone doesn’t ring, and the more I think about Derek digging into my background, the more I know where my decision must be headed, and it’s not me staying with Brandon Enterprises or Shane. It’s a reality that cuts and burns, as hours later, I lay awake in the darkness while he sleeps, his big body wrapped around mine, and I try to chase a way out of trouble that I can’t seem to find.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but when I wake, it’s daylight on Sunday, and Shane is still holding me as if he thinks I’ll escape like the first night we met. But I don’t want to escape, and he only drives home that point with morning sex, and a suggestion we go for a run together, which I eagerly accept. Both of us dress, Shane in black sweats and a black T-shirt that shows off every perfect line and muscle of his torso. Me in black Nike cropped leggings, a matching tank top and a hoodie. Ready to go, we head down the hall, and when we step into the elevator and he laces his fingers with mine, it’s that moment that I feel us becoming more than the number of amazing orgasms we’ve shared. The fact that he’s proclaimed he doesn’t do relationships and that I never intended to do one either, shakes me to the core. We are more than those orgasms and yet we are still defined by my lies.

The elevator dings at the lobby level, and the instant we step out into the hallway, I am suddenly nervous. “I don’t know why I keep thinking we’ll run into your father. He was just here one night.”

“Actually,” Shane says. “He rented a place here for his mistress.”

I blanch at the news he’s stated as matter-of-factly as he might the weather. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I wish I were,” he says, and before I can reply, the double glass doors have parted and Tai is greeting us, diverting us from Brandon Senior to small talk.

Five minutes later, we finally break away from the conversation, but my read on Shane is that the moment to talk about his father is gone, if it really even existed in the first place. We’ve already moved on to comparing music, and I’m surprised he listens to Jason Aldean, one of my favorite country singers. “I’m from Colorado,” he says. “A country boy at heart. You’re from L.A. What’s your excuse?”

Because I’m from Texas, I think, hating the way the lies circle me like sharks. “Colorado doesn’t get to claim Jason Aldean,” I say, dashing into a run.

He quickly catches up to me and in agreement it seems, we both reach for our headsets and fall into an even pace together, and even in the absence of conversation, I have this sense of being with him that I’ve never experienced with anyone.

Forty-five minutes later, he’s officially pushed my limits, never easing his pace, and we continue longer than I normally would have on my own, but I like it. “I’m dying,” I say, when we finally start walking, my chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. “How far was that?”

“Six miles. Did I push you too hard?”

“It felt like seven,” I say, “but no. It was a great workout.”

“Next time we’ll do seven then.”

“Six will do just fine,” I assure him, and I have not missed his reference to a future run I really do hope happens.

“Coffee?” he asks, stopping next to one of my favorite chains.

“Yes, but what if we run into someone from the office?”

“It only feeds the idea that I’m using you.” His lips quirk. “I am, you know. For sex and coffee. But you can use me too.” He opens the door and waves me forward.