Not Your Fault (4 page)

I nod. “Awkward as fuck.”

He grabs my hand from across the table. “So what are you gonna do?”

I swallow, pulling away from the pink lemonade and the straw I’ve unintentionally chewed into a flat mess. His question is logical but I have no answer. I haven’t thought about what I’m going to do. I look up at him but he’s attempting to stab a fry with his fork. “I don’t know,” I say after a long pause. “I guess I’m going to quit.”

He looks up, three fries stabbed perfectly horizontally on his fork. “Where will you find another job with a useless physical fitness degree?”

“Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence in my chosen profession.” I inch back in my chair, subconsciously wanting to get further away from him. He always makes condescending remarks like that about my pitiful two-year associate’s degree. I guess when his rich parents paid for him to get a Master’s in business, they tossed in some more cash for the Degree in Judging Other People’s Careers. I cross my arms over my chest, waiting for an apology that doesn’t come.

“There’s nothing wrong with your profession, Delaney.” Nathan reaches across the table and steals one of my untouched hushpuppies. “You just chose to study a subject that has no practical applications in this town of twelve thousand people. There’s only one gym in the area, and you can’t work there anymore.”

I stare at the empty spot where that hushpuppy had been. Any other day, I would have devoured the fried bits of deliciousness in just a few minutes. Now my stomach flips with uneasiness and newfound anger and resentment over Nathan’s comments. He doesn’t notice my mood change because he keeps talking. “Besides finding some gig in retail, there’s really nothing you can do. You should just move in with me.”

“I’m not a worthless idiot,” I begin, uncrossing my arms and pressing my hands to the table. “I am qualified for a ton of jobs so you don’t have to talk to me like I’m some kind of high school dropo—” I stop mid-sentence as what he just said runs through my mind. “Did you just tell me to move in with you?”

He nods as if it’s not a life-changing big ass deal to move in with someone. “Move in with me. That way you won’t have rent payments and it won’t matter that you aren’t working. And you can get away from that asshole.”

“Nathan, that’s…” I close my mouth and stare at him, not saying the rest of my thought because I’m not sure what I’m thinking.
That’s sweet
just doesn’t seem like something I would say. “I need to think about it,” comes out of my mouth instead.

He nods and takes another bite of a ketchup-soaked fry. “Take your time.” He squeezes my hand and I smile as I watch his massive hand engulf mine. The reality of what he’s suggesting—that we actually take a leap and move in together—momentarily takes my mind off the Kris Payne situation. It is super romantic of Nathan to offer to share his house with me…even if I’m not entirely happy being in this relationship.

After dinner, Nathan and I hit up a used bookstore and browse for specific The Walking Dead comics that are missing from his collection. A palpable awkwardness sits between us as we peruse the musty isles of books and CDs. The future of our relationship is hanging somewhere in Living Together Limbo, and all that power rests with me.

I really don’t want to live with Nathan. Although I won’t admit it to him that he was right, I don’t have many options for employment outside of Carson’s. At least not anything that doesn’t involve flipping burgers, tossing newspapers, or charging for blowjobs.

Stress presses into me like a hundred pound dumbbell. My eyes scan over rows and rows of books until they blur into one massive wave of paper that means nothing to me. I reach the end of the last isle of books—Historical Romance—and after an unusually long time of staring at a hardcover book with a woman in distress being rescued by a muscled man with long blond hair, realization hits me.

All of this stress is for nothing.

I don’t have to move in with Nathan because I’m not homeless. I’m not homeless because I can afford to pay my bills because I do have a job. All of this afternoon was spent freaking out about being jobless but—here’s the thing—I don’t actually have to quit my job. I can get over this Kris Payne thing.

He’s just someone from my past. Someone I used to know. He is a nobody. I will continue to work at the job I love and I will keep living in the rental house I love and I will not waste my time worrying about the man who walked right out of my life ten years ago without so much as
goodbye
. Or
fuck off.
Or
I’m sorry I killed your brother
.

Nathan wraps an arm around my shoulders as we stand in line to check out. “Don’t take this the wrong way or anything,” he says, prompting an eyebrow lift from me. “But, do you think you’ll end up dating him again?”

A creepy high-pitched laugh tumbles out of my throat as my head shakes back and forth. I’m acutely aware that the harder I deny it, the guiltier it makes me look, but I can’t stop shaking my head. “That’s so never going to happen,” I manage to say in my most
eww that is so gross I can’t believe you even suggested it
voice. “Why would you even ask that?”

Nathan shoves his hands in his pockets as his eyes look over me. “I don’t know. I just have a bad feeling about it.”

I hook my arm around his and roll my eyes and do everything possible to reassure him that he has nothing to worry about. If anything, he should be happy about my current situation because hating Kris has completely taken over my every waking thought. I barely have room to remember that I am unhappy with Nathan and want to break up as soon as politely possible. That’s what Nathan should be worried about—himself. Not my stresses at my job.

As we step into the parking lot, the cool night air brushes my face and brings me back to reality. Not that I was out of reality or anything, because I definitely wasn’t imagining the idea of dating Kris Payne again. Nathan is insane if he thinks that idea has crossed my mind. I don’t know why any girl in the world would date him.

Nathan’s boyfriend powers must be able to sense the tension in the air because he suggests that we get ice cream at the shop at the end of the block. He actually says that too, “The shop at the end of the block,” because the name of the place is I Scream for Ice Cream and no one likes saying that aloud.

Despite the donut for breakfast, and fried hushpuppies for dinner, and the fifty cups of coffee I drank with real sugar, I agree to get ice cream. And Nathan, of course, has no idea what my agreeing to ice cream really means. It means I’m not going to quit my job. I don’t eat junk food unless I know I can burn off the calories the next day at work. Despite the sinking pit of fear and anxiety in my stomach, I will go back to Carson’s Gym tomorrow night at seven. I will work my shift and I will continue on with my life as I have for the last ten years. I will not quit my job because of the new owner. I won’t let that coward scare me into leaving everything I like about my life.

Nathan’s hand squeezes around my shoulders as he reaches for the door of I Scream for Ice Cream. “You seem to be in a much better mood,” he says, kissing me on the cheek. “I like that.”

I smile up at him and let him hold open the door for me. “I am, thanks.”

A teenage boy bursts out of the door before we can walk inside, laughing and licking chocolate ice cream off his hand. “This shit melts fast,” he says, hurrying to run his tongue along the drippy edge of his ice cream cone. “Fucking Texas heat, man.”

“Watch your mouth, boy,” someone says from inside the store. Nathan and I step back to allow them to leave before we walk inside. The man’s voice sends a sharp pang of déjà vu riveting through my mind, and in the two seconds it takes them to walk out of the store, I’m wondering where I’ve heard that voice before.

My first thought is innocent enough.
He has a darker tan now than in high school.

My second thought may give me an aneurysm.
Holy fuck it’s him.

Chapter 7

Susan is about to unintentionally get herself murdered if she doesn’t Shut. The. Hell. Up.

Normally her second-by-second recaps of the Housewives from Hell reality show she’s obsessed with doesn’t bother me. I actually find it amusing and kind of cute that someone can care about a TV show so much that they spend hours trying to guess what will happen in the next week’s episode. But I’m so not having it today.

It’s been three days since Kris took over the gym and since that night I saw him leaving the ice cream shop. That was the last time I saw him. Now that it’s been over seventy-two hours with no sightings of my new boss, I’m starting to feel like not seeing him is worse than seeing him. Insanity has me wanting to ask Susan if we really did get a new boss or if it was all my imagination. If maybe I slipped in the shower and hit my head and daydreamed the whole thing while lying unconscious on the locker room floor.

I rub my forehead and my lock and key charm bracelet makes that familiar metal jingle next to my ear. Thoughts of my brother and memories of our last few days together have been throwing themselves into my subconscious relentlessly lately. Just when I thought the worst of mourning my brother was long over, that asshole has to show back up in my life and bring on waves of pain and memories.

Now that he’s back, he could at least walk in here and apologize.

“You waiting on our new boss to show up?” Susan asks, suddenly in front of me at the front desk, perched on the sign-in counter. Her mouth hangs slightly open and she wiggles her eyebrows at me. I think I see her tongue dart across her lip, but I’m not really paying attention.

“How many times has Judy bitched at you for being on the counter?” I say, my words coming in spurts as I shove her repeatedly, inching her butt closer and closer off the countertop. “Your fat ass will break it.”

She rolls her eyes and hops off, then turns to face me setting her elbows on the counter and her head in her hands. “Judy isn’t the boss anymore, Del. You of all people should know that.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I ask.

She nods toward the door of the gym. “You’ve been watching that door like a freaking hawk, and I know why.” She leans in closer and swivel in my oversized chair, turning my back toward her. I know what she’s going to say and I don’t have to watch her say it. “You want the boss and his gorgeous face to hurry up and get here. I mean, what’s taking him so long, right? He just bought the place. You’d think he’d be here all the time!”

I stand and begin organizing the gym’s brochures and various personal trainer business cards into neat stacks. “I could care less what the new boss does,” I say. “I’m happy with him gone. I don’t need someone coming in and turning everything around. I like things the way they are.”

“I don’t believe that for one second,” Susan says, tapping her acrylic nails on the counter. “I’ve been around a lot longer than you have my dear, and I know a look of pure lust if I’ve ever seen one.”

I give her a questioning glance, curious as to what the hell she’s talking about. She continues, “That is the look you gave him when he walked in orientation the other day. You should have seen your face, girl. It almost made
me
blush. No wonder you ran out of here so fast. You want that man and his rock hard abs pressed against you.”

Normally her perverted language makes me laugh but today it’s all I can do not to bitch slap her. “First of all, he was wearing a shirt so you have no idea what his abs look like,” I say, pointing to my index finger. “And secondly, no. Just no.” I point to my middle finger, then my ring finger then my pinky, counting off all of my answers. “No, no, and fuck no.”

She holds up her hands as if surrendering to the police. “Damn girl, chill.”

The door swings open, letting in the sound of traffic driving by outside. I turn to greet the customer, thankful for the interruption to Susan’s ironically accurate accusations. “Welcome to—” I begin, my heart stopping as I notice that the customer wears black sweatpants and no shirt. I swallow, my eyes lingering on the outline of his defined abs as I finish my sentence, “Carson’s Gym.”

“I thought about renaming it Payne’s Gym,” Kris begins, throwing the towel in his hand around the back of his neck. “But the word pain may scare off the guests.”

Susan lets out a giggle as if his play on words was the funniest damn thing she’s heard all week. I’m grateful for her though, because my stopped heart has jumped into my throat, blocking my ability to speak. The only thing worse than Susan’s awful laugh is my awkward silence. Why the hell did he have to walk in shirtless? And why was Susan’s assumption of his perfect abs one hundred percent correct? He sure as hell didn’t have those bad boys in high school.

Involuntary breathing takes over as my brain goes into survival mode, having lost my consciousness to tell it what to do. My eyes follow Kris as he walks around the front counter, leaning over it to toss his car keys on the shelf where we keep random junk like extra flyers and lost and found items. His keys drop to the wood with a clink, and he leans back into a standing position, his hands grabbing the edge of the counter.

Somehow, the weightlifting gods shine down on me and make me move my eyes from his rounded pecks to the computer screen. I should so not be thinking about his rounded pecks. But I’m only thinking about them because the counter blocks his abs and oh my god, I shouldn’t be thinking of his abs either! Get it together, Delaney, shit.

“Looks like business is slow,” he says, glancing around the nearly empty gym. Susan assures him that it picks up around ten and then again when the night shift workers get off. I stand as still as a dumbbell while they talk about business.

Susan jabs me with her long sparkly fingernail. “Huh?” I say, making the first audible sound since my ex-boyfriend walked in the gym. “Earth to Delaney,” she says, twirling her finger near the side of her head with a smile at Kris. “You’re gonna get yourself fired by ignoring the boss like that.”

“Huh?” I say again, this time looking from her to him. The look on his face is just as uncomfortable as I imagine mine is.