Josiah nods, slow and deliberate. I already sense where this is headed in a hurry. “That’s some word choice. Not ‘You look pretty’ or ‘Nice dress,’ or ‘Love your hair.’ No, not from Lincoln Bridges…”
Ignoring them, I widen my grip on the bar and start another set. But my frustration builds with each rep. I drop the bar and swivel to face Josiah. I expected the usual fandom-chasing chaos from Dom, but not from him.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t ityouwho was so eager to know what I was going to do? Didn’t you tell me, the pathetic crumb chaser, to give up on her? Shoot, what were the exact words you used?” I snap my fingers a few times, pulling the memory into focus. It’s on the tip of my tongue for a split second before it hits me. “That’s right. The ‘uppity, money-motivated Zion & Zara she-bot.’Wow, what a way with words. What a choice.”
A manic energy floods me as I glance back and forth between them, waiting, looking for their validation.
But it doesn’t come.
My guys just stare, concern etched into the shadows and lines of their faces. They pity me. And as far as I’m concerned, that’s about as low as it gets.
“So move on,” Josiah says, quietly. “If you’re serious, one of our avionics techs just started dating again. It’s been a few years since her divorce. She’s nice, good-looking, kind—also a Zion & Zara girl—butnot into Livingstons orThe Luxe Ladiesof Ellswood.”
You date her, then.
We sit here, the silence thickening, ten seconds stretching into forever.
Yeah, I know it’s time to take an honest look at the things I need to change in my life. Iknowmy solo status is self-imposed. For my own peace of mind, though, I should ask Ebony outright what’s wrong, why it’s never our turn.
But deep down, I know I won’t be able to stomach her answer. I can’t volunteer for her to reject me again.
So, yeah, I’ve only gotten as far as moving on from Ebony, not yet to what—or who—is next.
“Good looking out, man.” I nod, my brow trenched as I turn back to my machine. “I think I’m going to hold off for a bit, but…I really appreciate it.”
“No sweat.” Josiah stands and walks over to the treadmills.
“Damn.” I exhale sharply.
I watch him for a beat until he disappears into the locker room. I’m debating whether to follow him and hash this out when Dom turns to me, his eyes wide as saucers.
Letting my shoulders slump, I flash him an exhausted stare. I really don’t have the patience to pry whatever’s on his mind out of him. “Just say it.”
“She just dropped the date night update.”
This is the part where a better man would remember the sermon that he just preached to his friends about moving on and actually take his own advice. He’d think long and deep about the emotional torture of being repeatedly rejected by this woman and promptly get himself a life.
What hewouldn’tdo is follow one of those friends to an empty SoulSync classroom to watchThe DivorcétanteChronicles—where, just minutes ago, Ebony gave a detailed account of the date she had with a man who isn’t me.
Nope.
And under no circumstances would he stand there, fully aware of where she is at work—in Madison’s library—and revel in the fact that the date was a bust.
And yet, here we are.
“I feel so bad because he was such a nice guy, y’all. Like, opening doors, asking questions about me, saying all the right things…” Ebony sighs, smiling somberly at the camera. “Have you ever met someone who, on paper, is everything you said you wanted and more, but there’s just…nada? No spark. No fire in your belly because you can’t wait to see him again. Just nothing to write home about.”
Dom and I are ravenous, scouring the comments section, for…I don’t know what. A clue? A sign? What exactly was wrong with this guy? What do women even do when this happens? More importantly, how do I lock down the spark?
But there’s nothing. Only people empathizing and telling her the next one will be better. Or that dating is a game of numbers—none of which sits right with my gut, but I’m glad it seems to soothe her.
Ebony looks at the camera, her stare far away as she asks, “Have you ever thought about the small, seemingly insignificant choices we make? I always wonder how my life would be different if I’d listened to my heart and not our,er…my mother.”
My heart races, something like hope quickening my pulse.
“What would you risk for a second chance at love, hmm? Your personal and professional reputation? His?”
Speculation dominates the comments.I told you she hasa man, The one that got away, It’s nevertoo late,and my favorite,Risk it all!
