“It’s good that you apologized.” Nick did look at her then, hisbrown eyes saying more than his words.
“I just didn’t want her giving the gym a bad review someplace.”
Nick arched one eyebrow at her, something Rebecca thought onlywomen did.
“Fine,” Rebecca said on a sigh. “I may have owed her an apology.”
“Damn right you did.” Nick turned back to the TV.
“Shut up.”
They fell silent for a bit. Nick, because he was watching the TV.Rebecca, because she knew Nick was right and she was embarrassed. Shehadowed Spencer anapology. She’d been unnecessarily hard on her simply because she didn’tunderstand why somebody as wonderful-seeming as Spencer wouldn’t put her footdown. Who lets their partner sign them up for a fitness class without talkingto them about it? To Rebecca, that was the epitome of “you’re not good enough,let me help you improve.” And Spencer was going to marry this woman? Thisperson whoobviouslydidn’t see what she had. And why did it bother Rebecca so much? She’d neverseen Spencer before. Probably wouldn’t see her again once class was over andshe ran off to marry somebody who thought she needed to be in better shape. Ah,well. It was none of her business. Seemed like she had to keep remindingherself of that, which she wasn’t thrilled about.
With a quiet sigh, she tried to focus on the TV. Which was hardbecause: golf.
“How do you watch this?” she asked Nick.
“You ask me that every time you meet me here” was his response,his eyes never leaving the screen.
“I know, but I don’t get it.”
“Well, see that guy?” Nick pointed at the TV. “And see that littleball? He’s trying to hit that little ball into the hole with the stick hehas—ow!”
“You’re such a dick,” Rebecca said, with a laugh, after punchinghim in the arm.
An enormous plate of chicken wings was set in front of him then,steaming and slathered in reddish-brown barbecue sauce, three little pods ofblue cheese tucked neatly next to them (Nick had ordered extra).
“Aw, yeah,” he said, drawing out the words, using the same voicehe’d use if he was in the front row at a strip joint.
“I think you’ve got some drool on your chin.”
“You’re just jealous.” Nick picked up a wing, dipped it into thefirst pod of blue cheese, stuck the entire wing into his mouth except the endwhere his fingers were, and pulled out a nearly clean bone. Pointing the boneat the dish, he said, “Eat.”
Rebecca liked chicken wings, just not three dozen of them. Shegrabbed one, avoided the blue cheese and nibbled at it, wiping her mouth afterevery other bite. “You gonna eat that?” she asked, pointing at the celery.
Nick snorted, as she knew he would. “Have at it.”
Rebecca chewed and glanced around. The bar was busier than she’dexpected. She assumed that, in August, people were most likely poolside or atthe beach or in the movie theater. But Turtle’s had air-conditioning, food,booze, and sports on TV. Rebecca decided that made for a pretty temptinghangout on a day that was blazingly hot. She’d felt sorry for Spencer earlier,who was wearing a very pretty suit in the August afternoon humidity. It waslight blue and seemed to be made of fairly substantial material, maybe cottonor a cotton/poly blend of some kind…
Rebecca literally shook her head, like she was trying to loosensomething inside. The fact of the matter was, she was annoyed that she’d paidattention to so many details about Spencer Thompson.
Yeah, Ithink she’s pretty. So what?
While it felt good to admit that to herself, it didn’t help herfeel any less irritated. Because being attracted to somebody like Spencer—whowas also off-limits—was never a good thing.
Wait. Am Iattracted to her?
She bumped Nick with her shoulder. “Hey. Do you think there’s adifference between finding somebody attractive and actually being attracted tothem?”
Nick did turn and look at her then, thick, dark eyebrows furrowed.“What?”
Rebecca shifted on her stool to face him. “Like, if you see a girland you think she’s pretty, does that mean you want to sleep with her? Thatyou’re attracted to her? Or can you think a girl’s pretty, but it stops therebecause she’s not your type or whatever?”
Nick looked at her like she’d grown a third eye in the middle ofher forehead. “Beckster. Come on. I’m a guy. Every pretty girl is my type.”
Rebecca chuckled. “Yeah, that was a stupid question, huh?”
“Ridiculous.”
