Page 40 of Right Man, Right Time
“Jamie Terrance.”
“Who’s that?” I ask. “An influencer or something?”
She laughs and shakes her head. Sitting across from me at the bar, she watches me work around the kitchen, putting away the leftovers and washing the dishes. “No, Jamie Terrance is my nemesis from high school. She was a rotten bitch with a shit family, so instead of trying to make the best of the people around her and be positive, she did the opposite. She would make fun of me all the time for having . . . as she put it . . . rolls.”
“Fuck off. Are you serious?” I ask.
“Yup, she would walk by me in the cafeteria and say rude things about what I was eating. Unfortunately, I let it get to me. I started going on one-mile runs around my neighborhood early in the morning before school started. I walked half of it, but I felt good doing something to combat the negative thoughts in my head. And the more I started to enjoy the feeling of working out, the more I pushed myself.” She sighs. “I hate that it started from a place of negativity, but I’m grateful I found the love of working out. It truly helps me when I’m stressed.”
“How often is that?” I place our plates in the dishwasher.
“With this internship, more often than not.”
“Is there a reason this internship is so important? I know it’s for a grade, but why do an internship in a place that stresses you out?”
“It’s the company name,” she says. “If you have Alan Roberts on your résumé, anyone will pick you up. The jobs flow right in, and the last thing I want to do after I graduate is go back to my hometown to live with my parents.”
“Didn’t like it there?” I ask.
“I did, but I made a big deal about leaving and never coming back. You know, dramatic teen stuff. Now that I’m a touch older, I see how stupid it was, but this girl has pride, and I’ll be damned if I have to go back there and eat my words.”
I chuckle. “I can feel you on that. I was the same way with hockey. Bound and determined to make something of myself, I wouldn’t stop until I did, even if that meant practically killing myself in the process.”
“Well, you made it,” she says while drawing a circle on the counter with her finger. “But the real question is, are you happy that you made it? Because even though this internship has opened many doors for me, I’m anything but happy. I just keep telling myself there are days we’ll be unhappy to obtain the happiness we want. So . . . have you obtained that happiness?”
Am I happy?
I think maybe from the outside looking in, it could seem that I am. I have the car, the house in the woods, the penthouse apartment, the glory, the fame, the championships. Yet . . . I find myself acting like a dick more and more.
Happiness eludes me.
Never feeling settled.
Not feeling adequate enough for anyone . . .
Fuck.
“Yeah, maybe we shouldn’t talk about this,” I say, not wanting to dive deep into my feelings, especially with Ollie.
“Ah, right, that would make you vulnerable, and you don’t do vulnerable.”
“Right,” I say as I close the dishwasher. I grip the counter and stare at her. “Do you feel like we have our story straight?”
She doesn’t answer right away but tries to study me. I can see her wanting to ask more, to bring up the vulnerability thing and dive deep into why I’m so guarded, but I refuse. There’s no need to get into that with her. Our relationship is surface level. Business. We don’t need to delve into deep-rooted emotions.
“I think so,” she finally says. “Met at a bar, you hit on me because you’re a horny bastard and couldn’t control yourself—”
“Didn’t think we added the horny thing in there.”
“And when I finally gave you the time of day because I felt bad that you were drooling while looking at me—”
“Also, not something that happened.”
“That’s when you made a move and told me you admired my beauty and strength and wit and that it reminded you of Hermione.”
“That’s not something I would say.”
She presses her hand to her chest. “And I thought . . . wow, this guy. He’s clearly trying far too hard to make an impression. Maybe I should give him a chance. So I let you buy me a drink. You ordered Shirley Temples—”
