a loss for words, and as I tried to come up with something, noticed that Caroline had joined our foursome.
“I certainly would be glad for more tall, dark, and handsome New Yorkers at the gym.” Caroline—who was still eyeing me like she was trying to give me time before pouncing—added. “You go to the Dallas Sports Club in the Palomar building, right?”
That’s where I’d seen her.
“I do,” I said. “You do the 6:00 a.m. spinning class.”
“It’s good to see you.”
I nodded and managed to wedge out another smile.
“Same.”
The twins and Consuelo were looking at the exchange with interest and I kept talking to Caroline even though all I could think was that I wished Julia was here. That I could go to her place and squeeze into the couch next to her to watch a movie with her and her family.
Caroline must have noted my lack of enthusiasm because she decided to make up for it by excitedly discussing every fitness class she’d ever attended at our gym. I took a sip of the beer that tasted like water and focused on the twinkling lights overhead as I listened to Caroline. But every word from her about calories and burpees just made me remember the way Julia had savored the tart I’d brought over. How her ass and hips felt when I had her in my arms last night. How that had not been nearly enough and yet it was as much as I’d ever get.
“Who’s your trainer?” Caroline’s question ripped me out of my unhelpful thoughts and turned my attention back to her.
“I don’t have one,” I said, trying very hard to sound interested.
Once her shock at my lack of a trainer wore off, she began a lengthy PSA on posture and endurance. I stood there half listening and trying hard to suppress any thoughts about Julia.
No looking back. My eyes had to stay focused on my future.
Julia
It would be nice if even once, I actually followed through with what I said I would do when it came to men that are no good for me. I kept telling my friends, my family, myself that Rocco and I could never work, and now that he had finally gotten the message and left me alone, I missed him.
I was sitting in my car at the Dallas Arboretum parking lot, where I was supposed to see him and the rest of the Exiles in a few minutes, sulking. I was nervous; I didn’t know if he’d be different with me, if he’d be cold and distant instead of his usual warm self.
I opened my phone and went to Instagram...again. I looked for the picture, and that possessive feeling, the churning in my gut that made me want to do irrational things, came roaring back.
In the photo he was at the BBQ at the twins’ house. He’d taken a selfie with them, their mom—who looked amazing—and a younger woman. A gorgeous brunette with blue eyes. She was looking at the camera, her head close to his. He seemed happy, and looking at her smug smile made me feel stabby. I didn’t want anyone touching him.
I took a breath and tried to regroup before leaving my car. I was here to see my friends. We would drink some wine and walk around a pumpkin patch that was apparently the most spectacular use of decorative gourds ever attempted. I could do this: it was only a matter of weeks, after all. Rocco was supposed to be done with this project by the end of January. He’d get his promotion, leave us all behind, and go back home to NYC.
Home.
I closed my eyes and thought about the word and what came up was a lot more complicated than before. Yes, home was my parents, and it was Alba, but so were the Exiles, my job at the Sturm Foundation, my apartment I had set up just like I wanted, and even Tacos and Margs Tuesdays. My problem was that even if I didn’t want him to be, Rocco kept popping up in a lot of those pictures.
My phone buzzed, saving me from myself and the pit of corniness I was sinking into. I looked at the screen and for a second felt disappointed when it wasn’t Rocco.
Salome: ¿Que pasa ma? You coming or what? J, Dani and Tariq are already wilding out and touching everything. You know Rocco is the only one that knows how to act and he’s not here yet. I need backup