I’d been told), we’d skipped a day’s worth of workouts.
“So things are getting serious, then.” Grant was the vision of a runner, with his cushioned running shoes, running shorts, ball cap, Apple Watch, and special gel socks. All he needed to complete his look was a goddamn number plastered onto his back, à la Usain Bolt. I was more understated, with—you fucking guessed it, ding ding ding—black running shorts, a black tee, and black sneakers Katie gifted me every three months to ensure the soles of my feet weren’t made exclusively out of blisters. I wasn’t into half marathons like Katie and Ethan, though. I worked out because I didn’t want to die young or sport a midthirties gut.
“Au contraire, Gerwig. We have a tight deadline, so I’m making the most of it. I have it all worked out.”
Once Dad died, so would the relationship with Madison.
“I would love to hear this,” Grant said, pretending to prop his chin over his fist, not breaking his pace. “Tell me how you worked this out.”
“I’m going to spend the days with Dad. Go back to his place every day after work, play chess, have dinner, watch TV, talk, then go to Mad’s in the evening and spend the night with her. That way I enjoy both worlds without getting played again.”
“Getting played,” Grant repeated, waiting for further explanation.
“Last time, I got sucked into a black hole of dirty fucks and clean conversation. Never again.”
“It’s called falling in love, you idiot. You fell in love and got butt hurt nobody sent you the memo. So you proceeded to do something mind-blowingly stupid, regretted it, got a second chance, and now, from what I’m gathering here, you are about to screw it up again.”
Fell in love. Those were the words he’d used. Grant was certifiable. Of that, I was certain. The fact I trusted him with my father’s health concerned me.
“I don’t want a relationship,” I clipped out.
“Well, you are in one.”
“She knows it’s not real,” I said, even though it wasn’t lost on me that we were about to shit all over the three-nights-a-week rule.
“It’s not her I’m worried about, Chase.”
We were rounding the curve, going uphill. I remembered my dad had told me the roads in Central Park were curved to prevent horse-and-carriage racing. I wondered how many other fact nuggets he hadn’t had the chance to tell me yet. Grant fell behind, and I took the opportunity to flip the conversation on him.
“What about you and Layla?” I asked.
“It’s over.”
“Interesting,” I said. It wasn’t interesting, though. Grant and Layla were about as compatible as Daisy and Frank. Grant wanted a serious relationship, and Layla wanted to fuck as many people as she physically could before meeting her maker.
“Yeah.” Grant sighed. “I found out she doesn’t want children.”
“You knew she didn’t want children,” I countered. It had literally been her first line of conversation when he’d met her. Hi, I’m Layla. I don’t want children, but I’m a preschool teacher. Please save me your opinion about that. Oh, hey, nice shirt.
“Well, I thought it was flexible. You know, like people who say they won’t overeat during Thanksgiving dinner because they’re watching their weight but still pig out when push comes to shove.”
“Children and pumpkin pies do have a lot in common,” I drawled sarcastically, quickening my pace. Grant caught up to me. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t let the relationship run its course while having a steady lay.”
“Because I’m not a complete idiot,” he explained through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to wake up two years from now with a woman who wants the exact opposite of what I do.”
“How did she take it?” I asked, because it seemed like something I should do.
“Quite well, seeing as she did the dumping.”
“Crap,” I offered. “Sorry.”
Obviously, I was an excellent friend, with great, valuable input.
“Don’t you think it’s ironic? Layla dumped me because I wanted to get serious. You tried to scare Maddie away because she was serious. Things would have worked perfectly if only Madison and I had met before you and she did. Then she could have set you up with Layla.”
“You and Mad?” I bit out. “No chance. She’s too weird, and you’re too . . . you.”
“Is that so?” Grant asked in amusement. He was goading me.
“Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you could make a good couple. Doesn’t matter. Bro code determines you can’t touch her with a ten-foot pole because I touched her first.” I paused. “And I