Unraveling Josh

by Edie Danford

“I’ve been showing him the ropes,” Bear Dude said, a small smile on his face. His beady bear eyes surveyed my features and then traveled down my body. Sizing me up.

  I put my hands on my hips. “Well, I’m a friend of his. I’ll take over here.”

  Bear Dude laughed and raised his hands. “Okay, dude. S’all good.” He got to his knees, looked down at Nick and smiled. “All right, buddy?”

  Nick nodded, looking at me with wary eyes before smiling back at Bear Dude. “Yeah. Thanks for your help, Jeff.”

  Bear Dude—Jeff—strode off, still smiling.

  I knelt beside Nick and handed him the ball. He stared at me.

  “Did you want to keep going with this exercise?” I asked. I knew I had a scowl on my face. And I knew I was probably sounding like a dick. I don’t know what the hell was wrong with me.

  “Yeah, okay,” he said. “Seems like a good one.”

  “It is,” I said, rolling my shoulders, trying to relax. “It’s one I use to train.”

  I watched him for a few back-and-forths and said, “Make sure you keep your shoulders straight. The movement’s in your torso.”

  “Oh,” he said, looking down at his belly. “Like this?” His shoulders moved more his next rotation.

  “No,” I said. I put one hand on his shoulder and one hand on his upper abs under the ball. “Try it now.” When his shoulder started to move I held it steady. His abdominals rolled under my fingers and it was a big effort to keep my fingers from flexing, exploring.

  The tip of his tongue was tucked into the corner of his mouth and his brow was furrowed as he stared at the ball and concentrated.

  He glanced up at me, catching my gaze. “I’m getting it!”

  I huffed out a laugh. “Yeah.”

  He kept his eyes on mine as he kept up with the rocking motion. I should’ve dropped my hands from his body, but I didn’t. He smiled and the happiness I saw there, the warmth, the sexiness, the Nick-ness of it, made my chest ache. I wanted more of those smiles. I wanted all of those smiles. I didn’t want him to give any away to Bear Dude or anyone else.

  “Gotta stop now, though,” he gasped. I felt his abs quiver. His neck muscles were popping, straining.

  “Good thinking.” It was a tough exercise, especially for a newbie. I picked up the ball with both hands and he collapsed to the mat, breathing hard.

  “Okay?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Good.”

  “So,” I said, watching his breathing begin to regulate.

  “Yeah?” He looked at me with wide, dark eyes. Was that the same hopeful look that had confused me on Tuesday? I couldn’t tell—I didn’t trust my powers of interpretation. Not when it came to Nick.

  “I wanted to contact you about the skiing thing,” I told him. “But I guess this quarter you’re only doing face-to-face or paper communication?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Sorry. I should’ve told you. It’s, um…kind of an experiment I’m doing.” His gaze left mine and he stared up at the ceiling, squinting up at the lights.

  I waited for an explanation about this “experiment”. But after a few moments, it was obvious none was coming. I thought Mr. Moody-broody might make an appearance, but when Nick glanced at me again, his lips curved into a small smile. “No worries on the skiing. I told Frank I’d keep taking the class. It won’t get cancelled because of me.”

  “I’m not worried about that. I mean, yeah, that would be a drag. But what I wanted to tell you was that if you were really interested in skiing I could spare a couple hours for a little one-on-one coaching.”

  “You’d do that?”

  The incredulity in his voice made something warm and tender blossom in my chest. Something I knew I needed to quash for my sanity and protection. I shrugged. “Sure. It would just be the coaching, though. I mean, I’m not offering to—”

  “I know you’re not.” He sat and put his hand on mine. When my hand jerked—a weird involuntary reaction—he dropped his hand to the mat abruptly and stared down at it.

  For some ridiculous reason I felt like I should apologize, which was stupid because of course I had to make it clear to him that under no circumstances could we pick up where we left off—

  “Thanks for the offer, but I already thought of that.” He rose to his knees and ran his hand over his short, silvery hair.

  “Thought of that…”

  “Yeah. That I should get some extra help with the skiing. Some of my housemates are going out on the trails this weekend. A couple of them volunteered to give me pointers.”

  “Oh. Okay. That’s a good idea.”

  “Actually, it was Kelsey’s idea. She’s full of them lately.”

  “Kelsey? How’s she doing?”

  He smiled. A happy smile. He rocked back on his heels. “Really well. I’m proud of her. Over break she got a puppy. The rascaliest little shit ever. But very fucking cute.” He laughed—very fucking cutely. “The last few days Kelse has wanted to kill him. He’s decided he wants to sleep with me instead of her. He loves the new flannel sheets my mom got me for Christmas. You totally need to come by and see him.”

  For a second I thought he’d said that I needed to come by and see “them”—meaning his flannel sheets. But his smile was not a come-touch-my-soft-sheets smile. It was a puppy-wag smile. And I realized he’d invited me to meet the puppy. The effect was almost as powerful. Both images—Nick’s new sheets and Nick in bed with a puppy—were dangerous. I wasn’t strong enough to go hang out at Vegan House.

  “Yeah. Puppies are awesome, right?” I said. My tone came out sounding vague and stilted. Hey, I’m Josh and I like puppies. No really. I like them. I cleared my throat. “But, um. I’m working out a lot now—I’m going to Boston in the morning to meet with my old coach and then I’ve got a big meet coming up at the end of February… And with all the stuff I’m trying to get done for Pearlstein, time has become a precious commodity.” I bit down on the inside of my cheek. That had sounded even worse than the puppy thing. A precious commodity. Jesus.

  His smile faltered for a second and then came back blazing. Obviously forced, but, yeah. Still blazing. Nick could turn on a smile.

  “So the Achilles is feeling better?” he asked, glancing down at my foot.

  “Yeah. I’m not entirely sure, though. I haven’t really tested it yet.”

  “Well, I wish you luck.” He cleared his throat. “You know. With the heel. And the meet.”

  I sighed silently. Great. Now I had him acting like a stilted automaton too. His gaze dropped from my face to my hands. I was gripping the exercise ball tightly enough to make sweaty dents in it with my fingertips. I wanted to tell him I knew exactly how he was feeling. The jump from comfortable to uncomfortable was fast and treacherous. Like an unexpected drop-off cropping up on your favorite straightaway ski run.

  He rose to his knees again and winced.

  I put down the ball, got to my feet and offered him a hand. “Your friend was right,” I said. “You need to take it easy your first time trying this. Otherwise you’ll be in pain and you won’t want to try again.”

  “Yeah,” he said, taking my hand. “Good advice.”

  I pulled him up and when he got to his feet, I took a shallow breath, craving a whiff of his scent and feeling terrified I wouldn’t be able to resist burying my face in the spot between his neck and shoulder and glomming him right here in the gym. I didn’t have to worry—he dropped my hand quickly, taking a solid step away from me.

  I exhaled slowly. Kinda killed me that “uncomfortable” was now the norm between us. It was safer this way, though.

  He ran his hand over his hair again. His lips pursed and then parted, their color going from white to pink. He wanted to say something but was waging a battle to keep quiet. His fingers curled into fists at his sides.

  I rolled onto my toes, suddenly rooting hard for him to go for it.

  “I wish I would’ve taken it easier with you,” he said. His voice was soft but it hit me with the force of th
e twenty-pound ball to my gut. “I wish I hadn’t come on so strong that night on Boston—that I hadn’t taken you back to my hotel. I wish I hadn’t been an asshole about what happened after. I wish we’d met here”—he gestured at the mostly empty weight room—“or in the library or in a class. And that we could’ve skipped the part where I caused you pain. The part where I made it so you wouldn’t want to try again.”

  I stared at him. God. And here was the thing about Nick—he was really smart. He knew how to use his body, sure. But his mind—his quickness—was just as seductive.

  “Nick…” I fought for words.

  Before I could come up with anything, he said, “I gotta go.” This time he didn’t try to make his smile look real. It looked small and stiff and formal. “There’s a dinner party thing at the house tonight.” He took a step back, catching himself as he hit the bump between the mat and the tile floor. “Thanks for everything. For the spotting.” He tipped his head toward the ball. “And for offering to help with the skiing. I appreciate it.”

  “No problem.” I nodded lamely. “Take it easy.”

  I wanted to ask him if he was making carrot terrine as an appetizer for the dinner party. I wanted to ask him if there would be room at the table for another guest. I wanted to ask him what color his new flannel sheets were. But I didn’t. I watched him head for the locker room and then turned to go back to my bench.

  Nick

  I SAT BACK gingerly in the high-backed dining chair and patted my sore stomach. Not a good idea to eat a lot of miso soup after doing Russian twists, apparently.

  I didn’t cover my glass when Lena tipped a wine bottle at it, though. Wine seemed like a good thing post-twists. A lot of wine. The more wine I sipped the less I might want to keep mentally kicking myself for flubbing today’s part of phase two.

  Research had shown that Josh showed up at the fitness center at around four thirty most days. I’d signed up to chat with a trainer at three thirty, hoping to get enough pointers to maybe-sorta look like I semi knew what I was doing by the time Josh showed. But the trainer on duty was a guy I’d met at a GSA mixer last year—Jeff, a counselor who shared a therapy practice with a dude named Ben who was friends with Lucy and Amelia. Jeff was a nice guy and I’d actually talked with him about a few issues last spring. He had an irreverent, smartass style I appreciated.

  But I could tell by the furrow in Josh’s brows as he approached us on the workout mat that Josh saw something other than an exchange of stupid jokes about gluteus maximi and trapeziuses. Made sense Josh would be seeing what he thought he was seeing. Ever since Homecoming weekend he’d been seeing me—justifiably—in a new light. A light that was always going to seek out and shine on qualities that shouted “manwhore”.

  “So how is your quest to win back the ski god?” Lena asked.

  The wine glowed a dozen gorgeous shades of red in the candlelight. I picked up the glass and swirled the liquid around, thinking about how long it had taken to grow the grapes and squeeze them and put the juice into barrels and wait for a while and then bottle it and ship it and—I didn’t know—whatever the hell it took to make a glass of wine.

  “Slow,” I said.

  “That’s good, right?” Lena nudged my foot with hers. “Slow and steady wins the race?”

  I smiled. She was turning into an awesome friend. I looked around the table. Dinner had wound down about a half hour ago but most of the dozen or so chairs were still full. And there were people in the kitchen. And the living area. And the amazing thing? I liked them. Some of them a lot. Having my heart broken had fixed a few parts of my life I hadn’t realized needed fixing so badly. Like making new friends at Ellery, making peace with my living arrangements. And, I thought, looking at the five or six huge casserole dishes in the center of the table, making new recipes even if they sounded awful. Because sometimes? They were pretty damn good.

  “Hard to tell if it’s good,” I told Lena. “You’ve met him. You know what kind of guy he is.”

  She nodded and sipped her wine. “Mmm.” She licked her lips. “I think he might be the most hunkydorylicious man I’ve ever met.”

  I laughed. “Hunkydorylicious?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yep. I do. Unfortunately.”

  “And he’s nice too, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Well then, he’s worth the effort.”

  I nodded. “Worth more than any effort I can seem to muster. I’m just…worried. That my efforts are gonna come up short.” They sure seemed to come up short at the gym earlier. One second he’d seemed annoyed by me. The next second he’d seemed like he wanted to throw me down, in a mostly good way. And the next second after that he’d seemed annoyed by wanting to throw me down. It had been a workout all right.

  “Yes. Love is a risk,” Lena said wisely. I wanted to laugh at her. She had about four guys dangling after her and didn’t seem particularly inclined to risk anything serious on any of them.

  “He’s off to a bunch of ski-god things in the coming weeks. And he’s got a gazillion friends here, there and everywhere. So while I’m sitting around carefully trying to give him space and show him how I’ve changed—or how much I want to change—somebody else, somebody better, will snag him.”

  “Yes. Maybe. But won’t all those guys be much worse in bed than you?”

  I choked on my wine, laughing. “What?”

  She grinned. “You heard me. I think you should sneak into his bed some night soon. Show him how much you want him. That’s what I would do.” Her dark eyes gleamed in the flickering light.

  “You vixen,” I said. I toasted her with my glass and took another gulp of vino. I sighed. “It’s tempting to do that, believe me. But I’m not going to. I promised myself I would not use sex to get Josh back. Considering how I messed up with him…it’s just a bad idea.”

  As I swished wine over my tongue, I thought about the way he’d looked down at me while helping me learn the Russian twist, the melty color of his eyes, the firm press of his hand on my shoulder, the quiver in his fingers as they lingered on my abs. “I think,” I added belatedly.

  She set down her glass and straightened in her chair. “Hey everyone,” she called. “House poll time!”

  “Lena,” I whimpered.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “You need your friends’ advice.”

  Most of the conversations around the table had stopped. All eyes were on me and Lena. “What’s the poll?” Lauren asked.

  “Should Nick use sex as part of his campaign to win back his boyfriend? Or not?”

  I winced as my housemates either laughed or whistled or groaned. So. Much. Awkward.

  “Hell yes!” Lauren’s boyfriend Miles voted loudly. “Do it. Sex is absolutely necessary.”

  A bunch of people called out responses. Opinions seemed to be split. I had no way to tally them and I had no desire to know the results.

  Lauren tugged on one of Miles’s dreads and then looked at me. “I say no. You should stick with your plan.”

  “I vote no too,” Kelsey said, coming in from the kitchen carrying Todd. She winked at me. I winked back. I’d already talked out my plan and my reasoning behind it with her more times than she wanted to hear.

  A few other people chimed in on the polling. Miles and Lauren began a heated debate about the therapeutic benefits of makeup sex—kinda made me wonder how much of it they’d had and whether they might break up every now and then on purpose. Within moments the debate had taken over the table.

  Lena topped off my glass of wine. I sat back in my chair, listening, grateful for friends who made being depressed slightly less depressing. Even without the healing powers of cheese and ice cream.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Josh

  ON VALENTINE’S DAY I sat in my office in the history building’s annex, watching the clock on the wall tick off the seconds until the second hour of my weekly office hours was over.

  Two students had signed up for the fir
st half hour and I’d had two drop-ins. They had a midterm paper due at the end of next week and I was expecting a much bigger crowd for next Wednesday’s office hours.

  Usually I enjoyed hanging out in the small, quiet office with its old-fashioned boxy wood desk and metal roller chair. If I didn’t have students stop in to discuss their classwork—or if I felt like blowing off my own work—the books that had accumulated on the shelves for the last several decades were always fun to browse.

  But today I was tired and in pain and impatient. I’d had an uncharacteristic wipeout at the meet I’d gone to in Mass over the weekend. Banged up my knee and my hip—injuries that would likely heal fairly fast, but that still pissed me off and made me wonder if trying to get back into the elite skiing scene was worth it, or even possible.

  The tightly packed space of the office had me feeling wound tight and claustrophobic. I needed some ice packs and a couch to stretch out on. Forty-two seconds to go and I was outtie.

  I tugged my backpack from the file cabinet and had just started stuffing it with my crap—wincing when my hip and my knee dinged me for my enthusiasm—when a soft knock sounded on the door.

  I looked up. “Nick.”

  “Hey. I’m not too late, am I?”

  I glanced at the clock. “I’ve got a few minutes.”

  “Okay, cool. Thanks.”

  Actually I didn’t have anything scheduled for the rest of the day, but I figured it would be good for my emotional, mental and physical health to give myself a reason to kick him out. Because after a month of seeing Nick three times a week—for skiing, for the history seminar and for Friday workouts (where I’d taken over the task of being his trainer, much to Jeff the Bear’s amusement)—I was kinda going crazy with the need to touch him. Today he was wearing another one of those fuzzy, bulky sweaters—a rich brown with mossy-looking nubs appearing in random places throughout the knit. It made my follicles perk up and my skin hum just looking at it.

  He’d shaved off the scruff on his chin a couple weeks ago and, although his hair was still platinum and buzzed on the sides, it was growing out a little on the top. And whenever he sat or bent over—like he was doing in the chair that suddenly seemed way too close to my desk—it flopped in a silvery wave over his forehead and one eye. It made my hands itch. I really, really, really wanted to jam my fingers in those bright strands and push them away from his face and look into his eyes and press my lips against—