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I cup his cheek. “Tell me what’sgoing through your head, Chris. Whatever it is.”
He shuffles uncomfortably. “Rox,”he sighs, “when I realized who that guy was, I saw red. I’ve neverwanted to punch anyone so hard in my life. Even though Rickdefinitely looks like he’s knocked out people’s teeth before andI’ve never thrown a punch.”
I laugh and take Chris’s head inmy hands.
“I keep going over it in my mind,”he says. “You and me, and then you with that guy… It makes mesick.”
“You’re jealous,” I say.
“Of course I’m jealous! I know I’mnot supposed to be, but I can’t help it.”
“It’s okay. Look, I get it. Butplease know that I’ve known Rick for years. It’s never been even alittle bit romantic with us. He’s really just a buddy. Whom I usedto fuck every now and then. Purely for recreation.”
“That’s not helping.”
“Chris, look at me. He’s not you.And you’re not him.”
“Yeah, but what am I? You keeptelling everyone I’m your neighbor or your friend. Your mom, thosetwo.”
“But you are my neighborand friend.”
“But you’re not just myneighbor. Or just my friend, Roxie.”
“I know.” I rub his upper arm.“You’re not just my neighbor or friend, either. But I don’t thinkeveryone needs to know our business.”
He stiffens. “Why?”
“Because they’re random people.They’d be intruding in our little bubble.”
“Oh, yeah?” He smiles. “We have abubble?”
“We do. And I like our littlebubble. I’ve never been in a bubble before.”
“I see.” He takes my hand and rubshis thumb across my knuckles. “By the way, I like our bubble,too.”
“Feeling better?” I ask.
“Much better.”
“You still need to do chores?”
“They can wait.”
ChapterTwenty
Chris
November
It’s a Tuesday in early Novemberand I’m at Lombardino’s with Lyle and a few other folks from work.The restaurant is walking distance from the office and is bestdescribed as delicious, quirky Italian. As the boss, Lyle hasbought everyone lunch to welcome the new paralegal, Denise, to theteam.
We’re done eating and the party isgetting ready to leave, but I need to use the restroom.
Which is when I run into thatbearded guy with whom I last had a standoff outside Roxie’s doormonths ago.
Dave.
He’s washing his hands when I seehim—at least he’s got good hygiene, which for some reason surprisesme. I briefly hold out hope it’s not him, or that he won’t noticeor recognize me, but no such luck. He glances at me over hisshoulder, and I see a flicker of recognition on his face. Then heshakes his hands over the sink, dries his hands, and turns backaround toward me.
