“Nothing relevant to you.”
Tessa’s grin widened. “You listened more than once.”
“I needed to confirm the instructions.”
“Did she use a lot of advanced medical language?”
I gathered my hair into a ponytail.
“She said coffee was not water.”
“Groundbreaking.”
“And that I should not perform recreational burpees.”
“Were you?”
“No.”
“You considered it?”
“No.”
Tessa waited.
“I looked up the proper form,” I admitted.
She lifted both hands. “I rest my case.”
“You have no case.”
“I don’t know. This already has excellent structure. You hate each other. She has nice arms. You nearly died in her arms.”
“I did not nearly die.”
“She calls you Price.”
My stomach reacted before I could prevent it. Tessa saw.
She pointed at me. “There.”
“There what?”
“That face.”
“I have only one face.”
“You have several. That one means you’re pretending something doesn’t affect you.”
Tessa leaned against the doorframe, the laundry basket braced on one hip. She had the patient look of someone waiting for a confession.
“I am going to work.”
“It’s six thirty.”
“I have reports to review.”
“You don’t leave until seven forty.”
