Page 60 of Forced Proximity

Zane pulls a shirt off the hanger and tosses it at me. ‘Why?’

I can’t tell Zane why. Telling my friend makes everything real. And I hate real. ‘I … didn’t like him touching her.’ Jumping on Conner wasn’t out of some chivalrous sense of duty, and I damn well knew it. ‘I just … it sucks she quit.’

Zane stares at me for several long moments. ‘Why?’

The familiar uptick in their lip is a dead giveaway. Zane’s prodding, as usual, and making me dissect my feelings out loud. ‘You gonna make me say it?’

‘I think you’ll feel better if you do.’

I clear my throat. ‘Fine, all right. I liked her.’

A slow smile spreads. ‘You don’t fucking say.’

‘Am I that obvious?’

Zane flops down on the sitting bench at the end of the bed. ‘To me, yes. It’s not like I haven’t noticed your smile, or your side looks at her during meetings, or your insistence that she eats every single meal with us. I mean, how many times have you ever had staff sit at the table with us?’

I grab the shirt Zane threw at me and start buttoning. ‘I thought I was playing it cool.’ Right? When I’m around Doc, I force myself not to stare, joke around like a friend and withhold from touching her no matter how much I want to. ‘Do you think she knows?’

Zane shrugs. ‘Hard to say. She’s a perceptive one, but I don’t know her the way I know you.’

‘What do you think she thinks of me?’ My voice is more hesitant than normal. I grab my wallet from the dresser and stuff it in my back pocket, avoiding all eye contact.

Zane grabs my phone from the charger and puts their hand on my back to push me out of the room. ‘That, I don’t know. She’s a pro. It’s hard to read her. I’ll say she’s more smiley than when she first started, if that’s any consolation.’ They drop their hand. ‘But, we have to talk about this later. Right now, we’re late getting to the studio.’

Fine. I’ll drop it for now.

But tonight, I’m taking matters into my own hands.

***

By the time I get home, I’ve checked the message I sent Doc a few hours ago no less than twenty times to see if she responded.

Justin: Quitting, just like that? Really?

And nope. Not a call, not a text, nothing. In my bed, I doomscroll until a message from Doc pops up. I swipe the phone open so fast I worry I accidentally deleted it.

Doc: Apologies. I made a severe lapse of judgment and inadvertently put you in harm’s way. You’re better off with my replacement. I appreciate the help you gave me yesterday.

Doc: It was nice meeting you.

Justin: It was nice fucking meeting me? Seriously?

I stare at the phone, disbelief and rage and everything terrible funneling through me like a tornado. A solid ten minutes pass before my phone buzzes again.

Doc: Wishing you the best of luck.

How impersonal and shitty can you get? ‘Wishing you the best of luck?’ Is she writing a graduation card?

After a fitful night’s sleep, I still can’t believe Doc’s text. I slap at my nightstand to grab my phone. Maybe overnight she’d apologized for being so stand-offish. Or to say she wasn’t actually quitting. Or to say she missed me after a day and wanted to meet up for coffee or something.

Nope. No new messages. Is she thinking about me at all? She probably doesn’t think of me as much as I think of her, but is it too much to hope she thinks of me a little? I need to sweat this out before I break down. On the way to the gym, my gaze catches on the folded blanket and pillow on the couch from yesterday. I approach the couch, check to make sure Jack isn’t watching, and pull the pillow to my nose, inhaling the remnants of her vanilla shampoo. Footsteps approach. What the hell am I doing? I toss the pillow and move to the gym.

The weights burn my biceps, but each rep gives me a sliver of clarity. So she left. But, there’s no way this is the finale, the closing credits, the end. Our movie nights, workout sessions and joking around in the kitchen while I cook cannot just be … done.

I step onto the treadmill. Sweat drips down my spine, pools in my lower back, my muscles beg for mercy. She left because of me. This is the universe, or karma, or whatever the fuck, giving me payback for leaving Mia all those years ago to go to school. I pound my fist on the rail and increase the incline. A ringing phone jolts me from my downward spiral. I pause the treadmill, my burning lungs relieved by the reprieve. ‘Hey.’

Zane sounds like they’re at an outdoor café. ‘What’s up, buttercup?’ they say. ‘Quick update. Change of plans today. The photoshoot at five got moved to seven, so we had to shift the dinner with the Goldstein crew out to tomorrow.’