Page 10 of Clinically Awkward

“Viv, I don’t think—” He started, the uncertainty in his voice growing.

“Lie. Down.” My command was sharp, and he must have heard the finality in it.

There must have been something in my voice—a warning that even Colton, in all his obliviousness, couldn’t ignore. He slowly lay back down on the bench, his eyes wide and locked on mine, nerves splayed across his face. “Babe, what’s going on?” he asked, suddenly very aware that this was not the time to push his luck.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I carefully and deliberately placed the five-pound dumbbell directly on his crotch.

Colton’s entire body went rigid. “Vivian!”

“Don’t move,” I said sweetly, applying a smidge of pressure. “Unless you want me to pop your tiny balls like little grapes.”

Colton’s eyes widened even further, panic etched across his face. “Okay. Okay, I’m not moving. But can we talk about this?” he pleaded, desperate for a conversation that might diffuse the tension.

“We had dinner plans tonight,” I replied, my tone calm and pleasant—so much so that anyone who truly knew me would recognize it as a warning. “At seven. Remember?”

Colton swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on the dumbbell resting atop his gym shorts. “I forgot?” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You forgot,” I echoed, letting the words hang in the air. “For the third time this month.”

“It’s been a crazy few weeks,” Colton quickly said, searching for any excuse that might lessen the disappointment in my eyes.

I continued, ignoring his attempt at justification. “You forgot our anniversary dinner,” I said. “You forgot my birthday dinner. And now you forgot our regular, normal, Thursday night dinner that we planned three days ago.”

“Babe, I’m sorry, I just...” Colton began, his apology faltering as he realized the gravity of his repeated mistakes.

Leaning closer, with my hands braced on either side of the bench and my face just inches from his, I pressed on. The dumbbell shifted slightly, causing Colton to emit a strangled, anxious sound. “Do you know what I did tonight, Colton?” I asked pointedly. “I left work early. I went home. I showered. I put on that dress you like—the blue one. I did my makeup. I even wore the perfume you bought me for Christmas.”

“The Chanel?” he asked weakly.

“The Chanel,” I confirmed. “And then I sat in the restaurant for forty-five minutes, Colton. Forty-five minutes. Alone. At a table for two. While the waiter kept asking if I wanted to order or if I was ‘still waiting for someone.’”

“Viv, I’m so sorry.”

“And do you know what I did after that?” I continued, my voice getting progressively less sweet and more sharp. “I checked your Instagram. And do you know what I found?”

Colton’s face went pale. “Babe.”

“A gym selfie,” I said. “Posted twenty minutes ago. With the caption ‘Never skip leg day’ followed by three flexing emojis.”

“I can explain.”

“You were here,” I said, straightening up and crossing my arms. The dumbbell wobbled. Colton whimpered. “You were here, taking gym selfies, while I was sitting alone in a restaurant wearing Chanel and my dignity.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like, Colton?” I asked. “Please. Explain it to me. Explain how you ‘forgot’ we had plans while you were actively posting on social media.”

“I just...” He tried to sit up, remembered the weight, and froze. “I lost track of time.”

“You lost track of time?”

“Yeah! I was in the zone, you know? And I didn’t check my phone, and⁠—”

“Your phone that you used to post on Instagram.”

“That was... that was different.”

“Different how?”