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“What’s your name?” I ask.
“I’m Oakley. Oakley Edwards.” A smile shadows her mouth. She reaches out a hand for me to shake. Her green eyes are striking, and the waves of her brown and blonde hair frame her face before trailing down to her elbow.
I take her hand and we both grip hard. But her hands are smooth and much smaller than mine. I’m reminded of the competitive vibe between us on the treadmills yesterday.
I let go and clear my throat. She may be beautiful, but she works—worked?—for the Wolves.
I want to ask her about it, but another large group comes through the eatery’s double doors, and the hum of conversation makes me pause.
I’ve got to get out of here. There’s only silence coming from Oakley and I bet she can tell I quit my physical therapy way too early. When it became obvious I could no longer play football, I pretty much quit trying to rehabilitate.
Smart? No way. But I haven’t been thinking straight these days.
“Maybe I’ll see you in the gym later.” She barely looks at me as she hurries past. She’s able to hurry past because she, unlike me, has two perfectly functioning legs.
There she goes. Running for the hills. Like most people when they find out who I am and what happened to kill my career almost before it began.
I don’t mind, though. She can run off because I’m not interested in her. I’m not going to be dating anyone, especially a guest of the resort who is a living, breathing reminder of my former team and life.
Besides, she’s temporary, and I don’t do temporary—or not so temporary relationships. After finding Callie our junior year of college, dating for a year, and losing her in a four-wheeling accident, I don’t do relationships anymore.
Period.
It’s half past three and I’m in the gym, working on strengthening my upper body while my knee throbs and smarts. Two older women have been walking on treadmills and discussing their dogs, their favorite toilet paper brand, and the most attractive male celebrity over seventy.
I take a break so I can text my younger brother, Milo. He and I have four older brothers, and sometimes it feels like it’s us against them. After our usual discussion back and forth about the days’ sports news, Milo gets serious.
Milo:Mom said she’s been trying to call you.
I scratch above my eyebrow as I consider how to respond to that. I haven’t been meaning to avoid her. It’s just that sometimes I want to wait until I have a better idea of what my next life purpose is going to be.
And I have no clue about that, thus the long delay in calling her back.
Me:I know. I’ll return her call when I finish in the gym.
Milo:You’re in the gym? Like, a jungle gym or the kind where you work out?
I don’t dignify that with a response, so he soon follows it up with more.
Milo:Glad to hear it, man. Does it feel good to get back into it after so long?
Me:No. I feel like when I went back to junior high PE after the chicken pox. Only a thousand times weaker.
He sends me some stupid exercise GIFs. I pocket my phone and get back to my lateral presses. I haven’t exactly been waiting for her, but it’s nice to see Oakley come through the door as the older women leave. She’s in running shorts and a tank top like yesterday’s. Only this one is light purple.
“Oakley, I’m glad you came,” I say.
Her smile is stiff as she grabs a towel from the table. “Hope you have a good workout.” So formal. Dismissive.
“Have a good run,” I say. For one brief moment, I’m a little jealous that I can’t join her. The truth is, the more the day has progressed, the more it hurts. I don’t want to deal with this stupid knee. I wish I could just forget about it.
“Will do,” she says, before plugging in her earbuds and starting her run.
I occupy myself with more upper body work, aware of her every move, but trying not to be. She’s beautiful when she runs. And when she’s not running. Today, she has her hair in two ponytails that are tied off every couple of inches with another elastic bands. It gives the effect of two ropes bouncing off her shoulders and back. It’s mesmerizing.
Finally, she stops the treadmill, wipes her brow and neck, and hops off. She’s so much more coordinated than I am on those things.
I finish up a set with the free weights. “And you didn’t even fall. Congrats.” I stand and walk over to her.
