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CHAPTER 8
“How are you feeling?” Sheridan asks, plopping herself on my couch with her glass of wine.
“Tired. Excited. Relieved,” I admit. “Terrified. The next elimination is in a week. I don’t want it to be me.”
“Obviously,” she says, her eyes glassy.
“How much wine have you had? You’re looking tipsy already. As a matter of fact, where the hell did you get that wi… No! Please tell me you didn’t!” I scream, running to my pantry and digging to the very back in search of my Richebourg Grand, the one and only thing I ever inherited from my mother.
I swore I’d drink the bottle to celebrate my fortieth birthday, because I would be surprised to survive that long. Then when I started the Keys to Key West Challenge, I decided to postpone it until the day I ran my very own gym. Which coincidently is the day after my fortieth birthday. And I plan on enjoying the wine, unless the lush on my couch has already drank it.
My hand makes contact with the glass neck of the bottle, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Sher stumbles into the kitchen, and pulls out a little bottle from her purse. “I came prepared.”
“Oh, sorry I called you a lush.”
She frowns. “When did you call me a lush?”
“Anyway,” I say changing the subject. “I’m guessing you’re not going to work out tomorrow?”
“Uh, no,” she says, raising her freshly poured glass. “Bad day at work. I need a vacation from reality tonight.”
“You and me both.”
“So, how’s it going with the young hottie?” Her brows waggle indecently, making me laugh.
“Well, I want him in my pants, but he wants a date first. Except that I don’t date. We’re at an impasse.”
“Why is that, exactly? Because I know why I don’t date. And believe me, it’s not for a lack of trying. But you… you’re swatting away the bees that want at your honey?”
I scratch my head, trying to wrap my mind around her analogy. “There’s no room in my life for dating. Sex, yes. Relationship, no.”
“You have plenty of time for a relationship. Take today, for instance. What’d you do all day?”
“All kinds of stuff.” Woke up at five, had breakfast with Reese, went back to bed. Woke up again at ten, had an early lunch, went back to bed. Woke up at noon, wasted time watching reruns, stared at Winn’s book which I have been meaning to read, but it’s a time travel fiction. I hear she’s a fantastic writer, but reading long books is not one of my interests.
Sher purses her lips at me. “Liar. I doubt you’ve even showered.”
“It’s my day off. I can do nothing if I wish.”
“You could also be doing nothing with a very handsome Dean. I mean, just imagine it. Lazy day off, snuggled on the couch, wiggling your toes on his lap so he can give you a foot rub. He throws a little smile your way that tells you he loves you, then asks, ‘What would you like to watch, babe?’ and hands you the remote.”
I have to admit the scene does appeal to me, so I look off into the middle distance and envision it in my head. “What else would we be doing?”
“You’d eat pizza, because it’s Sunday.”
“It’s Tuesday,” I correct.
“Just go with it. Then you’d go out for ice cream. When you come back you’d take showers, lounge for a little longer. He’d take care of you. You wouldn’t have to worr…”
“Okay stop. You had me up until the take care of me part. That’s exactly what I don’t want.”
“What? Why? I want that,” she says, pointing a thumb at herself.
“I’m not you, Sher.”
“I never said you were. It’s not a bad thing to be taken care of.”
“It is if you don’t know how to take care of yourself,” I say, utterly frustrated.
