Chapter 112 (1/2)

“Sure.”

“Where are you, anyway?” I need to keep the conversation as neutral as possible . . . not that it’s ever possible to keep things between Hardin and me neutral.

“A gym.”

I almost laugh. “A gym? You don’t go to the gym.” Hardin is one of the few people to be blessed with an incredible body without ever having to work out. His naturally large build is perfect, tall with broad shoulders, even though he claims that he was lanky and thin as a young teenager. His muscles are hard but not too defined; his body is the perfect mixture of soft and hard.

“I know. She was kicking my ass. I was genuinely embarrassed.”

“Who?” I say a little forcefully. Calm down, Tessa, it’s obviously the woman whose voice you heard.

“Oh, the trainer. I decided to use that kickboxing shit you got me for my birthday.”

“Really?” The thought of Hardin kickboxing makes me think about things that I shouldn’t be thinking about. Like him sweating . . .

“Yeah,” he says, a little shyly.

I shake my head to try to cast out the image of him shirtless. “How was it?”

“Okay, I guess. I prefer a different type of exercise. But on the plus side, I’m a lot less tense than I was a few hours ago.”

I narrow my eyes at his response even though he can’t see me.

My fingers trace the flower-print fabric of the comforter. “Do you think you’ll go again?” I finally feel like I can breathe as Hardin begins to tell me about how awkward the first half hour of his session was, how he kept cursing at the woman until she slapped him across the back of his head, repeatedly, which, in turn made him respect her and stop being such a jerk to her.

“Wait.” I finally speak. “Are you still there?”

“No, I’m home now.”

“You just . . . left? Did you tell her?”

“No, why would I?” he asks, as if people acted like him all the time.

I like the idea that he dropped what he was doing just to talk to me on the phone. I shouldn’t, but I do. Which warms me, but also makes me sigh and say, “We aren’t doing a very good job on this space thing.”

“We never do.” I can picture his smirk even though he’s speaking from more than a hundred miles away.

“I know, but—”

“This is our version of space. You didn’t get in the car and drive here. You only called.”

“I guess so . . .” I allow myself to agree with his twisted logic. In a way, though, he’s right. I don’t know yet if it’s a good or a bad thing.

“Is Noah still there?”

“No, he left hours ago.”

“Good.”