Authors: Miriam Epstein
Nicole parks her SUV in a guest spot. I don't bother to take off my seatbelt and get out.
"Come on, Rebecca. Let's go up."
I pick at an imaginary piece of lint on my skirt. I don't want to get out of the car. We shouldn't have come here. This is about twenty minutes outside of our neighborhood and it's not the safest area. "Can't I just wait here while you say hello or whatever? I'm sure this guy would rather see you alone, anyway."
Nicole unclasps my seatbelt. "No, Rebecca. Turner really wants to meet you. I've told him all about you and he's excited to meet my adorable little sister. Besides, it's cold and I don't want you down here all alone. I promise this will be quick."
I acquiesce as I always do when it comes to Nicole. We make our way past the lifeless swimming pool and up the stairs of the deepest set part of the building. All the doors are painted dark red and set just a bit farther back from the brick facade of the walls. Turner lives dead center of the second floor. He must have been watching for my sister because he opens the door before she can knock.
"Hi there, gorgeous. You look stunning."
Tall, sandy blond hair, and eyes that could be blue or gray depending on the light, it is easy to see why my sister is infatuated with him. And she is, I can see that clearly by the way her eyes light up as he pulls her in for a hug and spins her around. It's a rare thing to excite her. He has charisma.
Setting her back to her feet, Turner swivels in my direction and offers me his hand. I move closer for the handshake, but he grasps my hand in his and brings it to his lips. "And you're the lovely little sister. That gene pool of your family is quite impressive."
Ugh. My teeth ache from the sickly sweetness that drips from his corny sentiments. Nicole, never the one to hold back no matter how in lust she may be, swats his behind and moves past him into the apartment. "So, cheesy, Turner. Dial it down a notch."
He laughs and lets go of my hand only to take my arm and pull me inside. I squirm out of his hold as subtly as I can, but I don' t want him to touch me. He has all the charm of a rattlesnake. Other than his ridiculous greeting, I have no reason not to like this man, but I don't. I can't say I'm the best judge of character; I'm pretty sheltered, but my guard is up. Maybe it's the age difference? I know I'm fourteen and I should be all excited and giggly that my sister met an older guy because sisters are supposed to be supportive, but I'm grossed out by it instead. I remember reading a book about a serial killer named Ted Bundy. This guy was good-looking and charming, which made him seem unassuming to women he would meet. Then he'd coax them into a more private setting where he proceeded to rape and kill them. A sociopath.
Turner reminds me of Ted Bundy.
"Come sit down, Rebecca. Make yourself at home."
I shake myself out of my dark reverie and join my sister and Turner. I know I have an overactive imagination. I'm probably just nervous about the school dance and I'm making everything into a bigger deal than it is.
"Hello, Paige."
Damn. I must have spaced out for a while because the lecture hall is full now and Brady is in his seat, next to me. His hair is slightly askew, as if blown by a sharp gust of wind. He really is striking.
I nod. "Brady."
"Spilled any good hot beverages lately?"
Okay, admittedly I should have apologized first thing, but the infuriating smirk on his face is making me want to slap him. Or maybe kiss him. Not sure.
No, that's not true. I am sure. I am sure that even if I want to kiss him, I won't.
"Look, Brady, I'm really sorry about that. I didn't do it on purpose, I promise. I was in need of a little alone time and you being there was a bit much for me."
"I appreciate your apology, Paige, but if you really wanted to be alone, why didn't you stay home? Public places don't exactly scream solitary confinement."
"Shhh. Class is starting."
I turn my head in the direction of Dr. Reyes, who is in fact standing at the lectern; notes in hand. I feel, rather than hear, Brady sigh in frustration and I know I've made my point. Hopefully he will give up trying to be nice to me from now on. Then I can feel like less of a bitch when I blow him off for this project and do the work for both us. He can put his name on it if he wants, or do his own thing. I can't afford to care. I try to block Brady from my thoughts and listen as Dr. Reyes talks about the group project.
"Keep in mind, students, that how well you work with your partner is going to be worth fifty percent of the assessment. I'll be asking both of you to fill out a rubric designed to answer my questions about that. Remember, this is a course for a major in Social Work. You will need to have the skill necessary to work with people. This won't be a project that one of you completes on your own and then calls it partner work. I'm sorry, Type A's, you're going to have to let go."
It's like I'm cursed. A condescending half smile is worn by Brady for the rest of the class.
CHAPTER SIX
"Miss Kerimov? Excuse me, Miss Kerimov?"
The front desk supervisor in my lobby has to call my name twice before I realize he's talking to me. A year and half and I'm still not used to that. I turn around to face him. His name tag tells me his name is Victor. Victor looks like he is in his forties and has the face of someone who takes his job seriously.
"Please, call me Paige."
Victor bends down and lifts the package up on the desk. "This came for you earlier by a private courier. It didn't require a signature so we allowed them to leave it here."
The box is wrapped in brown parcel paper and it is fairly large. Like, the kind of large that could fit a human head inside of it. Yes, I could stand to be a bit less morbid. I pick it up and shake it. The box is very light and makes only a slight rustling sound. Convinced that it is not a bomb, I decide to bring it upstairs.
"Thank you, Victor. Have a nice evening."
He smiles. "You do the same, Paige."
The elevator ride is soothing. I like white noise; almost any form of it can calm my nerves. I'm still feeling unsettled from my discussion with Brady in class. Or maybe it is just Brady himself that has me rattled. He's so frustrating, yet equally patient and kind. I noticed earlier that just having him sit next to me in class is kind of nice. This is not good. I do not have a crush on this guy.
My apartment is hot. No, it's beyond hot. I must have turned off the A/C when I left this morning. I chuck my bag and the package on the kitchen counter and go to the thermostat. It is set to its usual seventy three degrees. Fabulous, the thing must be broken. I'll probably die of heat stroke up here. I place a quick call to maintenance. They tell me they will have it fixed by eight o' clock this evening. Okay, do I spend the next three and a half hours sweltering in this hot box or should I take off? I could go to the gym, but then I'd have to come back up here and shower which will leave me sweaty even after the rinse off.
I could use the gym on campus. It's pretty nice and it has locker rooms with clean showers. Maybe I'll grab dinner on the way back. I pack some soap and shampoo in my gym bag. I find an old pair of flip flops that I don't mind getting wet; the locker rooms might be clean but I'll never put my bare feet on a public floor like that, and I'm good to go. I throw the package in my gym bag on the way out the door. I can open it later.
I run into no one on my way downstairs and the walk back to campus is equally uneventful. I get to the gym and quickly change in the locker room. There is a Spinning class starting in forty-five minutes that I'd like to try. I sign my name on the sheet posted to reserve a bike. I can kill time by doing some ab work, so I head over to the mats and turn my mp3 player on so that Florence and the Machine can motivate me.
I'm listening to Florence belt out Blinding, one of my favorite songs, when I feel someone tap my leg as I'm finishing up my last Turkish get up. I open my eyes and damn it! This guy is everywhere. I flinch when I realize his hand is still touching my leg. He pulls it away quickly.
"I'm sorry, Paige. I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to say hello, but you had your eyes closed and your music on."
He looks genuinely sorry and I feel like a jerk yet again. "No, I'm sorry, Brady. You just surprised me."
He smiles the first non-condescending smile I've ever seen on his face and I die a little. He crouches down to the floor so that we are a bit closer to eye level. "Are you just getting here, or is abdominal torture in the form of get ups the end of your workout? Nice form, by the way."
I laugh and pretend I don't notice the not so subtle wink he gave me at the end of that sentence. "I just started. I was doing abs to kill time before the Spinning class."
Brady smirks. "Spinning, huh? This I want to see."
Ugh. He had to ruin our nice conversation. I jump up to a standing position and shove him. He stumbles face first into the mat I was just sweating on and the woman beside us cracks up. "Always a pleasure, Brady. Now go away."
He laughs. "Sure, Paige, I'll go away right now. I'm certain that I will be seeing you soon."
"Whatever you say."
Brady walks off and I turn my music back on. A few more sets of crunches and twists and I see it is almost time for the class. I make a quick dash to the juice bar to buy a bottle of water on my way. I'm pretty sure water and a towel are a requirement for cycling classes. And if they are not, well then they should be. I know I will manage to sweat buckets during this type of class and I like to rehydrate and clean up after myself. One can only hope the other gym patrons will do the same.
The gym on campus is impressive enough to boast its own cycling room. The chain I usually work out in has you drag the bikes to the middle of the aerobics room for each class. I might be canceling my other membership soon. The room is dark, I'm pleased to see. This class should always be done in the dark. All the bikes are numbered and I don't have any trouble finding the one I signed my name next to on the sign up form. It has clip-less pedals. I'm psyched. I dig my mountain biking shoes out of my bag and change into them. They are lime green with hot pink accents and black laces. Ugly, as far as bike shoes go, but they reminded me of watermelons. When we were very little kids, Nicole and I used to save all the black seeds from the watermelons we ate and plant them in the backyard. She told me that we could grow a really big watermelon if we had enough seeds and I believed her. Eventually, she told me that we planted so many seeds that the melon would grow so big it would knock our house down. I cried hysterically, of course believing everything my big sister told me. She apologized for days afterward, having felt bad for upsetting me.
I miss those days. I miss my sister.
Shake it off
, I tell myself. I adjust the bike to my hip height and handle bar preference and grab my towel. I'm settling myself on my bike when I hear an all too familiar voice come to life over the stereo, asking if anyone needs assistance getting set up.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
Brady is standing at the front of the room next to the instructors bike, playing with his mic and the sound system. He looks up for a moment, catches my eye, and gives me the sexiest smile I have ever seen on a guy. I nearly fall off my bike.
Is the universe trying to tell me something? There has to be a reason why I run into Brady everywhere I go in the two or three days since I've met him. It's going to be really hard ignoring a really attractive guy that pops up all over and pays attention to me. At the very least, I need to focus on tuning him out during this class or I won't be able to truly enjoy it. Spinning is an experience; it's a mental toughness even more than a physical one to push yourself through some of those steep climbs.Do it enough and that toughness will insert itself into your every day life and help you cope with the difficulties. I know it did that for me.
The class begins and I'm immediately impressed with Brady's coaching style. He's a quiet motivator; there is no obnoxious yelling and he never touches the resistance on anyone's bike. He tells you how challenging the ride should be and then lets you make your own decision of how many times to turn the resistance dial. I like that type of instruction. His music is also good. Though I was a bit self-conscious at the start of the class, I quickly lose myself to the rhythm of my fly-wheel and I'm in my zone. His music is inspiring even; M83's Wait comes on during a particularly steep climb and it is exactly the right song to push me through.
All too soon, the class is over and I have to dismount the bike back into my slightly sad reality. I wipe the sweat off of my bike and drain my water bottle before I head to the locker room.
"Paige, hold on a second."
I pause at the exit of the Spinning room. Just outside the door sits a woman wearing a neon pink sequined sweat suit and it's seriously distracting. I turn around just as Brady is catching up to me and he has to put a hand on the wall behind me to keep from slamming into me like I did to him the first day of classes. Because he is leaning forward, our mouths are mere milimeters away from each others. I can practically taste his lips on my own. I could just lean towards him a little bit...
I realize what I'm doing before it is too late and I step under his arm and around him. "You should watch where you walk, Brady. You almost ran into me. I didn't know you were so clumsy."
To his credit, Brady deflects my obnoxiousness and even manages not to throw it right back in my face as I am really the clumsy person here.
"You did really well in the class. How long have you been taking cycling classes?"
"A few months. How long have you been teaching them?"
He thinks for a moment. "Officially, I've been a certified instructor since I was 18 years old."
I wait, but he doesn't elaborate. So I ask, "Unofficially? I'm sensing you are withholding information here."