Read Lucy Wagner Gets In Shape (A Romantic Comedy) Online
Authors: Claire Matthews
“It’s okay,” he says quietly, and my shoulders slump in relief. “But I think maybe we need to rethink this whole dating idea.”
Whoa.
“What?” I whisper. “Why?” I feel like I’ve been kicked in the chest.
“Listen, Luce…if we get involved, and things don’t work out, I’m not sure we’ll be able to save our friendship. I just don’t know if it’s worth the risk.”
I freeze with shock, my legs hanging lifelessly off the side of Jen’s desk. He doesn’t trust me. He doesn’t think I’m worth the risk. And the worst of it is, I’m being dumped—
again
.
No. Freakin’. Way.
“Will, this is so weird, because I was thinking the exact same thing.”
“Really?” His eyes are wide with surprise. Does he believe me?
“Absolutely. I mean, what were we thinking? Our friendship is more important than any fleeting attraction we might have for one another. Right?”
Tell me I’m not right. Please…
“Sure…I mean, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Lucy. I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize that.” When he moves forward to give me a hug, I focus on the light blue stripes of his oxford shirt and open my eyes really wide, so I don’t start to cry.
“I’m so glad you’re not mad at me,” he murmurs into the curve of my neck. I shake my head and pull away quickly. I need to get out of here, like, now.
“God, I totally forgot—I told a student that I’d meet him at the Campus Grounds, like, five minutes ago. I’ve gotta scoot.” I slip off my perch on Jen’s desk and wade through the sea of ungraded papers scattered across the floor.
“Hey, do you still want to bowl on Friday?” He calls after me as a shuffle out the door and down the hallway. I can’t turn to answer because despite my best efforts, tears are already streaming down my face. I call out what I hope is a breezy “I’ll text you tonight,” and rush into the shelter of the ancient stairwell.
Chapter Twelve
It’s two days until the big race. My exercise routine over the last week has consisted of crying and opening wine bottles, and I’m having serious doubts about my ability to make it to the finish line. But, as Jen has reminded me at least five hundred times, this was my idea, and like it or not, I’m showing up on Saturday. So is Will, who I’m pretending to be friends with, although my heart can’t take much more of it. Jen thinks we’re both being idiots, and if we would just go somewhere and “screw it out,” as she so delicately puts it, we could work through our problems. This is why Jen teaches political science, and not interpersonal communication.
So, my state of mind is less that stable as I find myself at the track waiting for Jen and Will. I was so nervous I ended up getting here fifteen minutes early, a rare occurrence. I sit on the bench by the water fountain and adjust my socks, hoping Jen will get here soon--I don’t do well when I’m alone with my thoughts lately. Still messing around with my feet, I look up when a blond woman stops at the water fountain. It’s not until she turns to face me that I recognize Diana. Will’s Diana.
“Excuse me, but aren’t you Lucy?” Her expression isn’t friendly, but it isn’t homicidal, either, so I decide to play along.
“Yes. You’re Diana, right?” I almost add “Will’s ex?” But I refrain.
She nods and sizes me up. I try to suck in my gut, but really, what’s the point? She’s perfect, I’m…fluffy.
“So, how’s Will?” Her lips take a decidedly downward turn, as if the very act of speaking his name leaves a bad taste in her mouth. I’m thinking this question is more loaded than a frat boy at a kegger, so I smile demurely and say that he’s doing fine.
“Did he ever get tenure?” I can tell she’s curious, even though she’s straightening her ponytail distractedly.
“As a matter of fact, he did. Just a few weeks ago.”
“Well, good for him.” But the way she says it sounds more like ‘
Well, I hope he dies a penniless hippie and his corpse is devoured by maggots.’
Or something like that.
I’m trying to think of a civil response when she drops her arms from the elastic of her ponytail and steps towards me. “So are the two of you together?”
“Huh?” Quick with the comeback, Luce.
“I know he left me for some grad student in the department. I always assumed it was you.” Her gaze dares me to deny it.
“We’re not together. Never have been.” I bite my tongue before adding ‘
Never will be
’. “We’re just friends.” Her expression is doubtful. “Do you want me to tell him you said hello?”
She thinks about it for a moment, then says, “No, I want you to tell him I hope his dick falls off.” Then she turns and jogs away, her pert behind barely jigging as my jaw drops in her wake.
Okay, then.
I’m left gaping in Diana’s retreating form until Jen shows up and bumps my back with her water bottle. “You’re here early. Are you really that eager to run?”
“I’m that eager to get this over with,” I reply.
“Where’s Will?”
“Dunno.” I immediately become engrossed in re-tying my shoes.
“Have you talked to him yet?” She sounds exasperated with me. Hell,
I’m
exasperated with me.
“What’s to talk about?” Great—now I’ve executed the dreaded triple knot on my left sneaker.
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that you two are totally in love with each other, and the only reason he put the brakes on was because he saw you in a compromising position with Dr. Dweeb.”
“I told him it was nothing—he said he believed me!”
“Oh, bullshit. He thinks you’re toying with him, don’t you see?” She swats me again with her water bottle.
“No, not really.”
Jen speaks very slowly, as if I’m mentally challenged. “He thinks you’re on the rebound from Paul, and that you’re just gonna diddle him until you get your mojo back.
“I never lost my mojo,” I mutter, but I can see her point.
“Your groove, then.”
“Why are we talking like sassy black women? You’re not going to tell me to ‘talk to the hand,’ are you?”
“Fine, joke all you want, but you know I’m right. Will’s never had an ounce of courage when it comes to you—hell, he’s pined after you for years, and never said a word. If you want something to come of this, you’re the one who’s going to have to make it happen.”
“Take the bull by the horns,” I say, warming to the idea.
“Jesus, take the wheel,” says Jen.
“Exactly.”
***
It’s after eleven o’clock at night, and I’ve got a firm grip on the horns. After our run (during which Will and I shared a total of twelve words, four of which were “your shoelace is untied”), I went home and had three glasses of wine, an unscheduled nap, and nine wardrobe changes. Now I’m standing at his front door, thinking seriously about just going home. But I know my boobs look good in this push-up bra (screw Jen, they’re plenty big), so I take a deep breath and knock.
And knock.
Shit, is he out? His car is in the parking lot. Is he asleep? I’m knocking loud enough to wake the dead. Okay, one more knock and I’m—
“Hold on,” I hear through the door. His voice sounds muffled--I guess I did wake him. When the door swings open, Will’s rumpled head pops out, and he squints at me through the bright porch light.
“Lucy—is everything okay?” He’s rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, and it’s just about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
“Umm, yeah. Sure. I just, you know, came to talk.”
“In the middle of the night?” He looks at me skeptically.
“It’s eleven o’clock, grandpa. May I come in?” God, now I’m embarrassed. I had to invite myself in.
“Yeah, sure, sure…sorry.” He opens the door and I see why he hesitated—he’s wearing nothing but a pair of striped blue boxers. Again, I find this absolutely adorable.
“You didn’t have to dress up for me,” I say innocently. This earns me a grin, but I can tell he’s still trying to wake up. Maybe I should come back when he’s more, you know, conscious.
“So what’s up?” He asks as he follows me into the living room. Not one to beat around the bush, especially when the underwire of this stupid bra is cutting into my armpit, I turn and confront him.
“I know you slept with Jen.”
Okay, he’s awake now. He rubs his eyes again, and then allows one of his hands to wrap around and squeeze the back of his neck. “Yes, I did.” He stares for a moment at his bare feet, clearly at a loss for words.
“I’m not mad that you slept with her,” I say finally.
“But you’re mad that I didn’t tell you.” See, he knows me so well. Better than anyone, I think.
“Hurt, maybe. Not mad. At least not anymore.”
“Luce, do you think I could put on some clothes for this conversation?” He crosses his arms over his bare chest, and his knees knock together.
“Nope. Sit.” He does. I make my way to the opposite end of the couch—there’s a sea of cushion between us. I want to say something to break the tension, but before I can think of anything, Will speaks up.
“I’m not sure what to say. Certainly you know how I feel about you.” I shake my head at his intense gaze.
“Lucy, I love you. I’ve been in love with your for years. I mean, when you were with Paul, I told myself to just get over it, but all the while I was doing anything and everything I could to be close to you. You had to have realized that. Hell, I think everyone realized it.” He leans forward then, but stops before moving any closer.
“I don’t think I saw it…or if I did, I kind of blocked it out. I was taken--I couldn’t let myself think of you in that way.”
“But you’re not taken now. Right?” The wary look on his face makes me grimace.
“Of course not! You believe me, don’t you? That night in the parking lot—nothing happened, Will. Nothing.” My voice is almost shrill with panic.
“Okay. It’s okay.” He does move closer now, and touches my upper arm. He’s trying to calm me, but I’m still breathing heavily. “Lucy, I believe you. And I’m sorry about the thing with Jen. I couldn’t tell you, I was too ashamed. I felt like I’d betrayed you, and used her, and…God, it was just a stupid, drunken mess.” His thumb is rubbing my upper arm through the thin fabric of my blouse, and his touch sends my insides into somersaults.
“So, what exactly are we doing here? You said you wanted us to be just friends.” My voice is shaky. His thumb is still rubbing a slow circle against my arm.
“That was about ninety percent bullshit, and ten percent bruised ego.” His hand edges up, towards my shoulder, and I shudder. “And anyway, you said the same thing.”
“Oh, that was one hundred percent bullshit,” I say breathlessly, right before he moves forward and kisses me. Look at my boy, so aggressive. Me likey.
When he finally removes his lips from mine, blood is beating in my ears, and I’m gasping, like we’ve just finished one of our punishing training runs. Then he leans into me again, and my mouth opens, and his hands roam, and suddenly he’s pushed me back on the sofa. Will has quite the head-start, being in his boxer shorts and all, so our first few minutes of couch fumbling involve the disrobing of me—shirt, bra, shoes, jeans—but before I know it, we are both in nothing but our underwear.
“Stop...stop,” I say after a minute, pushing his warm chest off of me.
“What?” His green eyes are hooded with desire. Jesus Christ.
“I just…” Why did I stop him? “It’s all so fast.” God—he must think I’m an unsophisticated twit. He pauses, but continues to run his index finger from my neck to the tip of my shoulder.
“Fast? Lucy, I’ve been waiting for this for almost four years. I’m pretty sure I’m showing astonishing restraint.” He places his lips on my shoulder and sips his way across my collarbone. “I’m not sure how long that will last,” he murmurs against my jaw.
“Hopefully longer than eight seconds.”
“What?” Now he’s sucking on my earlobe, and I give a delighted squirm.
“Never mind.”
As it turns out, I don’t have anything to worry about.
Chapter Thirteen
Waking up in Will’s bed, I’m momentarily disoriented. I realize that I’ve been smiling in my sleep--this bodes well for my mood, and for my satiation level, which might be at an all-time high. Will wasn’t kidding when he said he’d been waiting a long time to make love to me, because he was a man on a mission last night—a long, spine-tingling, sex-fueled mission that has left me virtually bow-legged. But I’ve probably said too much.
Anyway, I roll over and think fleetingly about my morning breath and jiggly abdomen, then realize I have nothing to worry about, because Will is sound asleep. Like, coma-sleep. His arm is flung off the side of the mattress, and I take my time admiring the golden-brown curls that cover his chest, disappearing under the rumpled sheet at his waist. I mean, no wonder he’s exhausted, we had sex like twenty times last night, and then he…
Well. I’m sure he’s tired.
I scoot down the bed and retrieve my clothes, then scramble to the bathroom before he wakes up and catches a glimpse of said jiggly abdomen. When I emerge five minutes later, feeling refreshed yet still deliciously sore, I’m not sure whether to wake Will or not. I’ve got a class to teach in an hour, and I’m not ready for the lecherous looks I’ll get if I traipse in wearing yesterday’s outfit. Just as I’m about to leave him to his slumber, he stirs, slides his leg to the empty side of the bed, and opens one eye cautiously.