“In my belly,” I answer, leading her to the kitchen.
“Your wish is my command.” She plunks the wine on the counter and leans over to look at the casserole dish of enchiladas on top of the stove. “Those are vegetarian, right?”
“Of course. Quinoa.”
She sniffs. “Yum.” Turning to face me, her arms crossed over her chest, she says, “I think I’ve met someone… important.”
“Molly?”
“Not Molly. Molly’s so last month.”
“For real?”
“Yes. It may shock you to hear this, but you’re a tad wrapped up in yourself—and Jet Knox—right now and have fallen out of touch. With everything.”
I release a self-deprecating chuckle. “Fair enough. Who’s the new girl?”
“She’s a woman, not a girl. She’s one of the new trainers.”
“Oooh! I like your strategy: get in good with the competition.”
“She’s not my competition.”
“Because you’re dating her?”
“No! Because it’s not a competition. We’re all there for the same purpose.”
I cock my eyebrow at my friend. “Are you feeling feverish? Delirious?”
She glowers at me.
“I’m sorry, but you always speak about the other trainers like they’re your rivals. Or you compare yourself to them. So don’t shoot daggers at me. It’s great if you’ve changed your mind and don’t feel that way anymore.” I grab plates from a cupboard. “What’s this special person’s name?”
“Are you going to be snide about it? Because, if that’s the case, forget it.”
I set our plates next to the stove and pull some wine glasses from the under-cabinet hanging rack. Placing the glasses next to the bottle of wine, I say, “I’ll shut up now.”
She tells me about Ana Paula, a trainer who was recently headhunted to KC from San Diego. I load a plate with two enchiladas and slide it down the counter toward Rae. She stops the dish before it collides with the bottle in front of her, then pours the wine. “She’s from here, by way of Brazil, so she’s glad to be back home.”
“And you two have been out a few times, and things are going well?”
“Yep. We should all go out together sometime.” Before I can tease her about her strict no-double-dates-with-Jet rule, she leads me into the dining area, where we pull out two of the four chairs at the round table I rarely use. Then she closes that subject so fast, I nearly get my nose slammed in it. “Now that that’s out of the way, what’s the latest with you and Super-Arm?”
I unfurl my napkin and place it in my lap. “Oh, so it’s okay for you to be snide?” I cut my enchilada with the side of my fork and take a bite, realizing too late it’s practically volcanic. Trying to cool the food while it’s already in my mouth, I suck in some air and move the morsel from one cheek to the other, scorching my tongue in the process. Finally, I swallow the piece nearly whole.
“It’s Jet Knox. You can’t expect me to be serious about that guy. Ever. He’s such a caricature.”
Eyes watering, I take a drink of wine and say, “Hey, I love that caricature!”
“Eventually, you’re going to figure out that he’s not perfect. That’s going to be a tough day for you. So, the golden boy’s out in California, huh? Gonna visit the ’rents while he’s there?”
I nod. “He’s helping his mom and dad plan for the annual Knox family get-together in a few weeks.” Cutting my next bite, I stare at it, steaming on the tines of my fork. “They all converge out there every April and have Pictionary tournaments and sing-alongs. Or something equally idyllic.” After blowing on it a few times, I pop the cheesy bite in my mouth.
“Are you going?”
“Hell no. I’m planning to stay right here, in my own house, and sleep for two weeks. Well, when I’m not working.”
She swirls her wine. “What are his parents like?”
“Never met ’em. I’ve only seen pictures.”
“And? You’ve scoped out Jet’s dad, right?”
“What? Ew. No!”
“You should. That’s probably how Jet will end up looking when he’s older.”
I laugh and think of the pictures I’ve studied countless times on Jet’s mantel. “He looks more like his mom than his dad.”
Rae pulls back her head and wrinkles her nose. “I can’t imagine a woman looking like him. Yikes.”
“She’s an attractive woman. Or probably was, when she was younger. She’s a bit horsey now.”
My friend slaps the table as she nearly chokes on her latest bite of food.
I point at her with my fork and try not to laugh. “Don’t you dare repeat that. Ever.”
“I won’t.”
“I’ll deny it until my death, and you’ll look like a liar, because Jet will believe me over you.”
“I won’t say anything! Geez! I’m insulted you’d think I would.”
“You like nothing more than to get a laugh, especially at the expense of someone like Jet. A well-timed ‘yo mama’ joke in the training room would be just your style, and I don’t want to be any part of that.”
“Horsey,” she says, still shaking her head and chuckling. “Man. You know, Jet has a bit of an equine look to him, now that you mention it.”
“Only in one place that I can think of,” I say to my plate with a smirk.
“There’s no need to exaggerate. I’ve seen it, remember?”
“It was a joke. Sorry I brought it up.”
“I bet you bring it up all the time.” She wiggles her eyebrows across the table at me, then snort-laughs.
“I do, as a matter of fact. I’m excellent at it.”
“Yeah, well, I’m glad you’re finally getting it while you can, because once the season starts, that gravy train gonna run dry, girl.”
My fork freezes midway to my mouth. “Huh?”
Eyes on her plate, she casually replies, “A lot of the guys don’t have sex during the season.”
“At all?”
“Rarely. They say it’s a waste of testosterone. Which is dumb and not at all scientific. But whatever. There’s no talking sense into some of these boneheads. They have so many ridiculous superstitions. You wouldn’t believe it. Anyway, if nothing else, abstaining makes them crankier and meaner, so I guess it works
