But the next morning, Daniel got lucky.
6
Daniel had finished his free weight reps and was pounding out his fourth mile on the treadmill when Wendy jerked open the door of the hotel fitness center. The entire gym was one long room overlooking the Strip from a high floor. Except for the attendant behind the desk, they were the only occupants in the dead calm of late morning. Wendy’s eyes went straight to him.
He saw all of it flash across her face: recognition. An instinct to back out the door before he saw her. A realization that it was too late. An attempt to act like she’d never even thought about leaving just because he was there. Who, her?
Her steps slowed on the way to the desk as she wondered whether she should confront Daniel first thing and get it over with. He let her off the hook. Without breaking stride, he held up one hand in greeting, as if they were strangers who saw each other every day at the deli on his corner in Chelsea.
She waved back just as casually, signed in, and crossed to the abdominal machine. She did a few sets of reps on each machine, obviously finding them familiar, and didn’t look up at him a single time. That was the giveaway that she was very aware of him.
Because she never glanced up, he felt free to stare at her as she went through her workout. Unlike the occasional slob wearing a cotton tee who’d happened in and left again while Daniel was jogging, she wore workout gear in the latest style that fit her perfectly—just like he did, because he never knew whom he might run into even during his downtime. She’d tied up her long hair with studied sloppiness, trying to look like she wasn’t trying at all, because that was the fashion. Tendrils stuck to her face with perspiration as she pumped through her exercises in perfect rhythm, never pausing long, because she thought he might be watching.
Not that he was above that kind of self-consciousness himself. He ran faster. He ran so fast that his lungs burned. She wasn’t looking, but he knew she could hear his footsteps.
Finally the machine shut down. He slowed to a walk and inched through gathering his towel and bag, giving himself time to catch his breath. When he was reasonably certain he wouldn’t trip over his own feet and pass out in front of her, he sauntered over. Uninvited, he sat down on the machine next to the one where she was working her biceps.
He pulled his phone from his bag and—ignoring six calls from his father—scrolled through to add a new contact. “What’s your number?”
Through three more reps, she studied him silently. She knew he was trying to hammer a wedge into her door.
“I’ll call you so you’ll have my number,” he persisted. “That way, anytime today’s hottest stars make you feel uncomfortable, you can phone me for a booty call.”
Her pealing laugh mixed with a slam as she lost her grip on the weights. Giggling, she recited her number. He plugged it into his phone. He did his best not to grin back. He’d figured her out. He could get her to do just about anything by making her laugh.
Or by kissing her.
He affected a Brooklyn accent, not a very good one. “You work out a lot?”
Whether the impression was good or not, it was funny. Wendy giggled uncontrollably. Finally she forced herself to say, “I actually do work out a lot, just to keep Sarah Seville off my case. I know you have trouble remembering me from college, but maybe you remember her.”
He knew Sarah by reputation. He didn’t remember much about her from class. She’d been competent but reserved. She’d dressed way down in workout wear, even for business presentations. What he did remember about her, clear as day, was a glimpse he’d caught of her junior year, a very poignant glimpse.
Wendy had been pulled out of the middle of marketing class. While waiting for advertising class to start, he’d noticed she still hadn’t returned to the crowd. And then he overheard a couple of guys saying her father had died.
What made Daniel do it, he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t dating this girl. He wasn’t friends with this girl. He didn’t even like this girl. But he’d walked back down the hall, toward the entrance of the building, and glanced through the glass wall of the business dean’s office. Wendy stood facing Daniel with glistening trails of tears down her cheeks. Sarah stood on one side, holding her hand and talking to her. A couple of cops stood awkwardly on the other side, dwarfing the girls. Wendy stared out at Daniel, not seeing him, not turning her head as he passed.
He was fascinated by her. It had only been a few years since his brother’s death, and when he had died, his father had made sure Daniel didn’t feel anything at all. Wendy looked now like he’d been supposed to feel then. And with a kick in the gut, he felt it.
He’d never skipped class before. His father would have hit the roof if Daniel had blown class off and let his grades slip. But this day he kept walking down the hall, out the door, across the sunny lawn, as far away from Wendy as he could get.
“Sarah Seville?” he asked. “Yes, I remember her vaguely.”
“She’s ultra-fit,” Wendy said. “Runs marathons.”
“And she makes you run them, too?”
“Let’s not go that far. But I let her hound me into exercising, so I have an excuse to hound her about other stuff. And honestly, I do feel better after I work out. When I’m traveling, I try to snag some exercise whenever I can, because I might not get another chance for a while. Also vegetables.”
He chuckled. Strange, but traveling did deprive one of vegetables. Fruits. Friends. Normalcy. He knew what she meant.
“So,” he ventured, “about getting Colton and Lorelei back together.”
Her smile vanished. “I told you no.”
“You told me you would speak with Lorelei and we could revisit it.”
“I just said that to get rid of you. Colton is obviously a loose cannon. The farther Lorelei stays from him, the better.”
In annoyance, Daniel tapped one finger on the bench of the workout machine, then realized he was doing it and stopped. “Honestly, Wendy, when he punched me, it was an accident. I’ve never heard of any violence between Colton and Lorelei. Have you?”
“Maybe not,” Wendy said, “but he’s calling her a whore to anyone who will listen, including—whoopsie—the entire world. Naming her a criminal who sells sex is the first step in dehumanizing and objectifying her, so that when he does hit her, in his mind, she’ll deserve it.”
“I see your point, but—”
“Kind of like sitting way above everyone else so they have to climb a mountain to greet you. Or pretending you don’t remember a rival when you meet her again. If you put everyone on a lower footing than yourself, you can do anything you want to them and feel just fine about it.”