Page 8 of The First Love Myth
He laughs. “Come on. Pizza’s on me.”
Well, that makes it a simple choice. To a poor college student, time is pizza.
“Fine,” I say, starting across the field. “But we’re going to Nonna’s.”
Max stops in front of an older-model, two-door Audi. It’s in impeccable condition and bright red.
“Didn’t see you as a red person,” I tease. It’s clear that what I really mean ishow is this your car?
“It was my dad’s midlife crisis car,” he says, getting in. When I’m secured in the seat next to him, he faces me. “He gave it to me when he knocked up his new wife with twins.”
Can you knock up your wife?I refrain from asking but barely. “His loss is your gain.”
“That it is, Reid.”
“Zoey,” I say. “If I have to call you Max, then you have to call me Zoey.”
“That’s fair,” he says, and I think, though I can’t be sure considering we’ve been outside for over an hour, that his cheeks turn a brighter shade of red. “I’m excited to work with you this summer,Zoey. I really couldn’t believe it when I saw your name on the list.”
My cheeks burn. Why is he excited to work with me?
“Wasn’t aware you knew who I was. Outside of Andrew’s girlfriend, I mean,” I deadpan.
“Iamsorry about that,” he says. “Your reputation precedes you.”
“Come again?” I cut him a look, my brow crinkling in confusion.
He laughs, but it’s a laugh likeof course you have no idea what I’m talking about when it is perfectly obvious.
“It’s not often you get to have your team train with a three-time state record holder.”
“Oh.” That. Right. I sink back in my seat and watch the scenery change from suburban developments to shore bungalows. Max turns up a song on the radio and sings along. He’s calm and collected. This is a work lunch with a talented colleague. No big deal. And, of course, that’s what this is. Max is being friendly. He needs me to help him cultivate a winning track team. And yet, there’s still something there in flashes and moments. It’s not only because he’s hot. Though he is. So. Hot. And for the briefest moment back on that field, I felt somethingI hadn’t felt in months—possibility. Maybe there’s still a chance for me.
My phone buzzes in my hand. I sneak a glance at Max before looking down at the screen. Andrew Singer.
Chapter 7
Liz
Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.Downward dog extended into pigeon.Ouch. I readjust my front leg, and the stretch feels less like death. I lean forward, but my hip protests, and I straighten. When did I get so old?
“That is the worst pigeon I’ve ever seen.” Zoey stands in front of me, her arms crossed. She examines the pose with the careful eye of someone who knows what she’s talking about when it comes to yoga. “Itissupposed to be pigeon, right?”
“Yes.” I narrow my eyes at her. “You do yoga?”
Why does everyone in my life do yoga? It’s not even fun. And it hurts. But both my mother and Cecilia go to classes at least once a week. Jane goes three times a week. Even Julian does a short flow each morning.
Zoey sits down in front of me, her eyes still critical. She stacks her legs in a pose called fire log, her knees resting flat against her feet. “I’m a runner. Of course I practice yoga.”
I stare at her, the resemblance to Cecilia in both appearance and word choice making me momentarily forget the tangled knot I’m in. Wistfulness slams into me. I wish I wasn’t the only connection between the two. I want to capture this moment, send it to Cecilia, post it with some cheesy hashtag and a picture of both of them doing the same thing. But Cecilia will not appreciate any mention of Zoey. And to do that to Zoey is cruel. It’s not her fault our sister has held this grudge her whole life.
Zoey’s face relaxes, and the resemblance fades. “Do you need help getting out of that?”
I glare at her before lifting up and uncurling my leg from under me. I pray to all the gods that I do not fall before I make it back to downward dog and stand up. But no such luck. I roll onto my back, my hands flat at my sides.
“This is definitely more my style,” I say, staring at the ceiling. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Zoey smile and switch her left leg to the top, her knees still easily sitting on top of her ankles. “Show-off.”
She grins. “You’re supposed to close your eyes.”