But of course that would send the wrong message. And the message I need to send right now is one of repentance and contrition. I need to let Graham know I’m sorry I crossed a line.
CJ: Oh you know . . . I rode this stationary bike to Brooklyn and back, uphill both ways, and basically bit my nails to the quick in an epic stress fest.
Graham: You’re not a nail-biter. Also, impressive cardio, Ceej.
CJ: You’re right. I’m not normally a nail-biter. But I’m clearly not walking the straight and narrow path today. I’ve been worried that I overstepped and now you think I’m a crazy person . . .
Graham: Not any crazier than I thought you were yesterday.
I groan as I tug my buds out of my ears. Crazy. He’s confirmed that he thinks I’m crazy. I watch my sex ed plans go up in flames, fueled by the tinder of Graham’s and my forever damaged relationship. Biting my lip, I text—
CJ: I ruined our friendship, didn’t I?
Graham: No. Of course not.
CJ: You’re sure?
Graham: I’m sure. I’m glad you were honest with me. And that you trusted me enough to share something so personal.
CJ: Even though I held you hostage with my demands?
Graham: You’re a tough negotiator beneath that sweet exterior. But I’ve always known you were made of steel and sugar.
My lips press together. Steel and sugar. That’s not necessarily a bad combo, is it?
Graham: Seriously, you could never ruin our friendship. No matter what schemes you hatch up in your squirrel brain.
I wince, my stomach cratering. Embarrassment washes over me. My shoulders sag. He can deny it all he wants, but he clearly thinks I’m storing up psycho for the winter.
But before I can type something sufficiently relaxed-sounding to hide my shame, my phone pings again.
Graham: Meet me at Patio West at nine p.m. tomorrow. Be ready for lesson one.
“Holy shit,” I murmur, hand coming to cover my mouth. “Holy, holy, holy shit!” My hands are shaking so badly with excitement that it takes three tries to tap out my reply—See you there—and hit send.
Resisting the urge to thrust my arms into the air in a V for victory, I start pedaling, but inside I’m not cycling. I’m soaring, flying so high I can’t wipe the stupid grin off my face or keep giddy laughter from bubbling at my lips.
I’m finally going to lose it, the one thing I for sure don’t want to keep.
Goodbye, V card.
Chapter Six
Graham
I am on fire today.
It’s only ten, and I’ve already logged five miles on the Hudson River Greenway, solved a thorny supply issue with the production department halfway around the world, and answered all pressing emails from business partners.
That’s what a good old-fashioned five a.m. alarm and the prospect of taking care of my other favorite kind of business after-hours has done for me.
Add in a breakfast meeting with my finance team at the Parker Meridien that went swimmingly, and I’d like to bottle this energy and take a hit whenever I’m losing focus.
I return to the office on Fifty-Sixth, stabbing the elevator button for the twenty-fifth floor and whistling a happy tune.
Eleven more hours till school starts.
I’ve never been more excited to go to class.