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The timer goes off just as we finish. When we have food on our plates and are sitting on the counter, I angle myself towards Olivia.
“Did you have a good day?”
“Yeah. Normal day in college. You?”
I smile. “Very good day. Look.” Reaching into my pocket, I retrieve my phone. After finding the first picture, I show it to her. “Those are the new counters in the kitchen we’re remodeling. Finished it today. How fucking cool is that?” This is the first real progress I was involved in and I snuck a few photos before I left, so I could show them to her. I lean over and swipe the screen to show her a few more, explaining what we had to do to get it that way.
“Wow, Corey. It looks great. I’m happy you’re loving this so much.”
“Me too.” I want to add that I may love it more than football. I love my job so much, and I’m worried if I admit that, if I get too attached to it, then something will happen and I’ll be right back where I started. Dreams shattered and lost in a world where the only thing I loved is taken from me. I want to tell her that being at work makes me forget why I loved football so much. Football was an escape more than anything.
Building things isn’t just an escape, though.
There’s progress to see at the end of the day, more than what a scoreboard every weekend could show. I don’t even have to escape. I can think about things, process them, and feel better by the time I clock out. Carpentry, I think, is healthier for me too. I’m not burying myself in it to try and stay afloat. Things are decent, though, so maybe that’s why. I keep quiet because I don’t want to get too excited too soon.
I’m not going to put all my eggs in one basket again, because those fucking eggs will break when the basket falls. Shaking my head, I clear my thoughts and change the subject.
“I go see Dr. Stewart tomorrow.” I’ve yet to tell her about making an appointment with the therapist. I’m not sure why, other than I might back out or it’ll be a complete waste of time, and I don’t want to get her hopes up if I never go again. Part of me does want to tell her, though.
“Nervous? Want me to go with you? We could finally watch traffic afterwards.” She gives me a smile.
“No, that’s okay, and yeah, a little bit actually.”
“Why?”
I push my empty plate away. “He’s a dick.”
“And that makes you nervous?” She seems confused. I guess her see-into-my-soul shit isn’t working today.
Shrugging, I reply, “I don’t know. He’s supposed to be helpful, but if he does the same as last time, I’m not going back. I don’t want a breakdown every time I go. Would prefer it to be on my own time, not his.”
“He’s probably learned his lesson. It’ll be fine. Want to go play video games? Best four out of six and loser has to sleep over at the other’s apartment.” Her smile is one I’ve only seen once, Monday morning when we woke up in my bed, still naked from the previous night.
“Let’s go.”
We put the leftovers in the fridge first and then go to her place to play. Olivia plays dirtier and dirtier the more we do this. When she loses the first time, a string of curse words leave that beautiful mouth of hers. At the beginning of the third race, she moves to sit in my lap, blocking my view.
“Olivia,” I laugh, leaning to the right to look around her. She leans with me. “You’re such a cheater and a sore loser.”
“Can’t cheat if there are no rules,” she replies. Her car passes the finish line way before mine and she jumps up, screaming, “Yes!” She whirls around, gets inches from my face and says, “Suck on that, Corey.”
Laughter erupts from my chest as she sits back in my lap and starts the next race. Once I calm down, I decide I won’t lose again. If she wants to play dirty, so can I. As the countdown begins, I pull her backwards so she’s sitting in my lap fully. I place the controller next to me. The plan is to use my last two fingers for the gas and brake, when needed, and my thumb to steer with the knob. It’ll be a pain, but it’s possible.
My other hand, however, rests on Olivia’s thigh as the race begins. She’s focused so she doesn’t lean when I do, allowing me to see the TV. Slowly, I run my hand up her thigh. When I dip my fingers between her legs, mid-thigh, she finally says something.
“What are you doing?”
“Racing. What are you doing?” I’m right behind her. When she glances down at my hand, I take the chance to both move my hand higher and bump into the back of her car. Her head lifts at the sound of her spinning out.
“Damn it, Corey!” She tries to use her elbow to move my hand away, but I keep going, grazing her center before slipping my hand underneath her shirt. “You dirty dog!” she shouts as she jumps up from my lap before I reach her breasts.
I laugh as I cross the finish line twenty seconds ahead of her. Olivia tosses the controller onto the couch and faces me with her hands propped on her hips. There’s a faint smile on her face, though.
“I don’t know if I want to yell for that sneaky move and causing me to lose, or have you finish what you started.”
Standing, I grab her waist, pulling her flush against me. “It’s Valentine’s Day. Probably not a good idea to yell.”
She nods. “Yeah, you’re right.” Olivia takes my hand and leads me to her room.
