Winning Back Ryan (18 page)

He walked over to a large, black, metal filing cabinet, pulling out a clipboard with papers.

              “The first lesson is free. It’s fifty dollars after that, but you must pay one month in advance.”

             
“So, two hundred dollars?” I asked and he nodded. I took out my credit card, handing it to him as I filled out the paperwork.

Five sheets later, I handed everything back. He glanced down at the paperwork.

              “Welcome, Anne.” 

             
I smiled. “And you are?”

             
“They call me Maverick,” he replied, holding his hand out to shake. I held my hand out-that man had some grip- and smiled again. “So,” he asked, “What’s his name?”

             
“Excuse me?” I asked taken aback.

             
“The man that hurt you. What’s his name?” he asked, crossing his arms.

             
“I don’t- how do you- huh?” I never claimed to be eloquent or well spoken.

             
“Heartache. It’s written all over your face,” he explained.

             
I released a long breath. “Ryan Kindall. Walked in on him sleeping with another girl…twice. The first one is where he technically cheated. We already broke up by the second one, but…” I cringed realizing just how pathetic that sounded.

             
“It hurt just the same,” he finished my sentence and I nodded. “It will get better, and you’ve taken the first step in a positive direction,” he told me with that intensity of his. At least he did not pity me. I nodded and he asked me what day I wanted to come. I told him Mondays seemed best- a nice pick me up to start the week with. He penciled me in to some book before putting all of the paperwork back into his filing cabinet.

             
“Thanks,” I said. “See you next week.” I grabbed my shoes, jacket and pocketbook, slipping my heels back on, and headed for the door. No sooner than hitting the pavement, I already dreaded going home. I didn’t want to go to Brian’s though, deciding to play a little hard to get. Nothing was more a turn off than desperation or clinginess. To prolong the trip back to my apartment though, I took out my menu guide and decided to go to the farmer’s market first.

**

             
“Kickboxing?” Brian asked me incredulously as I stood in his apartment at five a.m. with my one eight ounce cup of coffee, and if he poured this one out for any reason at all I’d stab him with a kitchen knife. My body had been pounding for twenty-four hours straight from caffeine withdrawal. It was not pretty. I was in rough shape. I slept poorly as well.

             
“Ahuh,” I gushed, getting excited just thinking about that class. “It was amazing! Maverick was kind of scary at first, but he’s actually pretty nice. And I mean how bad can he be, right? He likes to empower women for a living. And the moves were really fun, and it felt great afterwards…”

             
“Annie,” he said mildly irritated, cutting me off. “You need to tell me when you do things like this.”

I wanted to snap at him and ask if I needed to tell him when I pee too, but when I looked up, I saw concern on his face.

              “Why?” I asked, sure at this point there was something obvious that I overlooked.

             
“Do you realize that in that kickboxing class yesterday, you probably burned about five hundred calories? Then add the jog that morning which you burned about five hundred give or take. Annie, you’re only eating two thousand calories now.” I glared. No wonder I was starving. Who could survive off of that? “Not good. You haven’t given your body enough to sustain yourself. If you’re going to do this, you have to do it right. No crash diets or anything else crazy.”

             
“So, I burned too many calories. Huh. That’s a first,” I replied cheekily to lighten the mood.

             
He shook his head. “If you’re going to keep it up, we’ll have to increase your food allowance.”

             
“Well, I’m only going once a week,” I offered before taking another sip of my coffee. In truth, I just didn’t want to see Brian upset.

             
“We’ll see at the end of the week if I need to tweak the program or not,” he said, running a hand through his hair. I can’t help but feel appreciative of everything he was doing so I kissed his cheek.               “Thanks for this.”

             
“Kisses from pretty girls in the morning. I could get used to this,” he said, smirking.

             
I rolled my eyes. “You’ve had many pretty girls kiss you in the morning. I’m sure.”

             
“I like how you assume that just because I’ve taken a girl on a date means I’ve necessarily slept with them,” he said as we walked out of the apartment.

             
“Come on, you’re a guy,” I replied.  I knew that comment was a bit stereotypical and sexist, but I saw firsthand how women threw themselves at Brian. It was pretty safe to assume the guy was doing alright with women.

             
“Just because I have a piece of chocolate cake sitting in front of me, doesn’t mean I necessarily eat it,” he said.

             
I groaned loudly. “Must we use chocolate cake as a metaphor?” My stomach growled at the thought.

             
“Sorry, change the metaphor in your head.”

             
“I get the point, but is that true?” I asked as we walked down the sidewalk.

             
“Yes, I have standards,” he said as he began stretching out his legs.

I rolled my eyes in response. I wanted to snort out loud.

              “Must be over five feet ten inches tall, blonde hair, at least a C cup.”

             
“Annie, I’m shocked you think so little of me,” he said, “I’m not Ben or George. I have standards. Real standards.”

             
“Such as?”  I needed to know.

             
“If a woman throws herself at me, it’s a definite no-no. I won’t even go out with her again. Then I have the normal standards- don’t sit there with a mirror held up to your face all night, don’t talk about your ex all night, don’t tell me your life story in one night, don’t be addicted to drama. Stuff like that.”

             
“Don’t be addicted to drama?” I asked.

             
“Yeah, I took this one girl out about a year ago. We were in the restaurant, the bill had come, and I had already paid it, about to leave when a couple next to us started fighting. She actually wanted to stay just so she could eavesdrop on the couple’s fight. When I said no, she sat down in her seat, eating up this couple’s argument. I left her there and from my car called a cab service to come pick her up. She was classless. Then she called me three days later wondering why I didn’t call her back.”

             
“Wow. Girls actually pull that on dates?” I asked.

             
“You would be surprised,” he said. “More often than not, I go home alone.”

             
“Alright, then. I apologize for calling you a man whore,” I said, “I’ll downgrade you to a serious flirt.”

             
“Apology accepted,” he said while grabbing my side, tickling me. I swatted his arm and we continued to walk.

I was not looking forward to work and afterwards.

**

             
As they say it’s another day, another dollar. My day went by the same as before, and I left work not sure what I was going to do. There’s just so much free time now; it’s unnerving. Every moment was another one where I realized that Ryan was no longer in my life. The good Ryan. The one I fell in love with. The one I enjoyed sharing my life with and telling everything to. Then came the anger. How dare he strip so much from me? I was the good girlfriend. You know, the one who came home and made dinner six nights a week, (If God didn’t want to cook on Sunday, neither did I.) the one who never looked at another guy after being with him, the one who tried to do everything to make him happy.

The one who was now furious and had no clue what made her happy anymore.

              I tried thinking back to my life before Ryan. What did I fill my days with then? Surprisingly, I realized the answer was school, internship, Brian, and the guys. We hung out four times a week. I didn’t want to keep calling Brian and the guys, however, and seem needy, and Brian was already doing a lot to help me. I needed to find something else. On the way home on the subway, the answer came to me in the form of an ad. The Hoboken Community Center was holding belly dancing classes. It told me that I would feel sexy and rejuvenated. I couldn’t resist.

             
I wondered what I was doing as I walked into the place after changing out of my work clothes. Women curiously swayed their hips, and I questioned if this would be as bizarre as being fondled by two women.

             
“Hello,” a very attractive Indian woman said to me. She was near my age with a killer body.

             
“Hey,” I said a bit nervously. I was totally out of my element here.

             
“Would you like to join?” she asked. “We’re working on beginner moves.”

             
“Sure,” I said taking a hesitant step forward. Anything was better than lying on the couch wallowing.

We began working on something called a vertical figure eight. I kept remembering to relax my knees and keep them tucked, but it was hard.
Incredibly hard. My phone rang, and I stepped out of line.

             
“Hello,” I said over the music.

             
“Where are you?” Brian asked. Did no one use greetings anymore?

             
“Not important. What’s up?”

             
“I hear the music in the background. Where are you?” he said, chuckling. I groaned, knowing he would never let me live this down.

             
“I’m belly-dancing,” I replied.

             
“Annie! I thought we talked about you telling me about this stuff,” he huffed.

             
“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I kind of just walked in spur of the moment.”

             
“So, where are you doing it?” he asked.

             
“Excuse me?”

             
“The belly-dancing…where?”

             
I internally cringed knowing what would come next. “The community center.”

             
“I’ll be there in five,” he said before hanging up the phone.

I stepped back in line, apologizing to the instructor before watching the demonstration on how to shimmy. As I worked on moving my hips the proper way, I spun around with the rest of the women, seeing Brian standing there with a smirk on his face, leaning up against the wall.

              “Can I help you?” the instructor called out to Brian. 

             
“I’m sorry. I’ve come here to support my friend, Annie. She’s decided to try something new and I’m excited for her,” Brian said sweetly.

I heard a few women ‘
aww’ at his bull crap, knowing that he really came to tease me relentlessly afterwards, and I refrained from rolling my eyes. The ladies were now putty in his capable hands.

             
“Well, take a chair off the back wall and have a seat,” the instructor said. I heard a few giggle in his direction.

He sat down in front of me with his arms folded, smiling angelically. My eyes warned him to behave himself as I began the next exercise.  When the class finished, he stood up, walking over.

              “Are you going to be doing this every week?” he asked.

             
“I’m not sure,” I admitted.  I was already in pain.

             
“I think you should,” his voice came out husky, surprising me.

             
“Why? So you can come and gawk at the unsuspecting women?” I asked, laughing. I began walking out of the community center, but his strong arm hooked around my waist, pulling me back to him.

             
“No, because I feel like I’ve just come from my own private show in Bali,” he murmured into my ear, my body now pressed to his. I turned towards him as his other hand tucked fallen curls of hair behind my ear. “Do you have any idea how incredibly sexy you are?” I bit my lip, shocked by his boldness as he pressed his forehead to mine.

“Damn,” I heard a female’s voice say near me. “All the good ones are
always
taken.”

             
Brian looked up at me, smiling. “She’s right. I am taken.”

             
I blushed furiously at his comment, not sure what to say in response. “Walk me home.”