Page 15

Saturday is busy, the pools and the beach crowded with day-trippers from Saint Vitalis. We go there at night, they come here during the day.

As I walk through the supplies room and tick buoys and oars and life vests off the inventory sheet, I’m narrowing the list in my head.

I have my longlist, of course, but I like to get it down to three by the end of the first week, which is approaching fast. Of everyone I’ve considered, Serena is an obvious first choice.

Craig, an iffy but possible second. The third slot, however, is really giving me trouble.

Kyle, however high he may rate on the international scale of assholery, doesn’t have the particular flavour of poison I’m here to find.

Ana Durango-Carter is so private, she’s hard to get a read on– not to mention she has issued a public apology for her insensitive comment about her co-star.

Perhaps she’s learned her lesson? Skylar’s mom is kicking around in my mind, but that small tender gesture at breakfast and the look of love I saw in her eyes is making me lean towards no .

I have considered Shayna for slot three.

But my biggest impressions of her are still from Take it Off , i.e.

years out of date. Ugh. Usually I’m in a much better position by now.

It’s Daniel. I have to face it: he’s a distraction. I’ve spent way too much time thinking about him when I should be focusing on my potential targets.

During my lunch break, as I pick at a microgreen salad alone at one of the window-side tables, a brief, dangerous thought slides into my brain.

What if I let myself pursue things with Daniel– or at least, explore the possibilities?

What if, instead of putting on the brakes every time I see him, I give myself permission to—

What, you little fool?

There is no ‘possibility’. There would always be pieces of myself I’d have to withhold, and I’m smart enough to know that doesn’t work long term.

The choices I’ve made are not compatible with a normal, healthy relationship.

Not now. Not ever. And I know myself well enough that a fling with Daniel wouldn’t be enough to satisfy what I’m feeling. It would just make me want more.

As I wrap up my afternoon shift at the lap pool, I resolve to distance myself from Daniel.

I can ice him out, like I’ve done with every other person who’s demonstrated even the mildest interest in me for the past five years.

The hot city council member who gave me the contract to cater his meetings and was a dead ringer for Ryan Gosling.

The barista girl with the blue hair. That pitcher for the Cincinnati Reds.

Right before dinner, I head to the yoga class I signed up for yesterday, and even though Daniel joins at the last minute two rows behind me, I focus fully on Shayna’s surprisingly soothing instructions.

As I wrap my right leg over my left and intertwine my arms for eagle pose, letting myself feel the satisfying amount of effort it takes to maintain balance, I determine that the next time Mr Black comes around, no matter how werewolfish his energy, no matter how much he makes me want to reveal my deepest, darkest self, I will be stone cold.

Shayna, I notice, is lovely to everyone, and gives modifications for a heavy-set woman with a leg injury with the gentlest of touches.

No yelling, no body-shaming; nothing but calm, steady encouragement from the former queen of breaking people down on national television.

I find myself grimacing in my downward-facing-dog position as I hear her say, ‘You’re doing so good, Traci,’ to the woman in question.

Forty minutes later, when class ends, I’m covered in sweat. I’m rolling up my yoga mat when she approaches me.

‘Hey, I haven’t met you before.’

‘Lily. One of the lifeguards.’ We shake. Both our palms are sweaty.

‘You’re welcome in my class any time.’

‘I used to watch your show,’ I blurt out. ‘ Take it Off ?’

‘Yeah, a lot of people watched that show,’ she says with a dry, raspy laugh. Do I detect a hint of regret? I press on.

‘You really helped a lot of people lose weight.’

‘Thanks,’ she says, but her expression doesn’t seem pleased. ‘Let’s just say I wish we had prioritized the long-term health of the contestants. Losing all that so quick… it wasn’t sustainable.’

‘You were such a badass, though,’ I prod.

‘I’m glad you enjoyed it,’ she says, and I recognize a forced smile when I see one. ‘But I’d do it all differently if I had the chance.’

‘Well…’ I say lamely, vaguely registering out of the corner of my eye that Daniel is leaving the studio. ‘I guess hindsight is twenty-twenty.’

‘I guess it is.’

I return my yoga mat to its place, then take a long drink from my water bottle.

Ugh. I hate that I like her.

No. You hate that you’re losing your biggest potential number three and you’re not sure who should take her place.

Of course it’s great that she’s showing signs of having changed.

It’s not like I was hoping she’d embarrass Traci or anyone else for my sake.

It’s not like I was hoping she was still the monster from years and years ago.

But I leave her class feeling the weight of that empty third slot like an iron around my neck.

In the evening, I sit in on Pat Burton’s ‘fireside chat’, The Mind as a Muscle , and even though I notice Daniel one row in front of me, and he turns around multiple times to catch my eye, I look stubbornly forward.

Could it be Pat? But by the time he’s giving his closing remarks, I’m just not seeing it.

He definitely loves the sound of his own voice.

His ‘deep’ observations, such as ‘habits are the tools we use to train ourselves for the race of life’, felt like poorly disguised clichés.

His boot-straps story of his rise to success was ick, and honestly, the whole ‘manifesting’ thing he’s obsessed with is just a way to pretend you have control over the things you don’t. It’s self-deception at its finest.

But none of these qualities makes him deserving of the slot.

So Shayna’s a no. Pat’s a no.

Who, then?

To comfort myself over the missing piece in my mental plan, as Pat moves on to Q I guess the Q another small humiliation for the file). And who gets in line behind me but Daniel. It definitely feels like he’s following me.

Don’t flatter yourself , I remind myself harshly.

‘Morning,’ he says behind me, so close I can feel the warmth of his breath on my neck. Goosebumps race down my arms, my back.

Admit it, Lily Lennox. You’re into this guy and he’s forcing you to remember that sex exists.

Annoying, really. I’ve done just fine without it for five years.

But have you?

Everything in me wants to turn around. Stone cold , I remind myself, and even though my heart pounds like it’s trying to get out of the jail I’ve shoved it in, I don’t acknowledge him.

It sucks– in fact, it really sucks– but on the other hand, it’s reassuring that I’m sticking with my earlier decision. See? I’m still in control.

What makes it even suckier is that Daniel has insights about me that no one else has ever had, not even Jessica.

I know in some deep part of me that he could really get me– if I let him.

Yes, Jess was the love of my life, but I try not to wear rose-coloured glasses about anything– not even her– though it’s tempting, isn’t it, to cling to the fairytale version scrubbed of all the shit?

The truth is, it was a fairytale. And there was shit.

Both are true. With her, I was my most authentic, naked self; for a while, in the safety of her love, I experienced a freedom I have never since felt.

Right before the end though, we stopped truly seeing each other.

The curiosity Daniel has about me? The way he looks at me, like he’s on a mission to figure me out?

Jessica and I stopped doing that. Instead of seeing each other, we just saw our own hurts.

And that made us feel alone. Even together, we felt alone.