Page 25 of Starrily

After a deuce that lasted no less than five minutes, Simon called for a break and got his bottle of water and a towel.

“You are annoyed,” Stan said as he approached, grabbing a bottle himself.

“I like a challenge, but you don’t have to play like you’re at a Grand Slam,” Simon said.

“Not that.” Stan paused to drink. “Doctor?”

“Hmm?”

“Dr. Guidry annoys you?”

Simon grunted and sat on a bench by the side of the court. “Wouldn’t she annoy you, too?”

Stan shrugged his massive shoulders. “I don’t know her well enough.”

“Count yourself lucky. It’s just … it’s maddening.” Simon rose and started walking back and forth. “It’s a vicious circle of us snapping at each other when we have no reason not to be normal. Well, minus the fact that I’m interposing myself into her project, she thinks I’m a spoiled rich guy, and I think she has a stick up her—” He waved around with his tennis racket, then let the arm fall limp at his side. “What the fuck do I do, Stan?”

“Abandon collaboration?”

“I don’t want to cut their funding.”

“I meant, not seek her out.”

“See, this is where the problem lies.” Simon sat back down. “Everett has a sneaky plan that involves me getting friendly with Calliope.”

Stan rubbed his chin. “Everett. Never liked him much.”

“Say what you will, he’s been very helpful with the company.”

“True. Still don’t like him.”

“Let’s just assume not seeing her again is not an option.”

“Didn’t she request that? Yesterday?”

“Once she cools down, she’ll realize it’s not an option. We’re both stuck.”

Stan sat down next to him, the bench groaning slightly. “You didn’t look as annoyed at each other. Yesterday. When you were playing with the dog.”

Stan must really be getting his therapist hat on—that was one of the longest sentences Simon had ever heard him say.

“Then what? I should bring a dog to her office?”

“Inadvisable.”

Simon sighed and leaned back.

“You haven’t had many relationships since the accident.”

He didn’t. A shorter one here and there. A couple of drunk nights that were definitely forgotten. And it wasn’t like he was against relationships … maybe it was just him being different now. Maybe he didn’t know what part of himself he’d be giving to that someone else.

But regardless … “Everett said to soften her up. I can do it in a friendly way.”

“Not my point.”

“I see why you’re better suited as a bodyguard than a therapist.”

Stan shrugged and didn’t say anything else. And Simon didn’t mind that. As much as he liked being in the center of action, sometimes, silence was comforting. In a weird way, Stan was comforting. He was the first person Simon saw when he wokeup after the car crash: a giant man in a business suit and sunglasses, sitting in the corner of his hospital room, watching, but unmoving. “Good morning, Mr. Simon,” he’d said then, and even in his very confused mind, Simon knew something must’ve gone terribly wrong.