Page 120 of The Friends and Rivals Collection

PERRI

I punish myself with Pilates on Saturday morning. It’s fitting, since I have to twist myself into a pretzel and abuse my core to no end.

But it’s worth it. Need to stay in tip-top shape for my job.

Wait.

I should revise that philosophy. I need to get in better shape for the job.

Physically, mentally, emotionally. I’m too soft.

That’s the problem. I have to erase all my emotions.

I’ll dive deeper into work, spend more time on cases, take some classes.

I’ll work endlessly on improving all my skills.

I need to be the best, and then, since I work in a male-dominated area, I simply must be better than the best.

That’s the only way for a woman to succeed in a balls-deep field—by going above and beyond, and then beyond even that.

I crunch, bend, and contort myself through the rest of the class. The workout ends, and still breathless, I turn to Vanessa and Arden. “I think I’ll stay for a second class.”

Arden’s eyes widen in confusion, then shock, then misery. “Seriously?”

I pat her shoulder. “You don’t have to hang around.”

Arden flicks her gaze to Vanessa, and they exchange a knowing glance and a couple of nods.

Arden stretches her neck. “Oh, I do have to stay, and I hate morning exercise.”

“I’m fine,” I say. “I can totally handle a second class solo. I know you’re a grumbly Garfield in the morning.”

“I’ll stay too,” Vanessa offers like she’s volunteered to be a tribute in the Hunger Games.

“I’m fine, I swear. You don’t have to stay.” I stand to grab my water bottle and down a thirsty sip.

“But we do,” Vanessa chimes in, adjusting her ponytail. “Because if you’re staying, it means you’re mad at yourself.”

I scoff as we shuffle toward the studio door. “Please. That’s not the case.”

Vanessa grabs my arm. “It is precisely the case. This is what you did in eleventh grade when you didn’t get into AP History. You decided you weren’t tough enough, so you started practicing more for soccer. It didn’t even make sense.”

“I thought if I was in better physical shape, I’d be in better mental shape. It made perfect sense,” I say, defending my sixteen-year-old logic.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Vanessa says firmly, “and you know it.”

Arden nods vigorously. “It’s your weird, twisted punishment brain at work.”

“I don’t have a punishment brain,” I whisper furtively as I close the top to my water bottle and step into the hallway as the class files out.

“You do,” Vanessa says. “When something doesn’t go your way, you whip yourself to go faster or work longer.”

Arden squeezes my arm. “You did something similar a few months later when you were convinced your SAT scores sucked. You buried yourself in SAT-test prep books for days on end.”

I squint, cycling back more than a decade. If memory serves, my strategy failed. I didn’t raise my score at all on the second sitting of the test.

“But that’s not what I’m doing now,” I protest. “I’m simply trying to . . .”

I don’t finish the thought because a messy stew of emotion wells up in my chest. Regret tinged with disappointment, mixed with a deep longing for that man—feelings that brew and simmer and threaten to boil over.

I can’t contain them much longer. I point to the studio, like I’m going to head back in. “I’m just going to . . .”

But the words come out choked, as if there are pebbles in my mouth.

“Perri,” Arden says softly, grabbing my wrist. “Are we really doing this? I hate morning exercise, but I love you more. I will stay if that’s what you want.

But we can also go somewhere and talk. You know, talk .

” Her eyes hook with mine, and hers are soft, full of compassion.

“Talk is that thing you do with your best friends.”

She looks at me with such love, such unconditional loyalty, that I can’t keep it together anymore. I burst into tears in the studio.

All I want is to talk to them.

All I want is to share my feelings.

And because they’re the best friends I’ve ever known—the best friends anyone has had in the entire history of the world—they usher me out of there before I make a complete fool of myself in front of the ladies in the class.