Page 61 of Drive Me Wild
“It’s not like that.”
Blake takes a sip of his drink, studying me coolly. “Yes, it is. If you’re more than friends but not a couple, that’s the literal definition of a situationship. Textbook case. Don’t be dumb.”
Before I can say anything, Lucas cuts in, “I don’t think Blake’s trying to be a dick.” He chastises Blake with narrowed eyes. “All he means is that Josie does relationships. Serious, stable, monogamous relationships. And sooner or later, she’s going to want to be in another one. So where do you fall into that?”
“There’s a lot more at stake than just than just a romance, you know?” I admit cautiously. “I don’t want to lose her friendship because a relationship may not work out.”
Blake nods in understanding. “I get that, but do you honestly think you could go back to beingjustfriends now?”
He’s right, and I know it. The mere thought of Josie talking to me about other men or asking advice on what a text from some bloke means sends acid through my veins.
Charlotte takes a sip wine. “So, are you cool with being a rebound or you going to stop making excuses for why you can’t be in a relationship?”
I don’t know the answer to that, but I do know I’m not willing to lose Josie.
TWENTY-TWO
JOSIE
Summer break meansfour uninterrupted weeks of no travel. Four weeks of falling asleep in my own bed. Four weeks of sleeping in until ten a.m. on the weekends. Four weeks of having a normal schedule.
It also means four weeks without Theo.
I don’t realize how seamlessly he snuck his way into the weekly routine I’ve carefully crafted and curated until he isn’t at my Tuesday spin class with me, complaining about his balls losing circulation. We text and FaceTime, of course, but Australia is eleven hours ahead of London. He sleeps while I’m awake, and I’m snoozing when he’s up and active, and that makes it a little difficult to catch up when you’re on complete opposite schedules.
Luckily for me, I’ve been more than busy enough to keep myself occupied. I only work three-day weeks during the break—a nice tradeoff for working race weekends—so I’ve had lots of time to dedicate to Gemini, which is now the official name of Kelsey’s bar. Instead of spending my days off sleeping in and spending time with friends, I’m combing through the dark depths of the internet to locate an old-timey gumball machine that would look perfect in the bar.
Walking into the room that disguises Gemini’s entrance, a smile lights up my face. Gibson and Fender guitars hang on the walls while bin upon bin wait to be filled with records. A glass-top counter occupies the right side of the space, housing limited edition albums and rare finds. Kelsey loved my suggestion to turn the entry space into a record shop, so I’ve been sourcing items to make it a reality. He fully trusts my best judgment to test and try what works best. It’s a nice change of pace and one I’m taking seriously.
Kelsey calls out my name from one of the barstools as I enter the bar itself. It’s still dimly lit, with low lights and neon signs, but now decor is starting to bring the space to life. A bright blue jukebox is nestled in the back corner and red leather barstools sit against a brass foot rail at the walnut wood bar.
Kelsey holds up a massive faux oil painting of his bulldog, Hamilton, dressed up as a king. After finding an Etsy shop that turns pet photos into portraits of distinguished historical figures, I knew Gemini wouldn’t be complete without a few. There’s nothing better than a Dachshund wearing knight’s armor or a Great Dane dressed as Henry the VIII.
“You may need to order another one of these,” he says with a pleased smile. “Because my daughter wants this one for herself.”
His large frame makes it look like he’s sitting in a chair meant for children. Despite his intimidating size and the fact that his nickname insinuates he’s a killing machine, Kelsey’s surprisingly mellow. His voice is rich and soft, and he always acts as if he’s just walked out of a Zen meditation session.
“Happy to.” I laugh. “I’m glad you like it.”
He nods emphatically as I slide into the seat next to him. We work in comfortable silence for the next few hours with the occasional off-handed comment or question. Working on the website copy, I struggle to write Kelsey’s bio. The world knows who he is; there’s page after page on Google about him—theearly stages of his career, his boxing stats, all his fights, his failed marriage. I know more about his childhood than I remember about my own. Glancing up, I say, “Question.”
“Answer.”
“What made you want to open this place? Professional boxer to business owner is a big jump. I mean, I know Wells Boxing is a business, but it’s more in the line of your career. Not that owning a bar can’t be your career. I just, um… well, they’re very different is all. Not that I think different is bad. And tons of celebs have opened places. Hugh Jackman, Ryan Gosling, Lady Gaga. But why not start a protein powder business? Or activewear line? Something you’re more familiar with. Granted, maybe your great-great-grandfather owned a pub or a food truck—wait… were food trucks around then? Regardless. Itcouldbe part of your history and that’s why you wanted to. Who knows? Well, you do. Suppose I should let you answer the question now.” I bite down on my lip to get myself to stop speaking.
“It’s a fair question.” He chuckles and drums his fingers against the table as he thinks. After a minute of silence, he replies, “I’ve been boxing since I was a kid, but I’m fifty-one now. I’m ready to try somethingnew. It may be out of my wheelhouse, but I’m determined enough to make it work. And if it doesn’t?C’est la vie.”
I don’t speak French, but I know enough to understand that famous phrase.
“This place will definitely work out,” I reassure him.
“Yeah?” He lifts his brows, a smile playing on his lips. “How do you know?”
“Because I’m just as determined to make it happen.”
I’mdead asleep later that night when my phone rings not once, not twice, but three times. The only person who has thispersistent strategy—even when we’re in the same time zone—is Theo.
“Hello?” I answer groggily.
