Read Online Just Rules by Anna Casanovas, Carlie Johnson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anna Casanovas, Carlie Johnson
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since the beginning really. I’ve never wanted this sport to be my entire life.
I’ve always wanted more. I turn the shower off and grab a towel. The problem is that until now, nobody has made me think seriously about what more actually consists of.
I can’t stop thinking about Susana.
The strangest thing is that I’m starting to realize that I’ve had this problem for about a year, if I can define Susana as a problem. When I see a bad film I think about how the next time I see Susana I’m going to tell her that I liked it just to get a reaction out of her. When I bring a model to a football club dinner, I imagine the sarcastic comment that will come out of the mouth of…my best friend’s fiance.
I get out of the shower, practically without drying off. I get dressed frantically and pick up my bag abruptly. How is it possible that I just took a shower and my back is already drenched in sweat?
I can’t stop thinking about that ridiculous butter stain and about how much I had to contain myself so that I didn’t clean it with a kiss, or with my tongue.
Shit.
Susana is Tim’s fiance.
No, actually she isn’t.
It doesn’t matter because Susana has never made me react like that.
You’re lying.
Yep, I’m lying. And apparently, I argue with my conscience.
I go down stairs and when I get to the street I put on a hat of a different team and a pair of sunglasses. With this simple disguise I usually go unnoticed. I suppose that Patriots fans wouldn’t think that the captain of their team would go around wearing a Denver Broncos hat.
Susana would probably get it.
Shit. I can’t stop thinking about her. I start walking faster and I adjust my hat, something I only do when I’m nervous. What’s happening with me in regards to Susana is temporary. It has to be temporary.
Damn it. The image of Susana smiling at that waiter when he returned her stained jacket at the dinner at L’Escalier; the freckle next to her sixth vertebra; the butter on the corner of her mouth.
I’m lying. I can’t keep denying it.
I’ve always been very attracted to Susana. But Tim saw her first, and I still remember how he smiled the day he met her.
It had been a long time since I had seen him so optimistic and so willing to find a woman that would make him forget about Amanda, so I stepped aside. I remember the strange pressure I felt in my chest when I heard Tim asking Susana if she wanted to have dinner with him that same night, how I strongly closed my fist when she told him yes in the middle of the hallway of the television station.
What would have happened if I had been the first one out that door? If I had been the one who bumped into Susana? What’s funny is that I was the first one out the door, but I was so awestruck just looking at her that Tim went past me and got in front of me…and bumped into Susana.
After the brief conversation Tim and Susana had, during which just the sight of her killed me, Tim and I headed towards the set where they were going to interview us, and my friend hardly stopped talking about the good impression she had made on him.
He told me that he had the feeling that they could be friends, and that he found her to be a very attractive woman.
I don’t know what the hell Tim saw in my face that day, but one thing is for sure, and that is that he asked me if I liked Susana and if wanted to go out with her instead.
I let out a laugh and told him not to be an idiot, that for all I cared he could marry her right then and there and have a dozen kids with her.
Idiot.
I couldn’t sleep that night, although I really didn’t know why, and I went to spend the following weekend in Aspen with Kassandra, a spectacular Russian model.
When I got back, Tim couldn’t stop talking about Susan this, Susan that.
I barely escaped that one, I thought to myself, as Susan seemed like a cold and manipulative woman. Distant. Stuck-up. Snobby. Surely any psychologist listening to me would love to get their hands
I’ve always wanted more. I turn the shower off and grab a towel. The problem is that until now, nobody has made me think seriously about what more actually consists of.
I can’t stop thinking about Susana.
The strangest thing is that I’m starting to realize that I’ve had this problem for about a year, if I can define Susana as a problem. When I see a bad film I think about how the next time I see Susana I’m going to tell her that I liked it just to get a reaction out of her. When I bring a model to a football club dinner, I imagine the sarcastic comment that will come out of the mouth of…my best friend’s fiance.
I get out of the shower, practically without drying off. I get dressed frantically and pick up my bag abruptly. How is it possible that I just took a shower and my back is already drenched in sweat?
I can’t stop thinking about that ridiculous butter stain and about how much I had to contain myself so that I didn’t clean it with a kiss, or with my tongue.
Shit.
Susana is Tim’s fiance.
No, actually she isn’t.
It doesn’t matter because Susana has never made me react like that.
You’re lying.
Yep, I’m lying. And apparently, I argue with my conscience.
I go down stairs and when I get to the street I put on a hat of a different team and a pair of sunglasses. With this simple disguise I usually go unnoticed. I suppose that Patriots fans wouldn’t think that the captain of their team would go around wearing a Denver Broncos hat.
Susana would probably get it.
Shit. I can’t stop thinking about her. I start walking faster and I adjust my hat, something I only do when I’m nervous. What’s happening with me in regards to Susana is temporary. It has to be temporary.
Damn it. The image of Susana smiling at that waiter when he returned her stained jacket at the dinner at L’Escalier; the freckle next to her sixth vertebra; the butter on the corner of her mouth.
I’m lying. I can’t keep denying it.
I’ve always been very attracted to Susana. But Tim saw her first, and I still remember how he smiled the day he met her.
It had been a long time since I had seen him so optimistic and so willing to find a woman that would make him forget about Amanda, so I stepped aside. I remember the strange pressure I felt in my chest when I heard Tim asking Susana if she wanted to have dinner with him that same night, how I strongly closed my fist when she told him yes in the middle of the hallway of the television station.
What would have happened if I had been the first one out that door? If I had been the one who bumped into Susana? What’s funny is that I was the first one out the door, but I was so awestruck just looking at her that Tim went past me and got in front of me…and bumped into Susana.
After the brief conversation Tim and Susana had, during which just the sight of her killed me, Tim and I headed towards the set where they were going to interview us, and my friend hardly stopped talking about the good impression she had made on him.
He told me that he had the feeling that they could be friends, and that he found her to be a very attractive woman.
I don’t know what the hell Tim saw in my face that day, but one thing is for sure, and that is that he asked me if I liked Susana and if wanted to go out with her instead.
I let out a laugh and told him not to be an idiot, that for all I cared he could marry her right then and there and have a dozen kids with her.
Idiot.
I couldn’t sleep that night, although I really didn’t know why, and I went to spend the following weekend in Aspen with Kassandra, a spectacular Russian model.
When I got back, Tim couldn’t stop talking about Susan this, Susan that.
I barely escaped that one, I thought to myself, as Susan seemed like a cold and manipulative woman. Distant. Stuck-up. Snobby. Surely any psychologist listening to me would love to get their hands
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